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munson-blurbs · 3 months

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Living After Midnight (Failed Rockstar!Eddie x Motel Worker!Reader)

♫ Summary: Being a perpetual people-pleaser meant that you were constantly putting others before yourself--particularly your parents and the eccentric guests who stayed at their motel. But when a surly and mysterious musician checked in indefinitely, he flipped your whole world on its head. (3.1k words)

♫ CW: slowburn, strangers-to-lovers, angst, drug use, parental conflict, poverty, eventual smut (18+ only, minors DNI)

♫ A/N: Thank you to my numerous beta readers, including but not limited to @the-unforgivenn, @lofaewrites, @lokis-army-77, and @corroded-hellfire, and to @hellfire--cult for the divider. I am forever indebted to y'all.

chapter one: room for one more

It was always the quiet nights, wasn't it? The ones where the only sounds came from cars barreling down Queens Boulevard and splashing through puddles left by an earlier rainstorm, or from the clock ticking on the wall.

The ones where your mind wandered until you’d thought yourself in circles, overanalyzing every last decision you had ever made.

The ones where you allowed your guard just down enough that the slightest oddity threw you off-balance—something or someone out of place.

It was during the quiet nights like that night where you should have expected the unexpected, because New York City never stayed still for long.

The evening’s sluggishness was normal; tourism always slowed in the springtime. The newest shows on Broadway were already months old, not to mention the warmer weather brought both an uptick in crime and pollen count. If out-of-towners were going to schlep to the East Coast, they’d prefer to see the cherry blossoms hours south in Washington, DC than to get mugged on the 1 train.

Business picked up in the winter months when people flocked from around the world to witness the Thanksgiving Day Parade, the Rockefeller Center Christmas tree, or Dick Clark’s Rockin’ New Year’s Eve, even though they were several bus and subway transfers away. Outsiders to the tri-state area struggled to differentiate between boroughs; it was unfortunate for them, but you counted on it to keep business alive.

The only guests who consistently frequented your family’s motel were junkies looking for a place to shoot up away from the NYPD’s watchful gaze or affair-havers who were considerate enough not to sully their marriage beds—just their vows. You were in no position to judge; their money was what kept the lights on, but it was impossible not to compare your clientele to the suits who stayed at the Marriott down the street. They wouldn‘t even allow homeless folks to sit within twenty-five feet of the building, let alone stay under their roof.

You leaned on the desk, wood grain pinching your elbows. You tapped your pencil against your textbook as you read, its margins cluttered with notes about different types of parent-child attachment styles.

Sleep prickled at the corners of your eyes, blurring the words on the page in front of you. Focus.

Secure attachment occurs when—no, you’d already read this line. Twice.

“Dammit,” you muttered under your breath, gently slapping your cheeks in a futile attempt to stay awake. Taking a full course load instead of your usual part-time was your academic advisor’s ill-conceived idea, bolstered by the prospect of an earlier graduation. In your haste, you’d neglected to consider two important factors: all of your studying now had to be done during your night shifts, and graduating meant telling your parents a truth they were unready to hear.

They were so proud of the motel, regardless of its reputation. It might as well have been The Plaza from the way your dad boasted about it. The three of you shared an unspoken understanding that you worked the front desk because paying an actual employee would put them under. Maybe if finances weren’t so tight, you could have freely admitted that your future plans didn’t involve taking over the business.

Your eyelids fluttered shut as your head rested on your book, a small puddle of drool pooling atop Bowlby’s theories.

Ping ping ping ping!

Time slowly stretched out before you, your conscious brain clawing its way out of its hazy fog. It took a beat for you to recognize that the incessant noise came from someone repeatedly smacking the tiny bell that sat on the desk.

“Hey, hello?” an impatient voice called out, jolting you from your impromptu nap. You blinked away the residual sleepiness and took in the sight in front of you: a curly-haired man, likely not much older than you were, a cigarette that had been nearly smoked down to the filter tucked between his lips. He had a patched guitar case strapped to his back and clutched a black garbage bag filled with what you hoped was clothing.

“Sorry,” you grumbled, wiping the moisture from your chin. “Need a room?”

“Mhm.” You could practically hear his eye roll: no, I just stopped by in the middle of the night for a quick chat. Fancy a cup of tea and a scone?

He plopped the garbage bag on the ground; its soft landing and the way it wrinkled told you that whatever was inside was, thankfully, not a body.

You nodded and turned around to the wall of keys behind you. There was no shortage of rooms; the only occupied one was being rented by Phyllis, a sixty-year-old self-described ‘entertainer of gentleman’ who paid double her bill in exchange for your silence.

He stubbed out the cigarette in the ashtray on the countertop, grinding it into the base for good measure. “How much per night?” he asked, digging into his pants pocket and pulling out a wallet held together with duct tape.

“Fifteen.”

The man breathed out, his bangs fanning over his forehead. “Jesus.” He fished two twenties and a five from the billfold and placed them in front of you. “This should cover me until Friday, yeah?”

Nodding, you folded the bills and tucked them into the register kept under the desk, only accessible by key because of a series of break-ins during the late ‘70s.

The man lit another cigarette as you pulled out the ledger and a pen. “Name and date here,” you said, pointing to the ‘check in’ column. He took a drag before scrawling his name on the line: Eddie Munson, 5-4-93.

“All right, you’ll be in…” you scanned the assortment of keys dangling from their hooks. The walls were thin, and this guy seemed decent enough, so you decided to spare him the theatrical sound effects of Phyllis’s room 10 endeavors. “…room 4. Make a right down the hallway, and it’ll be the second door. Can’t miss it if you try.”

Your attempt at humor fell flat, both of you too exhausted to laugh. You strode past it, clearing your throat as if dispelling the tension. When you placed the key in his calloused palm, you couldn’t help but notice that the base of each fingertip is a half-shade paler than the rest of his skin.

“Thanks.” Eddie mumbled. He tapped the cigarette above the ashtray, the gray flakes falling into a neat pile. His right bicep flexed underneath his denim jacket as he heaved the garbage bag over his shoulder, careful not to bang it against the guitar.

He scuttled out of the tiny room masquerading as a lobby, shoulders hunched from the weight of the bag and of the burdens he inevitably carried. No one shows up to a motel in the middle of the night without a story or two.

After years of greeting guests at the front desk, you liked to think you had a decent read on them. Eddie was quiet, maybe even introspective, but not necessarily shy. He was tired; no, more than that: he was worn down, like so many other people who had come through these doors.

Most importantly, Eddie didn’t seem like he'd be much trouble. He didn’t stumble in wasted and reeking of booze or fidgeting as he awaited a fix. He wasn’t shouting or poorly concealing a wandering eye or making lewd comments. He’d made pretty much no impression at all besides being a bit gruff, which was just fine with you. Your personality wasn't composed of rainbows and sunshine at this hour either.

You looked at the clock and sighed when it only read 2:17. It’s already tomorrow, you thought grimly. Just under four hours until you could walk ten feet to your room, curl up in your bed, and sleep until it was time for your afternoon class. After years of balancing school and work, you were in the last two weeks of your final semester, and then…what? You casually inform your parents that you were leaving the family business–essentially forcing them to close it–to pursue a career in social work?

That was sure to go over well.

To their knowledge, you were studying hotel management and hospitality in order to “improve the business.” That was why they’d relented when you’d asked to start taking classes, switching you over to the night shift to avoid having to hire a new employee.

What they didn’t know is that your school didn’t even offer that as a major. Nor were they aware of the acceptance letter into NYU’s Masters of Social Work program that was stashed inside your dresser drawer, hidden from sight. That was a conversation for another day when you found the strength to face their disappointment.

Chaos waited to strike until the end of your shift.

Just as you packed your book back into your bag, a familiar, skunky odor wafted past your nostrils.

Ignore it, you thought. Let it be Dad’s problem when he takes over in five minutes. But if you could smell it, so could any of the cops patrolling the boulevard. One more citation and the motel was in jeopardy of being permanently shut down, and you couldn’t take that risk.

With a frustrated sigh, you yanked open the desk drawer and reached in for a pen, instead pulling out an unopened box of crayons. A twenty-four pack of Crayola—the good kind. You plucked a waxy cornflower blue from its spot and scribbled Be back soon on a Post-It note, sticking it on the front of the desk. Grabbing the pepper spray canister from its spot next to the register, just in case, you started down the hall. Marijuana wasn’t Phyllis’s drug of choice, though it might have been one of her various gentleman suitors’, but the scent was too strong to be coming all the way from room 10.

Maybe this Eddie Munson was trouble, afterall.

You knocked on his door, firmly but without aggression. It certainly wasn’t the first time you interrupted someone’s buzz, and it wouldn’t be the last. You knew better than to go in guns a-blazing; it’s easier to catch flies with sugar than vinegar.

Eddie opened it after a moment, cracking it halfway and revealing a lit joint pinched between his plush lips. One forearm was perched on the doorframe, showing off faded ink of a litter of flying bats and a dragon-esque creature. He was clad in only navy blue boxer briefs, but his lack of attire was no surprise. Many guests were shameless, not bothering to cover the holes in their Fruit of the Loom tighty-whities and showcasing faded yellow stains on the crotch. What confused you was the elastic waistband proudly proclaiming ‘Calvin Klein’ that cut off the soft hair trailing from his belly button. It seemed absurd that he would have been lugging around any designer clothes in that trash bag, but there was no other possibility.

“Can I help you?” he asked, shaking his curly bangs out of his face. Half-lidded brown eyes scanned your form, trying to determine whether you were a narc or trying to bum some bud off of him. His window was cracked open enough to let in fresh air, which also meant that the acrid smell could easily be let out.

“You can’t smoke that here,” you reported matter-of-factly, just as you had a million times before. When he cocked a challenging brow, you continued. “Cigarettes are fine, but no weed. The police will come after us and you.”

He looked around the room, unbothered, and absentmindedly scratched at his bare chest. A demon’s head was sketched just above a sparse patch of hair. Under different circumstances, or maybe in another life altogether, you would’ve asked him about his tattoos; if they had some philosophical meaning or were the products of spur-of-the-moment decisions. You could have blathered on about the ideas you had for your own future tattoos, if you ever worked up the nerve to actually get one.

“You mean to tell me that with all of the skeevy shit that goes on around here, the cops are gonna waste their time on a little pot?” He scoffed and took another defiant pull, holding it for a few seconds before exhaling away from you.

I guess chivalry isn’t dead, you mused, stifling an eye roll. “No, but they’re always looking for an excuse to ‘investigate,’’' you threw air-quotes around the last word, “so they can bust us for more serious things, and that is the perfect one.” You gestured to the joint only to be met with an eye roll. “Look, you can either put it out, smoke it somewhere else, or you can leave. Full refund, but you can’t stay here.”

His stare locked onto your steely eyes and clenched jaw, only breaking when you’d straightened your posture to stand your ground. “Whatever,” he huffed, but he snuffed it out. A glimmer of a smile danced on his lips, disappearing nearly as quickly as it arrived. Despite its fleeting nature, it managed to thaw you enough so that your arms weren’t held quite so tight to your body, your expression less rigid. “Just trying to relax and get some sleep, like you were while you were supposed to be ‘working.’” It’s his turn to supply the air-quotes, both in mockery and as a gotcha. A teasing lilt elevated his voice, smoothing out the edge he’d greeted you with earlier.

“I wasn’t sleeping, just…resting my eyes,” you volleyed back, your smirk betraying any semblance of the tough façade you’d worn.

Eddie crossed his arms and walked over to the garbage bag of clothes. He rummaged through it for a moment before procuring a pair of gray sweatpants, stepping into them hurriedly as though he just remembered his minimal attire.

“Maybe if you chose more interesting reading material, you wouldn’t be sl—resting your eyes on the job,” he amended, gesturing to the textbook in your canvas tote bag. “Ever heard of Stephen King?”

“I live in a motel, not under a rock.”

He raised an eyebrow. “You live here?”

Shit. That wasn’t information you regularly divulged. Sure, this guy seemed harmless, but looks can be deceiving. Prime example: wearing designer underwear while using a trash bag in lieu of a suitcase.

It was too late to double back, so you nodded. “Yeah,” you admitted reluctantly. The sole of your sneaker dug into the old carpet.

Eddie looked like he wanted to say more, lips parted and eyes wide like there was a follow-up question sitting on the tip of his tongue. Before he could ask it, your gaze landed on the clock radio: six AM on the dot.

“I need to go,” you said hurriedly. Shame at your sudden shyness burned a hole in your belly. Eddie Munson was a guest; for all intents and purposes, he was a total stranger. There was no reason to be intimidated by him. “Good luck falling asleep,” you added with a weak smile.

The easy banter that had been building between you dissipated in an instant, taking his good mood with it. His goodbye was a sardonic salute, the mattress springs creaking wearily as soon as you closed the door behind you.

Sure enough, your dad was in the tiny lobby, assessing some peeling wallpaper. “Gotta fix that,” he mumbled to himself, thumbnail picking at it aimlessly. He turned around when he heard the door open and smiled when he saw you.

“Sorry, I was helping out a guest,” you rushed to explain, hoping he wasn't too anxious to find the desk left unattended.

The wrinkles in your dad’s forehead became more pronounced. “Is everything alright?” The phrase ‘helping out a guest’ could range from unclogging a toilet to calling the police for a domestic dispute.

“Yeah, everything’s fine,” you reassured him quickly, flashing an exaggerated thumbs-up. “No law enforcement necessary. Didn’t even need to use the pepper spray.” You waved the canister in your palm before placing it back.

He beamed, leaning in and pressing a kiss to your scalp. “It’s times like this where I just know I’ll be leaving this place in good hands.”

You swallowed the bile that crept up your throat and feigned a smile when he pulled you in for a tight hug. The mingled scents of Irish Spring soap and drugstore aftershave tickled your nose, and tears stung along your lash line.

If only you knew, you thought, giving him one last squeeze before you headed to your room. Disappointed wouldn’t even begin to cover it.

Your parents would never say the word aloud; they’d look at each other and heave identical weighted sighs. Their lifelong goal of a long-standing family business would vanish in the blink of an eye. Dad would pretend there was a chance that they could afford a new hire, even going so far as to fumble through the years of financial statements before inevitably throwing in the towel; Mom would force a pained smile and hoarsely encourage you to follow your dreams, even at the expense of theirs.

You shook the thought away as you trudged towards your room, sneakered feet like sandbags below you. Dwelling on this scenario had you teetering on the brink of insanity, so you’d willed yourself to focus on something else. Anything else.

Like the motel’s newest guest and his smile. The way it softened the hard lines on his face, offering you a glimpse of how he wore happiness. Something about it made you want to see him happy again.

You can’t even figure out how to make yourself happy, you thought, peeling back the starchy sheets and finally crawling into bed, much less a stranger. For all you knew, he was just relaxed because his high was starting to kick in, and not from some warming presence you’d supplied.

The sun cracked pink through the sky, visible through the paper-thin curtains hanging on the window. You had become accustomed to this backwards routine, able to fall asleep while daylight broke. It took a few extra moments this time; you were anticipating marijuana-tinged fumes to float through the vents when Eddie ignored your instructions.

It was that flicker of a smile that had you almost certain he would spark up once you’d left. The smile of someone who so naturally flouted authority that he no longer bragged about it. Yet time ticked by without a hint of evidence that he was smoking again.

Which begged the question: if the smile didn’t signify defiance, what did it mean?

Eddie Munson is definitely trouble, you surmised just before you drifted off, but nothing you can’t handle.

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ma1dita · 3 months

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buddy system

a ‘partners in crime’ installment - luke castellan x dionysus!reader

words: 4.2k

summary: (pre-established relationship) The one where he comes with you to rescue your twin brothers, Pollux and Castor. A weekend 'quest' teaches you a lot about Luke, and about yourself too. Luke Castellan x fem!Dionysus!reader

a/n: um i cant apologize for this word count and ive been looking at this for too long so fuck. Anyways do yall think Luke felt bad when he found out Castor died in battle because of his army in this universe? just me?? okay :) also trouble gets a cool magic item that makes an appearance here, kinda works like polyjuice but with smoke

(posted 2/7/24 betad by lovely ellie @lixzey might edit again when i get some sleep)

—

“No. You might be my father, but you’re crazy, man!”

You’re standing in D’s office at the Big House, and what was supposed to be a short talk before the counselors’ meeting has turned into a full-blown argument. It’s hard to focus on anything other than the words leaving your godrent’s mouth.

You’re going to pick up your little brothers.

“Those two statements are both true, kid. You’re old enough to understand that!”

They need your help.

“You’re really letting your 16-year-old daughter drive down to Florida by herself to pick up some kids she’s never met? Won’t even send me with any quest companions, or like, Grover?” you say exasperatedly, before slumping down into a seat.

“Think of it as family bonding! They’re great from what I remember. You all need to get along anyway.”

Whether it was jealousy or the sudden urge to be petty, you impulsively grab your dad’s Diet Coke and chug it, crushing the can with your fist as a tiny act of rebellion.

Another one appears on the desk and you chuck it over your shoulder. Mr. D sighs as he conjures another one, to which you do the same thing.

“I can do this all day, kid.”

“So can I, and you know if I do, we’ll be sitting here until I’m 40,” you say expectantly, tapping your fingers on the hardwood surface of his desk.

“What do you want?”

The keys to his car are a start, as well as extra pocket money—but there was something, or rather, someone missing to make sure this weekend goes as smoothly as possible.

Your smirk widens at your father, and he wonders when you’ve gotten good at playing his own game.

It’s like looking into a mirror but his worst nightmare manifested as a teenage girl.

—

There are only two things Luke can think about when he hears the sound of your laughter.

The first is that, unlike your angelic singing that could rival the Muses, your laughter takes after the sound of a maniac, an incredulous crescendo that only something curated by Hades in the deepest pits of Tartarus could produce. It was almost madness-inducing, and it went off in his brain like you were a siren (although he means the kind used for weather advisory, he too gets lured in by your laughter each time he hears it like he’s lost at sea).

Second, as he watches you storm down the lawn of the Big House, your anger brewing something comparable to a Category 5, he raises an eyebrow and thinks, well this ought to be good. Or entertaining at the very least.

“You,” you growl at him, guttural and sharp like the finger you jab into his chest, “we’re going on a quest!”

“Me?” Luke blurts, eyebrows furrowing at you.

A loud groan echoes through the grassy space between the house and the counselors as everyone looks up to see Mr. D dragging his hands down his face at the sheer thought of his daughter causing him more gray hairs.

“That’s not what we agreed on, kid!” “If you want any of your children to come back to this hellhole in one piece I need backup!” “There’s more of you?”

Both you and your dad glare at Luke now, like he’s interrupting a private conversation.

“Since when do you like asking for help, princess?”

Mr. D’s arms are crossed over his chest as he speaks to you. Though your height severely differs due to the wooden steps of the Big House, the air is palpable with fear only an Olympian could invoke, reminding the counselors that the man wearing the ugliest Hawaiian shirt known to humankind, is in fact inhuman. You, however, are standing tall in the freshly-cut grass in your combat boots with wrath that could rival Ares’ as you stare your father down like the rest of them wouldn’t get struck into the next lifetime due to your impertinence, as Annabeth loves to call it. She looks up at Luke, with her eyes conveying that she thinks you must be clinically insane, but he knows that already so he shrugs.

“I’m not asking for it, I’m demanding it. Besides, he’s like my ESA,” you say, then taking Luke by surprise as you grab him by the wrist and drag him off the front lawn. You think you can hear Beckendorf and Clarisse bite back chuckles.

“Someone tell Rodriguez he’s in charge of 11!” you yell into the air, and words of affirmation and good luck are muttered in response.

“Don’t I get a say in this, trouble?” Luke says playfully, tugging at your arm lightly but unresisting as you sigh and pull him along. Who in their right mind says no to a long weekend away from this place? Monsters and demigods be damned.

“No. Besides, they’re gonna need more luck than we do.”

“Liam, I don’t know why she trusts you, but if my daughter dies, I’ll make sure you’re next!” Mr. D yells out to your retreating figures, and all of the counselors turn to face him realizing that without you, well… that means he actually has to be in charge.

“So what’s the meeting supposed to be about, Annabelle?” Mr. D says, looking at Annabeth only knowing that she’s supposed to be the smart one—and the small girl sighs.

This is gonna be the longest weekend yet.

—

You’re speeding down I-95 with the windows down and the wind brushing through both of your hair. While Luke watches you from the passenger seat with the road signs blurring past his periphery, he also notices that it’s the first time in a while that he’s seen you this carefree. With both of you taking up counselor positions a few months ago, and your dad appointing you to be in charge of all of them (because why have a counselor for a population of one), there’s a lot about you that’s grown up in the two years you two have known each other. But what type of demigod gets to enjoy their childhood anyway, right? Luke can only remember bits and pieces of his.

“How do you even know where we’re going? I can barely read the signs,” he asks.

“Cool blessing from my stepmom. Ariadne’s chill. We talk sometimes and she likes that I keep D in check, so now I can never get lost,” you grin toothily, violet eyes flickering to meet his.

“Was it true what your dad said? That you trust me?”

His voice is a bit louder than it should be over the wind tunnel that blocks out the sound of the radio as the air whips in and out of the car.

“Well, I wouldn't say trust,” you drag out, leaning back against your seat with your eyes still on the road, “More like if I got abducted by a harpy, I think you could cut its wings off and give me a fighting chance at living.”

“I’m surprised you didn’t invite Mason to come,” he mumbles, and you smirk.

“Who?”

His hands are clenched in his lap as a blush brushes his cheeks, windswept in the rays of the late summer sun.

“Your boyfriend. Wouldn’t he be a better companion?”

Something about the older son of Apollo always ground his gears. It was even worse that you both would sing Broadway musicals together during his sparring sessions. Your harmonious voices echoing from the amphitheater aside, the repetitive grating feeling in his stomach reminds him not to go see Hamilton if he ever makes it out to the city.

“He’s not…” you huff, tapping your fingers on the steering wheel as you think hard on what to say next, “He’s nothing serious.” You pull the sun visor down as you squint, tilting your head in case he says something else, but you hear nothing. Luke’s staring at your side profile, unable to hide his grin at the new information, biting his cheek.

“Besides, he’s a fucking terrible shot. And you’re supposed to be the best, so I’ve heard. Who else would I want on this trip with me?”

He chuckles at this lightly, your words bolstering his ego.

“So you’ve heard.”

And for a second, the sight of his smile distracts you enough that the car swerves a tiny bit closer to the median. You both ignore it and keep driving.

—-

Hypnos increases his hold on your senses as you finally take a break somewhere in North Carolina, taking refuge in a dimly lit corner of a gas station parking lot. The old car reeks of greasy fast food and all the sugar Luke could get his hands on at rest stops (it was really cute to see him indulge in more normal things like sweets instead of swordsmanship), and both of your seats are leaned back, but it’s hard to get comfortable after having your butt in the same seat for several hours.

You readjust yourself again, making the car shake a bit as you turn over to face Luke.

“What’s wrong?” he mumbles through closed eyes. His head’s banged against the window one too many times, and it was starting to get annoying.

“Sorry. Just can’t sleep. Thinking too hard.”

He sighs, reaching over to toss your pillow into the backseat, and as you sit up, he rips your blanket off of you too.

“Hey!”

You go silent when you watch him make a makeshift bed for you, turning back with tired eyes as he gestures, “Go ahead. I don’t mind.”

“I feel bad, Luke. You’re taller than me and your knees almost hit the dashboard.”

He rubs at his eyes, looking at you impatiently, and you know his body is calling for comfort too.

“I’ve slept in worse conditions, you gotta remember that, trouble.” The stories Annie used to tell you about the both of them sleeping on the streets pull at your heart, and as you crawl towards the back, you move before you think rationally–tugging on his arm.

“Come on over here.”

“You sure?” “Before I change my mind, yeah.”

You both move around trying to find a place both of you can be comfortable in, first starting with your heads at opposite windows, legs tangling in the middle before he laughs a little too hard at your fumbling and you launch your pillow at his face. Awkwardly, you climb over his legs into his outstretched arms, slotting yourself against his side as he pulls your hair up from getting trapped between his shoulder and your back.

It’s deadly quiet, and Luke thinks if you could move any closer to him, you might hear his heart thundering in his chest.

“You smell like french fries,” you grumble into his sweater, and his laughter shakes you like an earthquake, uprooting the faint traces of sleep in your mind.

“At least the monsters won’t find us. Gonna be harder when the twins get here. A lot of demigod smell to ward off.”

You don’t answer, and he thinks you may have fallen asleep until he notices your hand playing with the frays of his sweater.

“Trouble?”

“They’re really little,” you mumble, so low that he barely hears the hesitance in your voice.

“The monsters? Yeah, I fucking ho–” “Pollux and Castor. My…half-siblings, with really Greek names, and a mom that depends on me getting them to camp safely…” you trail off before your head jerks up to meet his eyes. It’s colder at night now, your bodies and the tiny throw blanket from your trunk providing ample heat even if his socked feet fight their way out from underneath.

“How old are they, nine?” He feels you nod against his chest before he continues, “I was nine when I left home.”

Your eyes get glassy at the thought of a smaller version of Luke, one who’s not all gangly legs and lean muscle—one much softer and innocent than the boy you lean your weight upon, running away from home to find a place he can belong.

“I didn’t know that. I’m sorry.”

He shrugs, the arm propped against the headrest wrapping around you and resting on your hip, tapping you to continue your previous thought.

“I don’t know how to do this, I guess. I’m ripping them from their home and I—” “You’re not some kind of monster y’know? You put yourself down too much sometimes,” he sighs, and he watches the windows slowly start to fog up, “What don’t you know how to do?”

Ignoring his question, you change the subject hoping to talk about something lighter, and far less revealing to the thoughts inside your head.

“Do you remember all of that? Going to school and chalking up the sidewalks on the way home, hopscotch and ice cream trucks… I don’t want to take them away from that.”

Luke ponders, digging through his brain for anything happy from his childhood, but through the years his memories started to collect dust in the back of his mind.

“I don’t remember much.”

“Gods, I’m sorry…”

Mason had told you of your habit of putting your foot in your mouth. You dealt in extremes, giving too much or too little, always saying the wrong thing—and it was the reason why things didn’t go further with the son of Apollo. As well as with the daughter of Aphrodite you saw briefly that told you you didn’t know how to love, not if you didn’t know how to share yourself with others (yeah that one hurt a lot).

Sharing.

That’s what you’re hesitant about.

“Don’t be. It was a long time ago now,” Luke mumbles, a beat of silence passing before he redirects the conversation like you did, “What don’t you know how to do, trouble?”

“How to share. Be a sibling. Someone likeable.”

Luke doesn’t mean to laugh at your expense, but he does, and you punch his stomach hard enough he gasps for air.

“That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard. Everyone likes you.”

“Everyone’s usually scared of me because of D, or hates me because I take dessert privileges and write them up,” you say matter-of-factly, staring out the window above his head at the gentle shine of the moon on his features. It’s a crime for him to look so soft under the low light, and you realize you’re staring when he calls your name.

“No, you don’t get it—you’re the most selfless person I know. You give up sleep to sing to kids before bed, conjure juice boxes so they don’t pass out during training—I’ve seen you carry a kid almost as tall as you across camp because they broke their ankle. You’ve got a lot of love in that twisted heart of yours. I’d know… I mean—I have to share a lot… I’m basically an expert.”

You blink at him as if seeing him in a new light, and you realize then why you picked him to go on this weekend quest with you. Your heartbeat slows despite the show of vulnerability in front of him, and you understand now that Luke makes you feel safe. Biting your lip to hold back a sigh, you decide to just unload the rest of your thoughts, knowing that you’re in the hands of someone who wants to hold the weight. “I’m just used to being alone, I think. I mean who knows what we're like when we're alone but us, right? What a terrifying thought,” you deflect, and Luke closely watches the slope of your nose, down to the smoothness of your lips, unable to put the right words to how he’s feeling.

I know you, he thinks, and it's not as all bad as you make it seem.

“We’re never truly alone, y’know. Besides, even if you are, you still have me,” he says nonchalantly, and the warmth on your cheeks could generate enough heat to run the car for miles. Chuckling lightly as your eyes flutter closed, you know you need to rest before morning comes since you’re the only one between the two of you that can drive. You reckon you’ll teach Luke by the end of the year if he wants to.

“We’re getting pretty terrible at this enemies thing, Castellan,” you jest with nothing hard to back it, and a smile falls onto both of your lips.

“We were never really enemies, trouble. I just like getting on your nerves.”

Your laughs fall silent, settling into a comfortable silence, until his next words send you off into slumber as you listen.

“I remember my mom singing in the kitchen as she put peanut butter on my sandwiches. She'd act like she left the dishes out for me to wash, but let me lick the knife clean every time and I’d put too much soap and the sink would be filled with bubbles. I don't remember much else but that. Her kitchen. She smelled like…chamomile.”

A wandering hand pulls his free one into yours, holding it until sunrise.

—-

You push Pollux and Castor out the door before the sun rises after a short stay at their mother’s house, and as the engine heats up, you and Luke watch them say goodbye to her with the both of you thinking of last words with your own. The both of you ward off the hellhounds biting off at your heels for a few hours like how you deceived the police the day previous, a purple Zippo lighter in hand whose smoke grants temporary illusions wafting through the car, and it smells like grapes (thanks D!). The kids sleep most of the way, none the wiser and heavy with sleep and their emotions of leaving everything they’ve ever known. Your eyes flicker to their sleeping heads in the rearview mirror, ready to take them home.

Hours later, Luke decides to make you stop at a diner to get you a bit of rest, get actual food, and let the twins pee, and your head is bobbing slightly in front of your plate of food once he brings them back from the bathroom.

“You wash your hands?” you say tiredly, both Pollux and Castor shaking wet hands in your face in response, making you giggle before sipping at your coffee. Luke cut you off from Redbull yesterday, saying he was scared for your liver and saying you needed to drink something else for a bit. He bristles at the sight of you drinking more caffeine, and you smile as the mug touches your lips.

“You’re gonna kill yourself one day. At least your dad drinks Diet Coke.”

“Not by choice, though what a way to go!” you joke, and the twins giggle as the both of them gulp down root beer like it’s essential to their being. Luke sighs at the idea of you having two minions under your belt, who you’ll most definitely train to raise hell on Camp Half-Blood now that you’ve taken more of the administrative side of things.

“Is he your boyfriend, sissy?” Pollux, or maybe it’s Castor pipes up, swinging his legs under the table and you smile at the sound of the nickname, noticing the dimple in his cheek. Luke chokes on his burger, coughing until you elbow him.

“He’s more of my ESA,” you remark, and he still doesn’t know what that is, so he raises an eyebrow like your brothers do as they peer up at you from across the table.

“What’s an ESA?” Castor, you realize, who has no dimples, spits out behind munches of a pickle.

“Luke’s my emotional support animal.”

He eats the rest of your fries despite your confidence in that response, grumbling exactly how a resistant dog would.

As you’re paying the bill, a large shadow looms over the sunny disposition of everyone at your table—and then Luke shouts for everyone to cover their eyes. Glass shatters over you, revealing a hellhound the size of a minivan, and it pounces toward the twins, large teeth bared at their throats. Before Luke can pull his sword out, you whistle sharply and the sound whizzes through the air like a bullet as you toss the Zippo lighter at him as he’s pushing the kids to the car. Though he’s reluctant to lose sight of you, he wards them with an illusion, locking the doors despite their cries and he runs headfirst back into battle, you with your thyrsus and him with his sword, back to back.

“They okay?” you heave, jabbing at the red-eyed canine between the eyes as Luke pulls around to slash it across the neck, coming out of the tussle unscathed as you both watch it keel over at your feet into golden dust minutes later.

“Yeah. Are you?”

Though you originally found it funny, Luke does perform his job well, getting you to calm down as he holds you to his chest until you can breathe normally again.

“Mhm. Just scared me.”

The two of you run out of the destroyed diner and into the warded-off car before the police show up hand in hand as you escape without detection. As he falls asleep, Castor dreams that you two are Bonnie and Clyde like in an old Western movie he was definitely not old enough to watch.

—-

You’re finally back on the Island now, only an hour away from Montauk and Luke is getting restless in the passenger seat. He pulls apples out of his backpack, wiping them off with his shirt as you sing along to a Taylor Swift song playing on the radio.

And maybe someday when we’re older, this is something we’ll laugh about…. Foolish one… you hum, tapping the wheel to fight off your exhaustion.

Pollux and Castor are using their fingers to pretend to hop over obstacles in the smudged windows, babbling about something they did in class last week. The son of Hermes pulls out a pocketknife he nicked from a gas station this morning as he starts to cut the apples into pieces, putting some into a ziploc bag for the boys to share, and you smile at him, wistful at your trip nearing its finish line. If you weren’t enemies before this like he said, it’s crazy to consider him your closest friend. But he is, isn’t he?

His knuckles nudge yours over the console, pressing an apple slice into your palm.

“You know, Castellan, you’re sweet when you want to be. Shame you and that sister of Annie’s didn’t work out.”

Luke scoffs at the reminder of his ex, slicing another piece off for you to eat. She did say he had wandering eyes…always looking for you. He’s not going to admit that though.

“I just know you like your apples cut. Saw you battling it out with a butter knife last week. Couldn’t help but notice,” he says lowly like it’s normal for people to be that considerate about others, normal for him to care about you like that, a constant push and pull between you two.

“Hurts my teeth,” you mutter, and Luke chortles like you’ve told him something life-changing. Your hand bumps into his again, feeling nothing but his calloused fingers, and when you look up his cheek protrudes with the last slice.

“Tax,” he winks, and you’re delirious with this feeling that only he can bring you, almost comparable to being high.

The popstar’s voice continues to trill in the background, with my head in my hands, saying “How could I not see the signs?”

You both don’t realize you’ve stopped singing until Pollux pipes up asking for you to play Fireball by Mr. 305 himself.

—-

The car finally pulls into the driveway of the forest path and you’re all greeted by the campers holding blazing lanterns. Chiron, your father, and the nymphs are waving as the twins marvel at the fairy lights strung up along the way for a warm welcome.

“You’re alive,” your dad remarks, and this time he doesn’t say it in jest, sounding more relieved.

“I was in good hands,” you affirm, looking up at Luke amongst the noise of your cheering friends and the feeling that comes with calling this place home.

The boys are tucked in at your side, shyly looking at the crowd, Pollux holding your hand while Castor holds onto Luke’s, and Chiron calls your attention.

“I know you didn’t get your official announcement,” he starts, and you laugh at that, remembering the bubbles in the lake.

“Because I pulled a fast one on D.”

“Nonetheless, I would love for you to get recognized for your efforts. Dionysus. Storyteller, Herald of Chaos,” he continues by announcing your name, and then,” Pollux, and Castor– children of the grapevine, the God of Wine!”

The campers are kneeling and you look at Luke, who’s smiling from the ground beside you.

“Take a picture, trouble, it’ll last longer.”

“My children are home safe. And thank you, Castellan, for being a formidable companion. My deepest appreciation.” Mr. D sounds serious for once, pulling Luke up as he nods in respect.

It’s a crazy feeling to finally feel at home though you’ve been here for two years now. But you remind yourself quickly of why that is when you see Luke carrying Pollux on his shoulders as Castor latches onto his legs.

“You know, your family is a nightmare. You two hellions will fit right in,” he grins.

You can’t help but agree.

—

“I hadn’t told them about you, but they saw you bathing in my eyes. I hadn’t told them about you, but they saw you in my written words. The perfume of love cannot be concealed.” -Nizar Qabbani

ask to be added to general/luke taglists!

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#luke castellan x dionysus!reader #luke castellan x reader fanfic #luke castellan x reader #percy jackon and the olympians #pjo x reader #luke castellan fluff #made by ma1dita ♥︎#trouble!verse #thank you for reading my love ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

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bubble-dream-inc · 1 year

Note

hii! i love ur fics!! can u write something about medical f/reader and her being scared of Ghost and can't look him in the eyes (he makes her really nervous and shy) and Ghost kinda find it amusing:))

an apple a day...

At first, Simon wasn't fazed by the rumors about the cute new head doctor on base; that is, until he realized the effect he had on you - and how fun was it to tease you with it.

Simon "Ghost" Riley x Medic Reader

rbs greatly appreciated!

WC: 1,4K

a/n: hi anon! thank you for this ask, i had a lot of fun writing this <3 bear in mind i used the little medical knowledge from my brief pharmacist student era and i actually have no idea how medical regs work in the army so take these inaccuracies with a grain of salt lmao. thank you my love @chaoskrakenuwu for the beta read <333333

tags: profanity, pure fluff, medical innacuracies, female reader, Simon is a smug little shit.

Ghost was many things, but amongst it all, he silently took pride in being good at reading people.

At first, he didn’t know exactly why he was doing it, and later he’d come to realize it was an amusing game for him, oddly enough, considering Simon Riley was never a man to bask in mundane pleasures.

It started with the rumors around the base about the allegedly cute new head doctor. Simon had been around these men for long enough to grow used to their touch deprived selves thirsting over literally any woman that came close to their general vicinity, so at first the talk didn’t stir his curiosity - it almost never did; he didn’t like to gossip. This changed one morning when he woke up with a killer headache, and unwillingly made way to the infirmary to try and get some painkillers. Gingerly knocking on the door and waiting for the approval of whoever was on the other side - which came in the form of a meek ‘come in’ - he had completely forgotten about the rumors going around until he set foot in the room and instantly came across the new head doctor.

They didn’t do it justice. You weren’t cute, you were a fucking spectacle.

He blinked, seemingly expressionless behind the mask, but he embarrassingly had to admit he might have let his gaze wander more than usual as you looked up from the papers you were looking over, clearly confused as to why you heard your door open but not a word out of the person who came in, and, as you did so, he recognized all the emotions people felt whenever they looked at him for the first time: confusion, shock - be it by his sheer absurd size or the mask - and, lastly, intimidation. It wasn’t unusual, but he’d be lying if he said it didn’t bother a very hidden part of him, the fact he was intimidating such a small and seemingly harmless woman such as yourself. He had half a mind to speak first, but you beat him to it.

“Oh, uh…Hello, er, Lieutenant Ghost? How can I help you?” You clearly fiddled with your fingers as you stared at him with wide eyes, refusing to meet his gaze. Simon was slightly annoyed you already knew who he was - the whispers about him on base weren’t exactly positive, and he wondered what you might have heard.

“Yeah. Got one fuckin’ headache, I need some meds.” He was aware of how much more coarse his already gruff voice sounded, courtesy of the annoying pain and the sour mood he was already in, and took notice of the way the sound of it made your eyes widen even more. Clearing your throat, you mumbled something in agreement, heading to a cabinet near your desk, and he couldn’t help but watch you like a hawk - entranced by how you looked with the clearly frantic tied up hair and the white lab coat moving in tandem with your body. You looked so small compared to him and the thought made him more satisfied than he’d like to admit.

Finally reaching the drawer you were looking for, you searched it around for a bit until grabbing a small blister with four duo colored pills, hastily making your way over to Ghost and handing him the medication. You gave some instruction on how he should take it - once every six hours, if the pain didn’t go away, but not more than three a day - but he barely registered it, too caught up on watching you from above. Deciding to end your torture, he looked over at the blister on his hand and raised it slightly as if it were a toast.

“Cheers. Thanks, doc.”

With that, he left, not going unnoticed how surprised you were at his cordialness.

After that, he unconsciously made a habit out of it, popping into your office for the stupidest of reasons and he wasn’t even sure why; he’d find himself gravitating towards the infirmary, like a lost dog, to the point you updated his file with the recently known information that he had constant headaches - he didn’t. Simon took some sort of sick pleasure from watching you squirm under his gaze, never able to keep his eye contact for long, even more so when you heard his voice, and things took an interesting turn when he realized you probably weren’t intimidated - but flustered instead. It clicked with him one day as he entered your office in casual clothes before heading to the gym and you thought you were being subtle about the way you ogled his arms in the tight black shirt he was wearing. As he was leaving, he subconsciously turned to grip the doorway above him - not by much - to bid you goodbye, and he couldn’t help but to smirk under the mask when your eyes widened and your face visibly reddened at the motion.

So, he decided to test his theory. That day, he didn’t even need to fake a headache to go see you, he actually had gotten injured when helping out with some maintenance, a moment of recklessness giving him a cut on his hand. If it were another circumstance, he would just have taken care of it himself, considering how desensitized he was to pain these days, but for once he had a good reason to bother you, so that’s exactly what he did. Even if his presence made you so shy, this time you couldn’t help but look at him with worry as he entered the infirmary.

“Ghost, you really have to look into those headaches of yours.”

“Not my head this time.”

He showed you the bleeding cut on his hand, and almost chuckled at the way your eyes widened and you got into professional mode, hastily walking around to gather materials he knew all too well - gauze, iodine, all fun stuff. Simon was used to the sting of stitches, but they rarely felt as gentle as you did it, the way he relished on how close you were while fixing his hand, a focused flash in your eyes, not helping his case one bit, even if it was slightly disappointed how all of your shy nature disappeared the moment you had to be professional. He could appreciate how good you were at what you did, though.

Too soon for his liking, you were done, going around mumbling about a specific anti-inflammatory you were going to give him while he admired the neat work on his hand. Still sitting on the infirmary bed, he watched as you realized where the medication was, which just so happened to be on the tallest shelf of the medication cabinet. You sighed, grumbling about the reckless nurse that always messed with the placement of the medications, too caught up in trying to stand on your tiptoes to reach it that you missed Ghost moving right behind you, noticing only when his torso was inches away from your back and he had one hand gingerly touching your waist, the way you shivered not going unnoticed. He indulged in the way you stilled, turning to look at him with a surprised expression, and he almost chuckled at how adorable your eyes looked when wide like that, but, instead, he only looked down at you for a few moments before effortlessly getting the medicine box from the shelf - which was almost at his eye level - and handing it to you, putting minimal distance between your bodies. Mumbling a small ‘thanks’ you averted your eyes from him, visibly gulping while you quickly found the blister inside the box and handed it to him. However, even after taking it from your hands, he made no move to leave, keeping his stare at you while tilting his head lightly to the side.

“Do I make you flustered, Doc?”

You blinked, processing his words before opening and closing your mouth like a fish and looking to the side, breaking eye contact.

“…Yes. I knew you were doing it on purpose…” You mumbled, embarrassed, and he finally chuckled, not a bit ashamed that you caught him red handed.

He was never so glad to be able to read people so well as that day, when he went back to his room leaving behind a bashfully grinning you and the promise to take you out on a real date whenever you’d be free.

#capy.writes #capy.answers #cod #cod mw22 #cod mwii #cod modern warfare #cod modern warfare 2 #call of duty mwii #call of duty mw2 #call of duty modern warfare 2 #call of duty modern warfare #call of duty #simon ghost riley #simon riley #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #ghost cod #ghost x reader

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rileyslibrary · 1 year

Text

The hot seat.

Synopsis: You decide to attend a speed dating event in the city where you're deployed. Simon “Ghost” Riley, your lieutenant, is also there.

Relationship: Simon “Ghost” Riley x F!Reader

Word Count: 1,595

Notes:

I got this idea after a friend told me she matched with one of her colleagues on Tinder.

Fluff.

Want more?

———————————————————————

“Why don’t you just give it a try?” One of your friends suggested, “It’s not like you’ll be committing to anything.”

And when you told them there are other ways to meet new people, such as dating apps, they laughed so hard that you felt offended. “You don’t trust your own shadow,” one of them said, “how could you possibly trust a couple of pictures and a few messages before meeting a stranger?”

They were right; not only had it been months since your last date, but your trust issues weren’t helping. So you listened to your friends and decided to give it a shot. This could be your opportunity to get “back on the horse.”

They wanted to come to your house a few hours before to advise you on what to wear—it seems like it wasn’t just you who had trust issues. “You have a thing with self-sabotage,” one of them admitted, “and we don’t want you to portray yourself as less than who you really are.” A bolt claim from Jessica, the master of self-sabotage, who kept bailing her partner out of jail because he was constantly breaking into people’s houses.

You politely declined, promising to do your best. You chose a little black dress, opaque tights, and black heels. You let your hair down for once, since the army wouldn’t let you, and applied some make-up—but not too much—to enhance your features.

The speed dating event is held in a trendy downtown bar. The room is crammed with small tables, each with two chairs facing each other. You take a deep breath and walk over to the registration desk. You sign up, fill out a form with your information, and they hand you a name tag.

“This Is What You Came For” plays over the speakers, and you can’t help but wonder what made the DJ choose that song. What did I come here for, Rihanna? You think to yourself. To tell a stranger in three minutes about my food preferences and favourite colour? Is that what will ensure compatibility?

Your nerves start to kick in, so you rush to the bar. Your options are limited to beer or wine, according to the bartender. When you ask why, he starts narrating the horrors he’s seen of people attempting to calm their nerves with shots before the speed date. You choose wine and turn to face the people you’re about to meet in three-minute rounds. A few catch your eye; some look intimidated, while others appear overconfident and exuberant. “Peacocks”, as you call them.

The event organiser announces the beginning of the event, and you make your way to your assigned table. Dread grips you. What if you don’t meet anyone interesting? What if everyone you talk to is dull or uninteresting? You take a seat and wait for the event to start.

The first guy who sits down is a health freak, to put it mildly. He gets up at 4 a.m., lifts “hard” for two hours, goes to work, and waits until his next workout at around 6 p.m. He says he likes chicken because of its high protein content and asks what your favourite food is, to which you respond, “Haribos,” to piss him off.

The next one is a cryptocurrency investor. Enough said.

The third guy is a motivational speaker. You’re unsure about the “motivational” part, but he’s undeniably a “speaker.” He doesn’t. Stop. Talking. He only asks for your name, which you don’t have to say because it’s written on your tag. He then starts mumbling about books he’s read and the importance of a proper and consistent morning routine. He and Mr Health Freak could have easily become soul mates, you think to yourself.

Three minutes pass like hours, and you lower your head to the table. This was a mistake. Coming here was, as you suspected, a bad idea.

“I see you’ve already given up.” The man in front of you comments with a smile.

You look up and meet his gaze. He is tall and well-built, with short blonde hair and dark brown eyes. But it’s his sleeve tattoo that draws your attention.

It’s familiar to you. You’ve seen it before, peeking through a military uniform and tactical gloves.

Simon “Ghost” Riley.

You’d never seen him without his mask, but his build, voice, and tattoos are distinct. Your heart is racing as you struggle to remain calm. He, too, appears surprised. Did he not recognise you at first because of your make-up and hair?

Well, it seems like he recognises you now. But you’re not supposed to acknowledge his true identity; doing so might destroy everything he’s worked so hard to keep hidden all these years. It may also jeopardise your professional relationship.

But, my God, he’s hot. He’s exactly as you imagined him, if not better. It’d be best to act as cool as possible. Ignorant, stupid, call it whatever you want—just don’t reveal his identity. There are tens of thousands of people named Simon, and you are not supposed to give your surname to the other person here. So all you know about him is his name. He could be any of the other “Simons” out there.

You immediately put on a happy-go-lucky face and smile, trying to muster the courage to date your lieutenant for three minutes.

“Hi, I’m Y/N,” you reply, trying to play it cool.

He fidgets in his seat, still feeling uneasy. You need to act quickly.

“Yes, I’m about to give up,” you moan and pout, “so please, for the love of God, be a decent one.”

He lets out an awkward chuckle. “I’m not sure about that,” he says.

“Oh, really?” You exclaim, raising your eyebrows, “Unless you speak nonchalantly about yourself, chuck twelve egg yolks in the morning, or boast about imaginary coins, you’re good.”

“Ah,” he says hesitantly, “no, I prefer my eggs cooked.”

“Boiled, scrambled, or sunny side up?”

“I don’t mind as long as they’re cooked properly.” He responds, and you raise your fist to your mouth.

“I assume no runny egg whites?” You ask, making a disgusted face.

“Christ, no.” He smiles and shakes his head.

He appears more at ease now, thinking you haven’t identified him.

But then another problem arises. When dating, one of the first questions you usually ask is about the other person’s occupation.

“So, Simon,” you say, “what do you do for a living?”

“I, um, work as an operator,” he replies. “And you?”

That was a wise move on his part. He knows you’ll relate if he discloses his primary occupation, and you’ll start speculating. So he decided to reveal his side job. Although he is not completely honest with you, which could be interpreted as a red flag, there is a serious reason behind his answer.

“I’m a sergeant in the military,” you admit.

He nods and smirks but doesn’t ask a follow-up question.

“I’m sorry,” he says, “I’m not very good at this.”

“Neither am I,” you chuckle, “but I can help you.”

“Thank you,” he says.

“Do you prefer cats or dogs, Simon?”

“I like both,” he says, “I can’t have a preference for animals; they aren’t eggs.”

“Phew!” You exclaim, theatrically placing the back of your hand on your forehead, “most of the men I met today hate cats!”

“Yeah,” Simon agrees. “I believe it’s because they don’t have control over them like dogs.”

“I feel bad for most of the women in here,” you say, looking around, “for settling for such controlling personalities.”

“How do you know I’m not controlling?” He asks, his brow furrowed.

“Men whose job is to order soldiers around, tend to live a more chilled lifestyle.” You elaborate.

“Order soldiers?” He asks, and you immediately stiffen up. “How do you know I order soldiers at my work?”

“I, um, assume you do because of your profession.” You stutter and look down at your lap.

“I said I’m an operator,” he smirks, leaning back in his chair with his arms crossed, “but I never said what kind of operator I am.”

Your chair has turned into a hot seat all of a sudden.

“From what you know, I could be a heavy machinery operator.” He adds, his smile widening.

You blush and turn to look at the clock; time’s almost up.

He leans forward to the table. “Why such eagerness to end our date, sergeant?” he whispers, “I thought we were doing so well.”

You raise your head to look at him. “I’m sorry, Lt.,” you admit, “I just didn’t want to make you feel uncomfortable.”

“I appreciate that,” he says, “but knowing that you know who I am is already uncomfortable, don’t you think?”

You look down again, and he continues.

“Perhaps it would have been better to acknowledge the elephant in the room from the beginning.” He explains.

You let out a sigh. “You’re right,” you say, “I should have been more honest.”

He nods, and the bell rings for your next date. Simon gets up from his chair and smiles at you.

“Normally, I’d end this with a nice to meet you,” he says, “but in this case, it’s more of a nice getting to know you better,” he adds, extending his hand for a handshake.

You stand up and take his hand in yours. “Likewise, Lt.,” you say, smiling.

“See you tomorrow,” he says.

“For another date?” You joke, “You move too fast, Simon.”

“For the best military drill of your life,” he corrects you with a smirk, “for thinking you could fool me so easily.”

———————————————————————

Part 2 ->

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writerslittlelibrary · 4 months

Text

I'll protect you

masterlist apocalypse au masterlist

part 1 part 2 part 3

summary: infected had been roaming the earth for years, and you, being born after the outbreak, just had to be special. what happens when a certain redhead finds out about your secret? (based on tlou part 2)

pairing: Natasha x teen reader

warnings: angst, guns, fighting, injuries

genre: angst

words: 5223

a/n: finally the apocalypse au is here!!! I’m pretty sure I’ll just make this a compilation of one shots rather than an actual story, but we’ll see :)

(reader is basically Ellie, just with some big twists 🫣)

(If you played tlou part 2, but haven't seen any mcu movies, it is still totally possible to read this fic, as Natasha will just be an unknown character for you. If you've seen the mcu movies, but haven't played tlou part 2, it might be a bit more confusing)

You do not have my permission to repost, copy or translate my work

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Natasha walked through the streets, her gun in her hand, ready to shoot anything and anyone that would dare come her way. She had been in Seattle for a while, and even though the streets were destroyed due to the bombings, a lot of the building were still standing. They were probably fragile and looked extremely unstable, but they were still there.

She carefully entered an apartment building, scared to get either jumped by Scars or Wolves again. She had run into both of them before, and she wasn’t much of a fan.

Her shoulder still hurt from the arrow that Scar shot her with…

After going up the floors slowly, ensuring the hallways and rooms were clear, she found a stable, and somewhat clean looking room almost all the way at the top. The stairs were blocked, keeping her from going further up, and keeping others from being able to sneak up on her.

The only entrance to the floor was the stairway, and that was exactly how Natasha liked it.

She checked the room one more time before setting her backpack down next to a sleeping bag on the floor.

She checked the sleeping bag over, and it didn’t take long for her to realise it had recently been slept on. She reached for her gun immediately, keeping it close to her, and she searched through the room for supplies or a bag of any kind.

It didn’t take long before she found one. An army green bag was stashed into a small hole under the desk. It was obvious someone tried their best to hide it.

Natasha looked through the bag, finding nothing that she didn’t already have. Once she checked the smaller compartment, her heart stopped for a second. She had found a stuffed animal. The bag belonged to a child…

Natasha dug through the bag a little better, finding an old, damaged notebook. It had clearly been used a lot, and Natasha admired the artwork as she flipped through the pages.

“Drop it,” a voice behind her suddenly said, and Natasha could hear a gun being loaded. She carefully laid the notebook down, raising her hands and turning around to face to gun. Turning around to face you. You were just a child…

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Walking around the city was boring, especially because you had to stay hidden and on the look-out for Scars and Wolves. Moving around the city was a lot harder and went a lot slower with those guys around.

You had met some of the Wolves years ago, when they still called themselves the Fireflies and were on some holy mission to make a cure for all of humanity.

You never bought their shit, and even though you grew up in a QZ, close to a Firefly nest, you never believed for even a second that a cure could ever be made. That was, of course, until you got bitten, and you survived.

You had tried to get out of the QZ, wanting to leave the quarantine zone and explore the world by yourself. You hated living in the QZ. It may have been safe, but it was far from ideal.

When you left, you had to go past hundreds of soldiers, making your escape a whole lot more difficult. Luckily you had always been good at sneaking around, being quiet and not making a sound.

Once you were out of the QZ, it didn’t take long before you ran into a hoard of infected, and when you managed to only kill a few, due to your bullets running out, you had tried to run, fighting off any infected that came at you with your knife. You were pretty successful, apart from the fact that one of the Clickers had managed to bite your arm.

You were upset to say the least, and frustrated that you had been so stupid to leave a safe place for some idiot adventure. You spend what you thought was your last two days in an apartment you found.

You didn’t want to turn, but you were out of bullets and you were to afraid to kill yourself with your knife, so you didn’t, instead settling on just waiting it out.

After waiting two or three days, you still hadn’t turned, and after inspecting the bite, you settled on the fact that it had not gotten worse over the days. The infection seemed to have stopped, and even though you were confused, you didn’t really question it.

After travelling around on your own for a while, you were found by a group of Fireflies, who, during a medical check-up you had no say in, discovered your bite mark.

They locked you up, performing all kinds of tests to make sure you were still sharp and alert. Eventually, after about a week, they settled on the idea that you were not going to turn, and that you could be the answer to making a cure.

You didn’t really know what that meant, and you didn’t really care as you were finally allowed to get out of the chains and go to an actual room.

Occasionally, Fireflies would enter your room to perform some more tests, taking your blood and asking follow up question on what exactly happened, and what you did after you were bit. You didn’t really bother to question them, because if you were actually the key to making a cure, you would want nothing more than your life to mean something.

You were only 12 when you got to the Fireflies, and you hadn’t met a single Firefly that was around your age. That was, until a 16-year-old girl snuck into your room.

Her name was Abby, and she told you she was the daughter of the doctor who could make a cure. She became your best friend, and she was there for you when the Fireflies announced you had to go into surgery. Dr. Anderson assured you everything would be fine, and after the surgery a cure would exist.

What he failed to mention, however, was that making a cure would cost you your life.

You didn’t know that, of course, nor did Abby, as she walked with you to the operating room, trying to help calm your nerves.

You were scared, and you didn’t really had a good feeling about the situation, but you didn’t really bother to question it, knowing the only goal the Fireflies had was to make a cure. They wouldn’t endanger your life, would they?

It was Abby who killed her own father that day. It was Abby who got you out of that hospital. It was Abby that helped you run as the Fireflies hunted you down.

No one knew it had been Abby, except for you, and her father as he laid dead on the floor of the surgery room.

Abby found out you wouldn’t survive the surgery, and she had asked the other Fireflies if you knew that. They lied and told Abby you did, and that you were still okay with it. Abby knew you better then that, and she knew you would never lay down your life for the possibility of making a cure.

When Abby discovered you weren’t the first immune person the Fireflies had tried to make a cure with, she was furious, knowing you were just another experiment to them. You weren’t going to survive the surgery, and the chance of making a cure was near to zero.

And so, Abby had made the hard call to try and safe you, even if it meant going against her own father to do so. She had told him to let you go, but he threatened her, saying the surgery was the only hope humanity had left. It was one of the hardest things Abby had ever done, but she was determined to safe your life.

After you two had left the hospital, she drove you far away from it, heading for Seattle.

You two stayed in Seattle for a while, but it didn’t take long until you were kidnapped by the main group inhabitating it.

The Wolves.

The Wolves had tried to get you on their side, but you simply refused, all the while Abby was pretty quickly convinced with everything they were offering. They had food, apartments, safe places to stay and work, and even schools.

Abby had tried everything to get you to stay, but you had simply refused, saying you were afraid they’d find out about your immunity and they’d try to kill you to.

You simply didn’t trust them, and so, you and Abby went separate ways.

You were 14 when you found Jackson, a town not to far from Seattle. They had taken you in and cared for you, and when Joel found out about your immunity while seeing you breathe spores on patrol, they hadn’t tried to kill you.

Joel, Tommy and Maria were the only ones that knew about your immunity, and they kept it a secret as they helped you hide it.

Joel helped you when you tried to hide the bite with a chemical burn, and a girl from Jackson had given you a tattoo to cover that scar. You were pretty happy with how it turned out. It was safe and hidden, not to mention it looking absolutely badass.

When you were 15 and a half, someone in the town had information of trading with an outsider group. They told you they wanted information on one of their deserters, and when you heard it was about a blonde, muscular woman around 20, you knew you had to go look for her. Abby was there when you needed her, and now you wanted to return the favour.

That’s how you ended up in Seattle, staying in the apartments high of the grounds, away from the floods and the Wolves and you avoided the Scars high up in the air.

You had been in Seattle for a least 6 months now, and you were yet to find Abby, although you were certain you were getting closer. You had gotten multiple leads of the scars looking for a woman that fit her description.

What on earth had Abby gotten herself into this time? Not only the Wolves, but the Scars were looking for her as well.

That’s how you ended up in this position, gun pointed at the red-headed woman as she stood there with your stuff in her hands.

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“What are you doing here?” you demanded, and Natasha tried her best to give you a reassuring smile. “I’m not here to hurt you, I promise,” she explained, but you kept the gun pointed.

“I don’t mean you any harm. Do you think you can put the gun down?” Natasha asked you, but you just shook your head.

“How did you find this place?” you asked her, keeping the gun pointed at her head.

“I just stumbled across it-”

“Did the Wolves send you?” you interrupted her, and Natasha looked confused for a second before realising you must’ve ran away from the Wolves. She shook her head.

“I swear I was just passing through, looking for a place to stay for the night,” she explained, carefully taking a small step closer. “You can trust me, I promise. I’m not going to hurt you,” she assured you, but you were careful to believe her.

“Why on earth should I believe you?” you asked her, yet Natasha merely shrugged.

“I’m not a Wolf, and my face isn’t covered in scars,” Natasha reasoned, and you looked her over before slowly lowering you gun, keeping it loaded just to be sure.

“I’m Natasha,” Natasha said as she slowly lowered her hands. “What’s your name?” “y/n” you told her, and Natasha smiled at you. “That��s a beautiful name. How long have you been here?” she asked, and you merely shrugged.

“I dunno. I don’t care. I’m just passing through,” you said, repeating what Natasha had said just now, and watching as a smirk formed on her face.

“Just passing through huh? You seem to be on incredibly high alert for someone who’s just passing through. Why would the Wolves have send me? Are they looking for you?” Natasha pushed, wanting to know what you could possibly be doing in one of the most dangerous cities she had crossed.

You simply shook your head, putting the safety of your gun back on and putting it away in your belt. “You’re good with asking questions, but I’m not stupid,” you told her, taking a step closer and walking around her.

Natasha seemed to get the hint, and she moved around you as well, taking a step away from your stuff and letting you put it back in your bag.

“What are you doing here, all on your own?” she then asked you, and you smirked slightly as you shook your head. “Just passing through, like I said.”

Natasha smirked at your stubbornness, before deciding to open up herself, hoping that would help you trust her. “I’m looking for my sister. The last message I got from her came from Seattle,” Natasha explained, and you stopped packing your bag for a moment as you looked at Natasha, confused as to why she’d tell you such a thing.

“Are you looking for someone too?” Natasha urged, and you sighed slightly as you finished stuffing your objects in your bag.

“Maybe your sister joined the Wolves. You aren’t allowed to have any contact after that,” you explained, and Natasha simply nodded, thinking for a moment before speaking again.

“Did the person that you’re looking for join the Wolves?” she asked, and you looked down, not knowing what to say. “Maybe we can help each other,” Natasha suggested, and you looked at her confused.

“Why would I trust you?” you asked her, and Natasha merely shrugged.

“If I wanted to kill you, I would’ve done it by now,” she told you, and you glanced at the gun strapped to her thigh.

“Fair point,” you told her, walking to the desk and using a key to open the top drawer, taking out some bullets and medicine.

“So that’s where you hid the useful stuff? Smart,” Natasha commented as she watched you load your stuff into your bag, making sure to keep her distance. “Are you planning on moving locations?” Natasha asked you, and you nodded.

“Scars build bridges high up to get around the Wolves and the flood. I’ve been using the bridges as well, but sometimes they sent patrols through the routes. The patrols are always small, yet I still don’t want to be here when they arrive,” you explained, walking to the door and checking if it was clear.

“Can I come with you?” Natasha asked, and you looked at her for a moment, contemplating on letting her go with you.

You didn’t really trust her, how could you, you just met. Yet you also didn’t get a bad feeling with her, and you liked that. You simply nodded at her question, and Natasha smiled as she took out her gun.

“Did you see anyone come up here when you did?” Natasha asked, scanning the halls.

You shook your head, taking the safety off your gun as you walked to the stairway.

When you made it to the stairway, you spotted seven figures on one of the bridges, heading straight towards your location.

“I do now,” you said as you motioned for the group of Scars approaching you.

“What do we do? This is the only way down?” Natasha asked as she loaded her own gun.

“Not exactly…” you told her, pointing to the other side of the hall. “There’s a stairway over there, and it’s never used by Scars…” you explained as you trailed off, checking the location of the patrol group before making your way towards it.

“Why do you say that with such hesitance?” Natasha asked, and you made an awkward face as you opened the doors.

Clickers could be heard coming from every direction, and Natasha grimaced as she realised that was your only way out. “Can you be quiet?” you asked her, and Natasha nodded as she screwed a silencer on her gun. She handed one to you, and you took it gratefully as you screwed it on your own gun.

You were so screwed…

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After you and Natasha had cleared one floor, avoiding the Clickers and only taking out the Runners, you had made it to a second floor.

The only problem, you could see the amount of spores floating around through the small glass window in the door. Natasha took out her mask, but you didn’t, as you didn’t have one.

“You don’t have a mask?” Natasha asked you as you slowly shook your head, not wanting to tell her about your immunity, but not really seeing any other option than to go through the spores.

“It’ll be fine,” you assured her, but before you could open the door, Natasha grabbed your arm.

“That many spores will take you life within seconds,” you told you, and you gave her a small smile. “Trust me, it won’t,” you told her as you opened the door, walking inside and breathing in the spores.

Natasha was beyond confused, but when you didn’t start coughing she decided not to question it until after you had gotten out of the building.

You and Natasha made your way across the floor, mindful of any Clickers that may have been on it, yet the only infected you had seen were the two Bloaters in the hallway. They were easily avoidable, but perhaps you had spoken too soon as you got jumped from the side, a Stalker on top of you, trying to bite you.

You panicked and tried to fight it off, the commotion only alerting the two Bloaters as they now headed for the room you were in.

For a second you thought Natasha had abandoned you to safe her own life, but that thought soon left your head as the Stalker’s limp body fell on top of you, a bullet hole straight through it’s skull.

“Come on!” Natasha yelled as she pushed the Stalker off of you, grabbing your hand and dragging you to your feet, running to the nearest door and trying to open it.

“BLOATERS!” you yelled as you shot at the two infected behind you. The Bloaters were getting closer and closer, and yet Natasha could not get the door open.

“We’re gonna fucking die!” you yelled.

“Like hell we are!” Natasha yelled back as she finally pushed the door open, pulling you through it and immediately barracting it from the inside. The two Bloaters ran against the door, and a loud ‘bonk’ could be heard as they tried to push it open.

You leaned against the wall, hunched forward with a hand on your chest, trying to steady your breath.

“You okay?” Natasha asked as she tried to catch her breath herself, already checking on which way you could go. You tried to speak, but you were breathing so heavily you opted to just raise your thumbs.

“Why don’t the spores bother you?” Natasha then asked, and you looked up, surprised she asked so kindly.

You simply shrugged, wanting to put off telling her about your immunity for as long as possible. “I just saw you breath enough spores to take down a dozen men! Yet you seem to be fine,” Natasha stated, and you sighed.

“Spores just don’t bother me,” you told her, and she looked at you sceptically, wanting to continue looking for an answer, but when the doors started to get dents from the Bloaters running in to them so often, she decided against it, instead deciding to try and get down to the street as fast as possible.

“We can move through here, but it’s gonna be a bit of a squeeze,” Natasha said as she pushed a fallen closet away from an opening.

“I hope you’re not claustrophobic,” she then said, inspecting the small opening.

You walked towards her, taking a deep breath before speaking. “I can fit,” you told her, and she nodded.

“I’ll go first,” Natasha said as she pushed herself through the opening, turning back to you. “Try to stay close,” she told you, and you nodded.

“I’m sure I’ll be fine,” you told her before taking a deep breath in, squeezing yourself into the opening. “Cozy,” you mentioned, and you heard Natasha let out a little chuckle.

“Let’s just go and get out of here as soon as possible,” Natasha said as she continued walking.

The two of you were going at a slow pace, but you were moving forward. That was until the ground beneath you became unstable, and after hearing a few cracks here and there, the ground gave up completely, sending you and Natasha tumbling to the floor below you.

But the fall wasn’t one floor, or two. You fell three floors down until your back collided with the ground, and some of the rubble fell on top of you.

Natasha fell down next to you, she herself being seemingly fine.

After a second of laying there, groaning on the floor, you heard growling and screaming coming from beside you.

You turned to look at it, and when you did, you immediately regretted it. It looked like a Shambler, but even more mutated. There were arms and feet and heads sticking out everywhere, and you couldn’t even tell where the head of the original person was.

It came running at you with an incredible speed, and while you tried your best to get the rubble off of you, Natasha scrambled up to help you, running towards you as fast as she could to help you get the rubble off.

Once the mutated infected got to close, Natasha turned around, shooting it a few times, but it wouldn’t die. It didn’t even look bothered by the bullets Natasha impaled it with.

You frantically tried to get the wooden planks and rubble from you, nearly crying when you realised you weren’t strong enough, and the mutated infected would probably get you. It came closer, and Natasha fell backwards as she kept shooting it.

Once it got too close, the weight of you three and the rubble pushed the floor to collapse, making you all fall another floor down.

Once you hit the floor, the rubble landed next to you, and Natasha helped you get up and dragged you as she ran to a place to hide. You both had landed in some sort of parking garage, a layer of water and old cars filling the space. The infected, which you had decided to call the Rat King, was quick to scramble to its feet, growling as it started to walk around, trying to find you two.

“Are you alright?’’ Natasha whispered, her hand still on your shoulder as you both crouched down behind the car.

You nodded, yet flinched slightly when you heard the Rat King growling.

“What the hell is that thing?” you whispered back, and Natasha shrugged a little while glancing over the car, wanting to get the Rat King in her vision.

“I have never seen anything like it before,” she told you. “It’s like it’s three infected grown into one…” Natasha trailed off, pulling you out of the hiding spot and out of the way, just seconds before the Rat King slammed itself into the car you had hid behind.

Natasha started running, dragging you with her as she ran towards a wall, pushing you behind it.

“Try and find a way out. I’ll distract it!” she told you, pulling out a gun as she started shooting at it. The Rat King seemed affected by the gun she used now, and it seemed stunned for a few seconds before it continued it’s way towards you two.

You turned around, running towards the wall of the parking garage, hoping you could try and climb out that way. You didn’t find an opening, and you were about to climb up when you heard Natasha yell to turn around. You did, and the Rat King was charging straight at you, growling and extending one of it’s many hands.

You ducked, running towards Natasha as she pushed you behind her, continuing to shoot at the Rat King.

The Rat King stopped for a moment, a part of him ripping off, and a Stalker fell off. It ran towards a car, hiding behind it. The Rat King itself quickly regained it’s posture, charging back at you. You shuddered, standing behind Natasha closely as she kept shooting at the Rat King.

You could have cried. You were absolutely terrified and it just kept going. It didn’t look like the Rat King had even suffered any amount of damage.

“Keep looking!” Natasha yelled, and you took another look at the Rat King before turning to the other end of the parking garage, trying to see if you could find an opening there. You heard Natasha’s gun firing, and before you could even reach the wall, the stalker from before jumped you from the side, taking you down to the ground.

You couldn’t move for a moment, the shock making panic run through your body. Once you regained your ability to think, you reached for you knife, stabbing the stalker in the head and killing it.

You stood back up, using a car to climb on top of a truck, making you stand high enough to reach the ceiling.

You found a vent, pushing some of the rubble away and finding a way to climb through.

“Over here!” you yelled at Natasha, looking at her as she was still shooting. How many bullets did she even carry with her? Seeing Natasha trapped in a corner, you took out your own gun, shooting at the Rat King. The moment your first bullet collided with the Rat King, it turned around, facing you.

It started walking towards you now, and you froze as you kept shooting. It got awfully close until, suddenly, it stopped moving, falling to the ground.

It groaned and screamed and moved for a few moments, until it finally settled, giving you and Natasha time to breath. You fell to your knees, moving into a sitting position to catch your breath. That thing must’ve been the scariest thing you had ever seen.

Natasha quickly came towards you, climbing the truck and kneeling next to you.

She laid her hand on your back, her other hand coming up to your cheek to turn you face towards her. “Are you okay, did it get you?” she asked you, and you shook you head as you closed your eyes.

“What the fuck was that thing?” you asked her, and she shook her head as she replied. “I have no idea. I’ve never seen anything like it. It looked to be some mutated version of a Shambler.”

You nodded, sighing deeply.

“Maybe that was patient zero?...” you thought aloud, and Natasha seemed to think for a moment before looking at you.

“Maybe, we are close to a hospital,” Natasha confirmed, and you nodded.

“Let’s hope we never run into such a thing ever again,” you mentioned, and this time Natasha nodded. “I found some vents, maybe we can get out through there,” you said, pointing towards the opening.

Natasha stood up, walking towards the vent and glancing inside, shining a flashlight in it to get a better look.

“It looks clear, and it’s probably the best shot we got at getting out of here,” Natasha confirmed, and you nodded as you stood up too, walking towards her. You looked around the parking garage one more time, confirming that there was no other way to get out.

When you turned around, Natasha motioned for you to get in first. You turned on your flashlight and crawled in, feeling even more squished than before.

After crawling for a little while, you finally found daylight, pushing the vent at the outside away and crawling out.

“Fucking hell,” you stated as you stretched, immediately recognising the three figures that were standing close by as Wolves. When Natasha crawled out as well, you pulled her up at her arm as fast as possible, ducking behind a crumbled stone wall.

“This day just keeps getting better,” you mentioned as you reached for your gun once more, ready to take the Wolves out if they got to close.

“Let’s try and get around them,” Natasha said as she laid her hand on your arm, pushing it down. “If they see us, we’ll just draw more of them,” she stated, and you nodded as you put your gun in your belt.

“What’s your plan?” you asked Natasha, and she thought for a moment before pointing towards a street. “We make it over there, follow the road down and we’ll get to a movie theatre. We can rest up there,” Natasha explained, and you looked at her sceptically.

“Are you sure?” you asked her, and she nodded.

“I’ve been staying there for a few days before I tried to make it further into the city,” Natasha explained, reaching for her silenced gun.

You reached for yours too, and Natasha laid her hand on yours again. “Only for emergencies,” she stated, and you nodded as you loaded it.

“I’m almost out anyway,” you told her, and Natasha checked her gun, mentioning that she was almost out as well.

“We’ll just try and not kill anybody then,” Natasha stated, as she checked the position of the Wolves before moving towards a cafe, climbing through an open window and disappearing behind it.

You checked over your shoulder, seeing the Wolves still looking the other way, before you too moved towards the cafe, following Natasha’s movements.

Moving through the cafe, staying low, Natasha led you to the back door, going through it and sneaking to the next building. You could hear the Wolves talking, but so far they seemed to be oblivious to the fact they were being watched.

You and Natasha made it all the way to the end of the street, and you didn’t appear to have been followed when you looked back.

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After walking a few blocks, you two finally arrived at the movie theatre. You two got inside, barricading the door and plopping down on a couch, finally being able to catch your breath.

You sat down on the couch, dropping your bag at your feet as you sat back, exhausted from the days happenings. Natasha on the other hand, was still standing, telling you she was gonna try and find if the electricity was still working.

You acknowledged her words, laying back on the couch.

After a few minutes, the lights turned on, and you knew Natasha must’ve found some generator.

Natasha made her way back towards you, setting her own stuff by the couch in front of you.

“We can stay here for the night,” Natasha stated, sitting down on her own couch. You nodded, to tired to respond.

Natasha chuckled, seeing your exhausted state and deciding not to push you to talk anymore.

“Get some sleep,” she simply said, and you hummed in acknowledgement as you let sleep overtake you. Natasha laid down on the couch as well, she herself following close behind.

part 2

Permanent tags: @marvelnatasha12346 @lesbionion @nova-kyle @darkstar225 @saraaahsstuff @marvelwomenarehot0 @screechcat @slut4johansson

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webslinger-holland · 1 year

Text

The Emperor of Magic | Prologue

Summary: More feared than the Shadow Summoner himself and more powerful than the Sun Summoner could even imagine, the Emperor of Magic is the only known human to be able to manipulate magic. Having only been a myth up until this point, Kaz Brekker sets out to take her captive in hopes of making himself rich in the process…

Warning: +18 Warning, mentions of gruesome deaths, person taken into captivity

Pairing: Kaz Brekker x Fem!Reader

Type: Series

Word Count: 1.6k

Series Masterlist

It had been three and a half years. Any spare moment was spent keened over a desk looking at outdated documents, old records, and even ancient books. Plans had been laid out, but were often discarded once a flaw presented itself. The rumor had started three and a half years ago; that there had been a sighting of what ancient texts called ‘The Emperor of Magic.’

This was no ordinary human being. They couldn’t be classified as Grisha since they only performed small science. They are only able to manipulate things. The Emperor was able to craft, wield, and destroy anything. They are the only known being to control magic.

There were theories that tried to reason and explain the power and extent of magic. The Emperor needs to see a victim in order to inflict order and control their mind. The Emperor must touch a victim’s skin to possess them. The Emperor need only hear their victim’s voice to be able to control their every thought. Though the wildest theory claimed the Emperor doesn’t need to see, touch, or hear anybody in order to control them. They are already all-knowing. Therefore, they could control.

More feared than the Shadow Summoner himself and more powerful than the Sun Summoner could ever imagine. The Emperor of Magic rose above all others. Their power was not limited to one area like the Grisha. They had the ability to control anything and anyone.

The Emperor was not viewed as a Saint; they were viewed as a demon from the depths of hell. A man had died the most impossible death; his head exploded into millions of pieces. Some witnesses were around when the incident happened and called the authorities. Now someone had been taken into custody.

Due to the extent of the incident, the leaders of the three nations called a meeting to discuss what should happen next. They met in Ravka. In the Little Palace, they attempted to come to an agreement as to what should be done about this new threat to their world.

While Ravka, Fjerda, and Shu Han had their differences in the past, they were willing to work together to come to a solution about this issue. If they refused to work together, their countries might cease to exist in a few years time or they might lose their thrones of power. They needed to find a solution.

“She went willingly. Didn’t put up a fight,” the King of Ravka explained to them. “She very well could have taken down my entire army if she wanted to, but she didn’t.”

“Are we absolutely certain it was her?” The Taban Queen of Shu Han spoke.

“Once she was in custody, she killed two more guards the same way,” The King of Ravka claimed. “It is most certainly her.”

“How was she detained?” The King of Fjerda asked in a thick heavy accent. He had obviously heard about the extent of her powers.

“My soldiers took her by surprise,” the King of Ravka boasted. “They covered her eyes with a bag and put muffs over her ears. Stuffed a gag in her mouth so she could not speak and bound her wrists so she couldn’t perform any magic.”

“Where is she now?” The Taban Queen of Shu Han wondered.

“She is currently being kept in a high security prison. Though I fear the cell is not built to contain someone as gifted as her. She needs to be kept in an impenetrable place,” the King of Ravka said slowly.

The Ravkan King’s eyes had shifted to the King of Fjerda. The Ice Court was a military stronghold that was truly impenetrable. Many of the druskelle were tasked with guarding the high-security prison, keeping track of all prisoners. The King of Ravka knew that the Ice Court would be the only place that would be able to contain someone of such power.

“You don’t think she would be able to escape the cells?” The King of Fjerda questioned. “She can control anything; she could make her way out of a flimsy cell.”

“That’s why I’d like to send a Fabrikator to construct a cell to hold her,” the King proposed. But this only caused the King of Fjerda to laugh.

“I would never allow the likes of Grisha into my court,” the King of Fjerda seethed in threat. His people liked to hunt those who could manipulate small science. They found so much pleasure in killing them.

“Then say she does escape. Don’t you think she’ll want to take us out first?” The King of Ravka explained. This only caused the other king to frown. “She is called ‘the Emperor’ for a reason. She won’t need kings or queens once she is in power. She’ll take our thrones if we do not stop her now.”

“You can stop her by killing her,” the Fjerdan spat. “Strike her down where she stands. The demon does not deserve to live.”

“But she could be of great use to us,” the Queen of Shu Han spoke up. Her people were known for conducting scientific experiments and inflicting inhumane treatment onto the Grisha. “If we could harness that power, we’d be able to control our enemies,” the Queen grew excited from the thought alone.

“Exactly,” the King of Ravka nodded. “She’d become our greatest weapon.”

The three leaders agreed that they liked power and they’d like to remain in power. By eliminating the threat, they’d have very little to gain from it. However, if they were able to obtain that power of magic somehow, they’d be able to weaponize it and use it against their enemies. They’d be unstoppable.

So they crafted a legal document in which they all had to agree to and sign. In the document, Ravka would supply the materials needed to contain the threat. The Fabrikators would have to create a cell that could contain such power. They’d also be tasked with crafting the proper attire that would render her imobile and make it so she could not use her magic. The Fjerdan would provide the space to contain her and the people to guard her. The druskelle were known to be some of the best soldiers in the world. The Shu would provide the knowledge. They’d send scientists to perform the experiments needed to figure out how to harness the power of magic.

Each nation had a part to play. And it was going to work in their favor.

That meeting happened three and a half years ago. There was no evidence that the meeting ever happened besides the legal document which explained each nation’s part to play in the whole scheme. Only one person had lived to see the incident happen that resulted in the death of a man. That is how the rumor started.

The Emperor of Magic had been sighted, but there was little evidence to prove it. The man claimed that the authorities took her into custody, but neither the captive or the guardsmen were ever seen again. The man who claimed to see all of this was starting to go crazy, becoming a theorist whose ideas sounded extreme.

The rumors spread across the lands and fell on ears. Many people chose not to believe the man, insisting that there was no such thing as magic and whatever he had seen was just make believe. Some people were most intrigued by his stories and wondered what truly happened to the person captured.

The Little Palace kept the legal document of evidence in a sealed vault. The document had actually never been seen by anybody other than the three people who had signed it. However, unbeknownst to the three rulers, the legal document that was currently sitting in the vault was not the original copy.

About three years ago, a small group of criminals had broken into the palace on a completely unrelated heist. Their true intent was to capture the Sun Summoner who had just recently been discovered. But one of the members stumbled across a secure vault.

He had a thing for lockpicking. When he was able to open the vault, he was slightly surprised to see a single piece of paper inside. He took it without hesitation, coming to believe it must have had some type of significance if it was locked away. He quickly crafted a replica and forged signatures before slipping the copy into the vault.

Kaz Brekker was able to find the one piece of evidence and quickly became obsessed with it. For the next three years, Kaz studied that single piece of flimsy paper until the edges became worn and the paper grew discolored. He tried finding old reports on abnormal or supernatural behavior. He pulled out old records of prisoners kept in the court. He even read ancient texts which described the emperor’s power.

Why the fascination? Why the obsession over a mere myth? The answer was clear to him.

He didn’t believe in saints or demons. He didn’t care about people who could manipulate small science or people who could control magic. What he saw was an opportunity to make him rich beyond his wildest dreams.

If other people in power knew about this potential weapon, how much would they be willing to pay for it? If he managed to break her out of prison and keep her captive himself, what kind of power would he possess? Power. Money. Control.

He began crafting the ultimate heist. He recovered old maps of the court they had made during their first heist as a full crew. He studied the old myths to become more knowledgeable in the kind of threat they’d be facing. Wanting to keep his whole crew alive if possible, Kaz was making sure every aspect assured their safety.

They couldn’t be seen by the emperor. They couldn’t be heard by the emperor. And they could not touch the emperor. But Kaz somehow devised a plan to get the emperor out of prison.

It took him three years. He lost count of the amount of paper he’d gone through. He spent too many hours studying those old documents. He also didn’t relay any details to the rest of his crew. At least, not until he was able to perfect his plan.

Finally, after three years, Kaz was content with the looks of his heist. He looked over the plans once more. He managed to break into the Ice Court once. How hard could it be doing it again?

THOUGHTS ON THE NEW SERIES?

#Kaz Brekker #kaz brekker angst #kaz brekker x reader #kaz brekker series #kaz brekker x y/n #kaz brekker x you #six of crows #kaz brekker imagine #kaz brekker smut #kaz brekker fluff #kaz brekker oneshot #kaz brekker x inej ghafa

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deadgirlwalking91 · 13 days

Text

New Guitarspear fic! 🎸 🗡️ chapter one below ⬇️

‘Thank You for the Venom’

Summary

Meet Adam. Commander of the Exorcist Army, arrogant loudmouth, womaniser, professional slacker.

And there’s Lute. Liuetenant of the Exorcist Army, hardass, cold bitch, overachiever.

They’ve been at each other’s throats for years – ever since anybody can remember. When Lute undermines Adam’s authority and presents an improved Exorcist training program to his superior, he makes it his sole mission to ensure her project is a failure.

What he doesn’t realise is that she’s usually two steps ahead of him.

What neither of them realise is that the Exorcists are taking bets on how long until one of them finally wakes up and sees what’s clear as day to everybody but them: that they’re both head over heels for each other.

I own none of these characters, they’re just super fun to write about. The swearing is plentiful, there’s talks of violence and there might be some spicy scenes down the track. The plan is to keep this light-hearted and fluffy (well, as fluffy as a story about these two can be), but as always things may change down the track.

This takes place before the events of Hazbin Hotel, and before Vaggie falls.

I’m planning to post this on Ao3 too… once I’m accepted.

***

Chapter One

Adam & Lute’s Office, Exorcist Training Centre, Heaven

Lute knew she’d messed up this time.

If she had an ordinary boss, she might only cop a slight reprimand for going over his head – an uncomfortable conversation, promises of ‘I’ll never do it again’, waiting for time to pass until the awkwardness of the situation wore off and they could go back to business as usual.

Unfortunately, her boss was far from what most would consider an ordinary angel – both in title and temperament. Which consequently meant his reaction to her undermining him would be… hostile, to say the least.

“I can’t fucking believe you went to Sera without talking to me first!” Adam bellowed, pounding his fist on his desk. Old coffee cups, abandoned paperwork and scattered stationary threatened to spill over the edge, littering the already cluttered floor around his workstation. “Fucking low blow babe, even for a kiss-ass like you.”

Don’t rise to his anger. Keep a cool head. Explain your case.

“Sir,” Lute laced her fingers together and placed them on the surface of her own desk, ready to state her case for taking her proposal directly to the High Seraphim and bypassing her superior. In contrast to her Commander, her own workspace was neatly arranged, not a hint of messiness to be found. She cleared her throat. “I tried to talk to you about this a week ago, and you dismissed me.”

“You haven’t said shit to me.”

‘Yes I have,’ she thought to herself, resisting the urge to retort back and begin a verbal tennis match. She knew she’d win – after all, she was much smarter than Adam, and could hold a sentence without swearing, cursing or a sexual innuendo. Stooping to his level would just escalate the situation further than where it needed to be, and if it got to that level she was certain things would get ugly. Fast.

“I’m positive we have had this conversation, Sir.”

“Nup. We haven’t.”

Lute inhaled slowly and deliberately through her nose, trying to supress her already-rising frustration. He was being particularly petulant today, and she found her patience with him was quickly wearing thin. Squaring her shoulders, she continued. “Sir, we were on our way to the eight o’clock agility training session. I remember it clearly as you were complaining that you had a meeting with Sera later that morning. I thought it would be an opportune moment to mention it to you as it would be fresh in your mind when you met with her.”

Adam snorted and leaned forward onto his elbows; the golden facial expression on the screen of his mask fixed into a jeer. “And you think that was a good time to approach me about one of your lame ideas? I thought you were smarter than that. What’s my first rule of working together, sweetie?”

Don’t throw a knife at him. Don’t threaten to disembowel him – as much as you want to. Stay calm, Lieutenant.

“With all due respect, Sir –” Lute growled, her professional tone wavering. “I hardly think that putting limits on when I can and cannot converse with you is conducive to creating a professional working relationship with you.”

“Firstly, we don’t have a professional working relationship, babe. It’s pretty fucking black and white, actually – I’m your boss, you listen to me. It’s not that difficult a concept to grasp.” Lute opened her mouth in anger to protest, but Adam held up a single finger, signalling for her to wait. Dumb move. That single gesture just fuelled the intense rage that was quickly building inside her.

“Secondly, the rule is don’t talk to me about important shit before nine o’clock. Chances are I won’t remember it because I’ll be half asleep, and I’ll give even less of a fuck about what you’ve got so say because you’ve pissed me off before I've had my morning coffee.”

“I’d rather not talk to you at all,” Lute said through gritted teeth. “But, I unlike you, actually care about Extermination Day, and if we continue how we’re currently track-”

“And I, unlike you,” Adam said mockingly in a high-pitched voice that was supposed to sound like Lute’s, “couldn’t give a shit about how many Sinners we slay next Extermination Day, or whatever the fuck it was that you ran to Sera about. The only thing that matters is that we show our faces in Hell on Extermination Day and slaughter some demon ass. That’s it. Those fuckers are scared shitless of us anyway, so it doesn’t matter how many we kill, we'll always have the upper hand. It’s called working smarter, not harder, babe.”

He cannot be serious right now. Does he not realise that our kill rate is slipping, year on year? How this might affect us long-term? That Sinners might start to fight back once they figure out that we’re starting to let our guard down?

“So what you’re telling me,” Lute started, now barely able to contain her vitriol, “Is that you don’t give a flying f-”

“Exactly.” Adam stood up and smirked down at Lute, the smug look of satisfaction on his mark now too much for Lute to bear.

Fuck you, you arrogant prick.

“Conversation’s over. Get back to actually doing your job, Lieutenant, instead of wasting my time with your insignificant, petty bullshit. Don’t fucking pull a stunt like this again.”

Adam strode towards the door of their shared office, pausing briefly as his hand rested on the door handle, his smirk intensifying. “Oh, one more thing.”

“What?” she snapped, head now in her hands. She couldn’t even physically look at him.

“I’m pretty sure we just established that I’m your superior, so a bit of respect would be nice to hear, Lieutenant.”

“What, sir?” Her hands pulled in frustration at her silvery-white bangs that had fallen into her eyes.

“Be a good girl and finish that overdue paperwork for me, would you? I’ve got more important shit to do. It’d be a good reminder for you of what your job actually entails.”

That’s it.

Lute had tried to play nice. Tried to do the right thing and raise her suggestion in a polite, professional manner. Took an alternative avenue once she realised her attempts at improvement were going nowhere. She’d even attempted to sit calmly through his dressing-down without reacting to his bullshit. But now?

She’d finally snapped.

Agilely leaping over her desk so she was in front of his, she picked up one of the multiple long-forgotten mugs that cluttered the surface and hurled it in his general direction.

Lute hadn’t really expected for it to hit him – the act of picking up the mug and throwing it had been born out of built-up frustration and anger at her imbecile boss, a need to expel some of the hatred that had built up over the course of their most recent conversation. The fact that it had connected with the side of his head and shattered into at least a hundred tiny ceramic pieces?

Just a bonus, really. It was just a damn shame it didn’t leave a mug-sized hole in his head.

‘Good. Hope it fucking hurt.’ She allowed herself a moment of satisfaction, taking in his surprise as he lifted a hand to his head and checked for blood. Time to let him have it.

“If anything,” she hissed in a low, dangerous voice. She was now moving towards Adam, one hand clenched by her side, the other pointed threateningly at his face. “Let me get this one thing through your thick head – though more than anything right now, I’d love to drive my sword between your eyes, carve up your tiny, pathetic excuse for a brain and force feed it back to you raw.”

Adam opened his mouth to respond, his surprise at her tone quickly turning to fury, but she didn’t give him the courtesy. He needed to hear this – graphic acts of violence and all.

“Shut it,” she snarled. “Shut the fuck up and just fucking listen for once, as difficult as that is for you. Because I’m not your fucking secretary. I’m not your assistant. I’m here to do my job – which is to provide training and mentorship to the other Exorcists, because you’re too damn incompetent to do it yourself.” Her normally restrained voice grew louder. “Perhaps if you focused more on doing your job, instead of screw-”

“Geez,” Adam drawled, “You’re a fucking little mouthy cunt, aren’t you?” He gripped the wrist of Lute’s outstretched arm, rage etched all over his mask, which had started glitching ever so slightly. Not a good sign.

Ouch. Lute may be the better aim of the two, and more agile, but Adam was had the upper hand when it came to brute strength. She was positive that his hold on her wrist was going to bruise – that was going to be fun to explain once it was noticed. She continued to stare him down, never daring to break eye contact or even blink. She couldn’t let him think he’d won. Even if he did have her arm in a death grip.

She’d rather fall to the depths of Hell than admit defeat to him.

Rap-rap-rap.

“Adam? Lute?” a soft voice called from behind the door. “Is everything alright? I heard something break just now.”

Sera.

Seizing her moment, Lute yanked her wrist from Adam’s grasp and made towards her desk once again.

“Come in, Your Highness,” she called in an uncharacteristically chirpy voice. “Adam accidentally dropped his coffee mug, and it broke, which is what you must have heard. I was just showing him the best way to clean up the mess.”

Adam shot her a filthy look and stomped back to his desk, muttering incoherently under his breath – though Lute was sure she heard the word bitch at least twice.

The handle clicked, and Sera poked her head through the gap between the door and the frame. She frowned at the scattered ceramic pieces that lay forgotten on the floor.

“Are you two… having a disagreement?” she asked concernedly, her large, almond-shaped eyes noticing the glowering looks the two angels were shooting each other. “I thought I could hear shouting.”

“Yeah, we’re fine Sera,” Adam waved his hand dismissively at Lute. “Lieutenant here was just running some ideas past me for next month’s training plan and got a bit carried away.”

‘As if he hadn’t completely flown off the handle just minutes ago’ Lute thought angrily to herself but feigned a smile and nodded politely. Going toe-to-toe with Adam in private was one thing, but she prided herself on keeping her composure around the Seraphim and other senior angels in Heaven. They didn’t need to know about their little disagreement.

Or the hundreds of disagreements that had occurred before this one. None had been quite this heated, though.

This was the only one that had almostended in violence, though. That was a first.

“Oh, excellent.” Sera moved into the room and shut the door behind herself. “What do you think, Adam? Your Lieutenant has some brilliant ideas, which I personally can’t wait to see executed over the coming months. Her presentation to me was very promising.”

The look on Adam’s face was positively feral now. Lute relished this moment and made a mental note to file this look away in her memory bank – seeing him quietly seethe in the presence of his direct superior, knowing it was in his best interest to keep his cool was something she was going to enjoy. To rile him up further, she propped an elbow on her desk, rested her chin in her hand and shot him a quick, satisfied smirk.

Cop that, asshole.

“Yeah,” Adam grumbled, suddenly busying himself with the paperwork on his desk. “They’re good.”

“Well,” Sera clapped her hands together and smiled at Lute, who bowed her head in respect in return. To hear that her proposal was highly regarded by one of the most senior angels in Heaven was praise beyond what she ever expected to receive for her work.

It was certainly more than what her direct boss had ever given her.

“That settles that, then. Lieutenant, if you could please come with me, I’d like to add a couple of things to your training program that I’ve thought of.” Lute nodded and rose from her desk once more, gathering her bag and notes. Noticing that Sera had turned to open the door once more, Adam quickly shot Lute a one-fingered salute to bid her farewell. Lute simply mouthed, “get fucked” in return.

“Oh, Adam, I see you’re working on the monthly training incident report that I asked you to turn in a week ago,” Sera said as he hastily went back to pretending to review his work. “Make sure it’s on my desk by five o’clock, please. I need it for a meeting tomorrow with the other Seraphim.” She turned and glided out the door, Lute only a few footsteps behind – though she took care to accidentally bump Adam’s shoulder with her own as she trailed behind Sera.

“Kiss-ass.”

“Dick.”

Lute closed the door with a little more force than necessary – just for good measure, knowing it would infuriate Adam to no end. Just to rub her victory in a little more. Because, after this round?

The score was Lute – one, Adam – zero.

Laughing to herself, she was sure she could hear Adam cursing her with language colourful enough to paint an entire rainbow as she strolled down the hall to Sera’s office.

Bring it on.

***

The Common Room, Exorcist Training Centre, Heaven

The Training Centre common room was abuzz with idle chatter and echoes of laughter as Lute entered later that morning, determined to continue her work far, far away from Adam. No formal training sessions had been scheduled for that day – the result of his poor timetabling skills, Lute was sure of it.

She would have expected the Exorcists to be using their ‘free’ time to hit the gym, or initiate sparring sessions with one another. Perhaps use the opportunity to enhance their weapon skills or, if they were particularly ambitious, simulation training. Slaying holographic demons was almost as satisfying as the real thing. Just a lot less bloody.

The reality was, on personal development days, the Training Centre turned into a goddamn sorority house. Hundreds of incredibly beautiful women congregated together in the common room, not a helmet or uniform in sight as they lazed about in their casual clothes. Some were huddled together in small groups, hands wrapped around mugs of steaming coffee or tea, giggling at whatever the latest gossip happened to be - usually centred around Adam’s latest squeeze. Others congregated around tables, playing card games (the most popular one lately, Lute had noticed, was an extremely competitive game involving red, green, blue, yellow and black cards that seemed to invoke a lot of shouting and name-calling).

The sight of it all never failed to give Lute a thumping headache. This wasn’t a fucking kindergarten, this was supposed to be work, dammit.

It wasn’t that she was against fun. She knew how to enjoy herself. There was nothing better than cosying up on the couch after a long day at the Training Centre with a hot chocolate, blanket and comforting book. Or an intense, two-hour gym session, sweating her frustrations away – a ritual she religiously undertook every single day, no excuses.

Sometimes, when Lute really wanted to spoil herself, she’d have a bubble bath. Now, that was wild.

Sighing, she located one of the more comfortable, vacant armchairs and slumped into it, allowing her eyes to close for just a moment. Normally she’d redirect the Exorcists to go and use their time more productively but after her earlier verbal sparring match with Adam, she needed a moment to relax before she got stuck into the fresh paperwork Sera had assigned her.

Sera loved paperwork.

Only three more days until I can start to turn this shitshow around.

“You look like hell.”

Lute chuckled softly. Without looking, she knew exactly who had greeted her in such a matter-of-fact way – it was the only person she’d allow to do so without punishment. Opening her eyes, she was graced by the presence of a petite angel perched on the arm of her chair, her soft red, almond-shaped eyes crinkled into a look of concern. She handed Lute a mug of steaming, black coffee which she graciously accepted with a wry smile. This morning’s events called for extra caffeine to get her through the rest of the day.

What an angel.

“Thanks, Vaggie. Rough morning in the office again.”

“Ugh. What did he do this time?”

One of Lute’s favourite things about Vaggie was how she was certain she was the only other Exorcist in the lounge who openly hated Adam as much as she did. Probably because she was one of the only other soldiers who he hadn’t taken to his bed over the years. They both often joked that he was the sole reason Vaggie was a lesbian, that the First Man was so repulsive that he alone caused her to swear off all men.

Lute didn’t have her sexuality as an excuse as to why she’d never slept with him. She just straight up hated him. Plus, it would be highly unprofessional. And he was a cretin.

Did I mention that I hate him?

“He found out I took my proposal to Sera.” Lute took a long sip from the cup, the scalding liquid almost burning her tongue. Perfection. “Then proceeded to lose his shit because he forgot that I’d tried to talk to him about it before I approached her. He thought that I’d undermined him.”

Vaggie rolled her eyes. “Typical. How did it end? Did he threaten to leave you in Cannibal Town next Extermination Day again?”

Speaking of cannibalism, I threatened to feed his own brains to him. That’s normal, right?

“Um, not quite.” Lute began, taking another sip of coffee. “I might have accidentally-on-purpose thrown a mug at his head.”

Also totally normal.

“I’m so proud of you. Did you make him bleed?”

“Sadly not, but there’s always next time.”

Vaggie grinned, clinking her own mug against Lute’s. “I’ll drink to that.”

“Amen. He then called me a mouthy cunt and I’m about ninety percent sure one of us would have caused grievous bodily harm to the other if Sera didn’t walk in at that exact moment. The cherry on top is that she came to tell him we’re going ahead with my plans.” She set her empty mug down on a nearby table and grinned up at Vaggie, who had now crossed her legs and somehow still managed to stay perfectly balanced on the arm of her chair. Tiny little thing, she was. “You should have seen his face, Vaggie. It was glorious. I’m surprised he didn’t self-combust in anger.”

“If only.” Vaggie downed the rest of her drink. “So, if Sera’s approved the plan – congrats, by the way, we need to celebrate - when do you start whipping us into shape?”

“Monday morning. We’re going to announce it in here during the morning address, before we move into the training rooms.” Lute surveyed the Exorcists lounging about. “Don’t know how the girls will take it, though. Can’t say I’ve scheduled too many days like this.”

“It won’t be easy at first,” Vaggie warned. “They’re too used to this kind of freedom.”

“I know, and if Adam undermine-”

“UNO!”

Lute and Vaggie whipped their heads around simultaneously at the sudden high-pitched squeal, Vaggie almost losing her balance and toppling off the armchair in the process. A group of five Exorcists were at a nearby table, playing the colourful card game that seemed to be all the rage.. One was grinning madly as she clutched a single card to her chest.

“What even is that?”

Vaggie’s eyes widened.

“Seriously? You’ve never played Uno? I know you’re a hermit Lute, but come on.”

“No,” Lute admitted, “Who would I play with anyway, besides you?”

“Fair point. But – and I say this with love – I’m worried that you’ve thrown yourself into your work a little too much lately, especially with this new program you’ve created. You need to relax a little.”

“What does it look like I’m doing now?” Lute grumbled. “If I’m not training, working, or exercising, I’m relaxing.”

“Lute,” Vaggie laughed. “I could see how tense you are as soon as you walked in here – and to be honest, you’d be uptight even if you didn’t have a crappy morning. This isn’t chilling out. Relaxing is letting your hair down, getting a drink after training with the girls. Playing cards,” She nodded towards the group of angels, the girl who was holding one card now picking multiple others up from a pile, cursing her friends as they all giggled amongst each other. “Try it, you might enjoy it. It’s actually pretty fun, once you get the hang of it. I absolutely annihilated Scout the other week, she wouldn’t talk to me for three days.”

“Maybe. It’s probably blurring the lines between me being their superior and being their friend, though.”

“Oh yeah,” Vaggie said dryly. “And you don’t think them taking turns being Adam’s flavour of the week blurs any lines, do you?”

Dammit. She’s got a point.

Lute screwed up her nose in disgust.

“That’s different. I’m professional, he’s… not.”

“I’m not saying sleep with them, geez.” Vaggie rolled her eyes and slid into a standing position. “I’m just suggesting maybe try being friendly with the other girls, that’s all.”

“Fine. Once the program’s under way. If they don’t hate me for kicking their asses and making them actually work.”

“You may be a hardass, but nobody’s gonna hate you.” Vaggie held out her hand, motioning for Lute to take it. “Come on. Let’s grab lunch, I’m starving.”

Would it be so bad if I let my guard down… just a little?

Lute took her friend’s hand, allowing herself to be pulled up off the seat. She grimaced slightly at the tenderness in her wrist where Adam had grabbed her – no doubt there’d be a bruise there tomorrow.

“Alright, let’s go.”

Vaggie slung her arm around her friend’s shoulders as they walked towards the cafeteria together. “Buckle up, buttercup. Shit’s about to get interesting.”

***

Chapter Two

#guitarspear #guardrock #lute x adam #adam x lute #hazbin hotel lute #hazbin lute #hazbin hotel adam #hazbin adam #hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel fanfic #guitarspear fic

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shelbgrey · 7 months

Text

Dr. Jelousey(Ray Stantz)

Paring: Ray Stantz x Reader

Summary: just Ray getting jealous when the new rookie starts flirting with his girl.

Warrings: SMUT, oral(Femal receiving) Public sex?

MasterList

Our brand was and always will be 'we're ready to believe you' and with that we are always one call away... Or was one call alway.

“sweetheart, are you sure you don't need help?” I snickered, I peaked over my book and saw him and dozens of tools under my desk.

He dropped his screw driver and sighed. “Nope! All good, just set there, read your book and look pretty”

I just shook me head and chuckled. Janine had gone on a much needed vacation and the guys had been out all morning on a call. I was covering the front desk for Janine for the week since I wasn't 'allowed' to go on calls for a while, I get one bruise and Ray freaks out.

Anyway, it's not like a could do my temporary job due to the fact the main phone had been down all morning. Ray, being the only other one here(besides Egon) with me, was convinced he could fix it. An hour had since passed, and he was currently cramped under my desk checking the wiring.

I rolled my eyes and nudged his butt withmy Converse covered foot, he swatted it away without looking over his shoulder at me.

“you sure you don't want me to get Egon down here?” I asked reaching for my bottle of Coke. After I leaned back in my wheely chair, Ray's head hit the bottom of my desk, he peaked up at me like I was crazy for suggestioning it. “No!” he gave me his cute little smile before diving back under. “I got this Honey”

“You said that thirty minutes ago,” I pointed out then sipped on the straw that was in my glass bottle. I held the straw between my teeth and pushed my chair back as he sat up. He gave me and grumpy look and sat on his knees between mine.

“sip?” I grind, holding out my coke bottle to him. He cracked a smile and took the bottle and chugged half of it before giving it back.

He pointed at me. “now, I know what I'm doing... It's just taking longer than expected” he said then dove back under the desk.

I picked my book up and continued the chapter, as dove back into the story I couldn't help but chuckle at Ray's mumbling. “red wire... Blue... Why is there a purple one?”

“okay! I think I got it,” came Ray’s voice from under the desk, he bumped my knee as he moved around. I had to resist the urge to playfully kick him in butt again.

“hand me the Philips screw driver will ya,” as handed him the The screwdriver the door to the firehouse suddenly opened, and our new rookie walked in. He had a cocky smile when he saw me behind the desk, he was clueless about who was under it though.

The new rookie was John, he was Peter's little cousin. He had been kicked out of the army and Peter's aunt was tired of him staying at home unemployed, so she sent him here to work.

He's a real pain in the ass and everyone(including Peter) knew it. He had broken his protonpack twice since he's been here and he's not very good at listing. And don't even bring up the time he let Slimer out to Peter.

“Hey, there beautiful” he smirked, Ray sighed and continued to work on the phone. “so I scanned the apartment with Egon's do-hickey and I couldn't find anything.” he said, approaching the desk. “I think that old Broad is crazy.

I offered him a small smile, he knew I was with Ray, hell we've been together since college. I was never fazed by John's blunt flurting. My eyes quickly shot down when I felt Ray shift under the desk, but he made no move to get out from under it.

“Well, that apartment complex has had many sightings, did you find anything else?” I asked try to sound like a professional co-worker, he's the only one I felt like I needed to do that with.

The man leaned on the desk. “no... But hay, I could be wrong. How about you and I check it out again then maybe grab some dinner after words.”

My eyes widened and before I could answer Ray’s hands grined both of my thighs. I quickly covered up my surprise with a chuckle. “I make a point not to go out with co-workers”

“so, were you just banging Stantz for kicks?”

“john,” I repeated, pointedly ignoring the feeling of Ray’s head sliding in between my legs, my hand dropped down and gripped his hair, signaling him to stop.

Ray's hand sliding up the inside of my Jean covered thigh then unbuttoned my jeans. “john, you know I'm with Ray” I said quickly then shut my mouth before I made a sound I would regret. I then took a deep breath when I felt Ray's fingers running over my panties. I lifed my leg and gently hit his hip with my foot, he didn't let up.

John gave me a cheeky smile, that's when you knew you were about it hear something real idiotic or cocky. “come on baby-”

“you wouldn't know what to do with me even if I came with instructions” I said cutting him off, Ray chuckled aginst my clothed core sending pleasurable vibrations.

I quickly put my hand down on the table with a bit too much force. Ray didn't get the message and just pushed aside my panties and was now lightly teasing me his fingertips.

John smirked and leaned over the desk. “you'd be surprised what I know”

“I-I'm sure” I tried to say sarcastically. I had about enough of him and at this point Ray. I tried my best to keep my voice normal, but with Ray toying with me, I ended the sentence with a squeak when I felt Ray's fingers enter me.

John now looked concerned. “Are you alright?”

I sent him a straight smile “Fine! Fine. But I'm serious... I'm not interested” I said in a more serious tone, even though I felt Ray tugging at my jeans, I stubly shifted and lifted my hips so he could slide whatever he wanted off. I had to choke down a squeak when I felt his lips on the inside of my thigh, his teeth lightly nipping at my sensative skin. I reached down silently beaging him to stop with a tug on his hair, but we both know I didn't really want him to stop.

“Take a hike kid!” Ray suddenly said, making John bounce back from the desk. “What the-”

I shrugged and With that, John jogged up the steps annoyed.

“Raymond!” I said threw my teeth and I pushed my chair back, he pulled me to the edge of the seat and bury his face between my legs. “What the hell was that?”

“I didn’t like how he was talking to you,” he mumbled. My head fell back when His toung licked a stripe up my clit, my hand fell to the back of his neck

“I don't like the way he looks at you” he mumbled aginst my thigh

I let out a wimper as I tugged on his brown hair. If I didn't know any better, I'd say he was jealous. But Ray's not the jelouse type... Maybe protective. It was hot to see my sweet boyfriend so possessive. But quite frankly, I couldn't think straight enough right now to worry about it. Ray was busy thrusting his tongue as far as he could while his thumb rubbed my clit gently. As much as I loved his touch, I needed more.

“R-Ray, please, I need you,” I wimpered as my hips instinctively started bucking up against his face. He rough hands fell fell to my hips and gribed tightly. “hang on Baby.. Cum for me first”

I threw my head back and moaned as he sealed his lips over the spot I need him the most, he sucked while his two fingers rubbed my clit. He always knew how to make me a moaning mess, saying his name like it's a prayer. At this point in our relationship he knew my body better than I did.

With his fingers pumping and curling and his tongue relentlessly teasing, along with the sight of him on his knees and his face between my legs, I felt myself quickly hurtling toward the edge.

“oh God... Ray, I'm so close,” I moaned, arching my back and into his face for some extra friction. He wasn't having that and one of his hand reached up to hold me in place.

He hummed while his tongue flicked quickly over my clit. He added a third finger and curled them up to the spot that had me seeing stars. He let out a grunt as my walls clenching around his fingers.

“Ray...” I Whispered as he continued to pump his fingers as he helped worked through my orgasm, he became so gentle once again. I gently carded my finger though his hair, trying relaxe. He gently kissed my stomach and slowly pulled his fingers out to lick them clean. I couldn't help but watch him intently as I cought my breath. He smirked as he ducked back down between my thighs and licked my folds clean, catching every last drop like it'll was the last time he'd ever be able to do it.

When he was done he rested his cheek on the side of my knee and stared at me with his usual puppy eyes. My fingers left his hair and slid down to his cheek, he nuzzled into it warmth. “hmm, I love you” he said in a raspy voice. His hand found mine and pulled it from his cheek to kiss my palm.

“so... You don't go out with co-workers?” Ray asked sarcastically as he nuzzled his nose into my knee, he kissed it then rested his chin on it so our eyes met. He had his big dopey smile that I loved so much.

I rolled my eyes as I leaned down and kissed his forehead. “we've been dating since Columbia, before we became co-workers.”

I quickly sliped my jeans back on and Ray stood up then put both arms on the arm rests of my chair, trapping me in, his lips pressed to mine for a heated kiss. “the Kid needs to know his place, your mine”

“Peter needs to stop being afraid of his aunt and fire the kid” he mumbled aginst my lips.

I smirked into the kiss and pulled him closer by the collar of his flannel. “were you jelouse Mr. Stantz?”

He bit my lip gently, making me squeek. “I don't get jelouse”

He nuzzled his nose against mine, making me giggle. I loved it when he did that, it was always a small gesture of love we had since day one. Before he got back on his knees he gulped down the rest of my coke and dove back under the desk.

“if you get the phone fixed we can order Chinese and watch a movie” I said handing him his wire striper tool.

“sounds good... Can you hold the flashlight for me please?” he said.

“We're back!” Peter called out as I turned on the flashlight for Ray. I looked up and smiled at Peter.

He was carrying a smoking trap and behind him was a slime covered Winston, I couldn't help but chuckle. Peter must have noticed something because he chuckled and handed the trap to Winston. He lefted and Peter folded his arms on the table and leaved over the opposing side of me.

He looked down and the desk and rested his chin in his hand innocently. I looked around trying to get one step ahead of him. I mently kicked myself in the ass when I saw my underwear on the floor next to the wheels of my chair, as stupid as it sounds I forgot to put them on before my jeans.

Peter knocked on the desk, making Ray hit his hesd. “Oh Ray... Did ya get the phone fixed Or did you get distracted?”

The three of us had been close since college, so if it was anyone else besides Peter I'd probably crawl up in a ball and die of embarrassment. Than a again our best friend wasn't planning on letting this go either.

Ray came out of his hiding place and stood on his feet, he wobled a bit getting up. He set the screw driver down, staring at Peter with roasy cheeks.

“you know I'm gonna hold this over your heads for a long time, right?” he chucked. Ray nodded with a straight smile. Peter laughed and slapped his shoulder. “glad you got some though, but seriously we need the phone fixed”

Ray nodded as Peter went upstairs to change. Ray looked back at me and smile. “I can fix it”

I gave him a smile and nodded. “I know Sweetheart”

#Ray stantz x reader #Ray stantz smut #Ray stantz imagines #Ray stantz #Ghostbusters smut #Ghostbusters imagines #dan akroyd #Peter Venkman x reader

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queensoybean0724 · 1 year

Text

Here is a spur-of-the-moment Karl Heisenberg/female reader drabble! Enjoy and I hope everyone has a great weekend!

****

Karl ripped your shirt and bra from your body and placed you on his work desk. His eyes were ravenous and his hands grabbed your tits.

“Mmmm…” he growled, “…you always insist on coming in here and distracting me…”

You couldn’t help but giggle as you propped yourself up on your elbows, watching him as he unbuttoned your jeans and pulled them from your legs. Putting one hand back on your breast, his other hand pressed to your pussy, rubbing you through your panties.

“Karl…” you moaned, arching your hips up, “I’m sorry…I just wanted…”

“…you wanted to fuck,” Karl interrupted, taking the fabric of your panties and pushing them between your wet folds, dragging it back and forth, teasing your sensitive clit. “Be careful, sweetheart,” he warned, “you know how long I can go once I get started…”

You tilted your head back and cried out as Karl dove between your legs and lapped at your pussy, your underwear a barrier between his tongue and euphoric bliss.

“Karl…” you whimpered, “take my panties off. I want to feel more of your mouth on me…”

Heisenberg chuckled against your cunt before pulling away, moving your drenched underwear back and forth through your pussy lips. You were damn near delirious, tears forming in your eyes. All you wanted was his mouth, his lips, his tongue…

“Please, Karl!” you shouted, pushing yourself up on your hands to look down at him.

Karl flashed you a grin as he pulled the panties aside. “Oh, I love hearing you beg…” And with that, he leaned in, his tongue attacking your clit with light flicks and long strokes.

You looked down at him, watching his mouth devour you. Your body trembled and your hips bucked against his face. Karl grunted and growled, feasting on your cunt like a starving wolf.

“Oh my god…yes…Karl, fuck me with your tongue…don’t stop…” you whimpered.

He shoved his index and middle finger inside of you, pumping in time to his tongue making teasing patterns over your clit.

Just as soon as he started, he pulled away, removing his fingers from inside you. A soft whine escaped your mouth before Karl’s fingers pushed past your lips.

“Suck your juices from my fingers,” he ordered, his dark eyes boring holes into yours, “and listen to me very carefully…”

You did as he asked, never taking your eyes from his as your tongue circled his fingers.

“I crave every fucking inch of your body every minute of every day. If I didn’t have an army to build, I would be balls deep inside of you constantly. Unfortunately, I have a job to do. And that job gets put on hold when you come in here with that delicious skin and intoxicating scent of yours. Then I cannot perform my tasks until I have emptied my cum into you at least three times and have made you cum more times than I can remember. You have every part of my being in your hands, sweetheart. And now, I will reduce you to a sweating, shuddering, dripping mess before finally getting back to work…”

Your tongue had stopped swirling long before he finished his monologue. This dangerous, intelligent, charismatic man owned you and was obsessed with you, and you felt the same way about him.

The two of you kept your eyes on each other as he made quick work of unbuckling his belt and unzipping his pants, shoving them down and freeing his cock. “You’re mine,” he stated before pushing every inch of himself inside of you.

#karl heisenberg smut #karl heisenberg fanfic #karl heisenberg #karl heisenberg x reader #karl heisenburg x reader #resident evil village

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cottondo · 7 months

Note

Hey babes! First of all, let me just say that I ADORE your writing <3333 I can tell you have a lot of passion for what you do!

If it’s alright with you, I’d like to request a Blitzø x fem! reader story. Preferably how he navigates a shy, sweet imp. I was thinking that they could have been childhood friends or something like that. Whatever you decide to do I’ll read (and love) it <3333

Thank you so much!!

aahww thank you sm lovebug🥹💞 I appreciate the kindness !

also,, really hope I got your request right?? I lowkey wasn’t exactly sure on what you wanted LMAO but I hope you like it regardless <3

Blitzo x fem! imp reader | navigate

The sound of your breath in a humid environment was all you could really focus on. Or, more so, trying to control it.

Blitzo insisted taking you on some stupid 'adventure', —if thats what he called it— and of course, it turned into a mission.

Why the hell wouldn't it! You didn't expect much less from him.

You particularly didn't care much for his mission work. Sure, okay, it seemed kinda cool sometimes- - but the,, almost double-dying part, was intimidating as fuck.

Keeping all your limbs attached to your body was really your biggest goal living down in Hell. It was easy enough to end up getting stabbed, maybe break a horn or two, or even end up in a shitty situation with some demon lords that rule rings trying to chase you down. Especially as an imp!

Maybe it was because you actually valued your death-life, and Blitz,, .. just didnt? But, regardless, you didn't wanna be here, doing this today.

A heavy hand rests on your shoulder abruptly, causing a small flinch to react from your figure.

Blitz leans in close, a crazy little smirky smile on his face. If the space between you got any smaller, you thought your oxygen levels would've been completely cut.

He managed to drag you into some hide out, a gun in his hand, army crawl position beside you in a long vent you two crawled inside of together. Shoulders harshly bumping against each other's to prover just how little space there actually was inside.

It was hot in here, and he was hotter, which only added to the uneasiness you felt in your chest.

"Don't tell me you're bitchin' out on me, y/n." He whispers to you, eyes focusing on your nerves. Blitz knew you better than just about anyone. And to be fair, he should. You two have been friends since childhood, so nothing goes unseen around him.

Your frown lightens, vision trailing to look back at him. "Nooo? I'm totally fine," you flash a cheesy smile back.

Blitzo's eyes roll, "Yea- ok, I'm teaching you combat, whether you like it or not, bitch. If youre gonna be working with us, you can't just sit around at the desk looking all cute and shit, everyday." He reminds you, "I need you to learn how to be more assertive!"

He thought you were cute? Ayee, score for you.

Your lips curl into a smirk over at him.

"As cute as I am, I can still be assertive." Now it was your turn to remind him.

It didnt look like he believed that statement. Actually, you knew he didnt.

"What happens when some dick fucker tries being an asshole to you? Pulls out a gun? One day I'm not gonna be able to get there quick enough to save your sorry ass." He frowns, some annoyance clear in his tone.

Your eyes widen, and your lips sound a gasp as you face him. "Oh my god- - is that the sound of you caring about someone other than yourself~?" You tease sarcastically, eyelids lowering casually again. Blitz turns away with a scoff.

"I didn't know that was even possible," you add onto the teasing, obviously getting some sort of rise out of him.

"Listen!" He narrows his vision. "Oka- you know damn well that I—"

His words get cut off. The sound of a door opening, and footsteps entering the room catch both of your attentions. You flinch when the door slams shut behind the figure. It was a short demon. Big horns, and an even bigger snout. He sort of looked like a dead pig. You cringe.

"Oh, fuck." Blitz smirks, raising up his gun. "This is too easy. You comin' or what?" His shoulder nudges yours. You give a dull look in reply. "Do I have a choice?"

"No, you don't." He smirks over his shoulder at you.

You follow close behind his army crawl towards the end of the vent. It wasn't far away at all, just totally felt uncomfortable being on your hands and knees in such a small space for so long.

Blitz quickly kicks out the vent door, and jumps down to the floor with his gun tightly in hand. Your eyes watch his figure as he lands perfectly in the room, alerting the demon who was on Blitz' kill list.

Damn.

It was kind of crazy how good his combat is. You know he has a lot of practice- - which does make you slightly worry from time to time about just how much trouble this job really gets him into. (And how much more it'll get you into if he continues to drag you along for the ride.)

With a small push, you slip yourself out of the vent, and land on two feet with a practiced swiftness. You've gotten enough rehearsal time to do small, crafty things, but you weren't perfect- - nothing like how Blitz was, anyway.

But at least you still looked good doing it.

The listed demon looks quickly between the both of you, Blitz ready with a crazed grin on his face while holding the gun, and you, with your knife strapped to your side, looking nothing as intimidating.

"Y/N! Grab him!" Blitz commands from you.

You hesitate for a second, "Blitz, do we really hav—"

"Cmon!" Blitz tosses his head back and groans, quickly rebounding and aiming the gun to the guys head before he got any bright ideas. "Lets dance, bitch!"

The demon, though all three of you were trapped in a very small room, does his absolute best to dodge each and every bullet. For a porky lookin dude, he was quick on his hooves. He managed to miss most if not all, bullets aimed his way.

You lunge forward, and tackle him to the ground like a tiger pouncing its prey. Blitz cheers you on, fist pumped up in the air as he watches with excitement down at you. "Thats what im talkin about, y/n! Now tie his ass up, we gotta use him as bait for the rest of them."

"The rest of them?" You glare in question.

His hand tosses you down a rope, which you had no idea where he kept it hidden all this time, but look up to Blitz anyway, as you struggled a little, straddling to keep the demon down beneath you.

Your hands desperately grab the rope, and you begin tying. Blitz insisted no helping, as this was his way of teaching you proper ways to hustle- - but you'd gladly accept it if he offered any.

First, you wrap up the struggling mans hands, then, you move down to his kicking feet. He managed to give your shoulder a good hit with his foot, but that only resulted in Blitz raising his own foot, and forcefully bringing the tip of his boot into the guys side. The demon lets out a groan.

"Damn, what the hell, asshole." You glare down at the demon who only glares back up at you through his groans. Your hands take the bandana from around his neck, and retie it around his mouth to prevent any sounds coming out of him.

"Great, now lets get the fuck out of here!" Blitz grins, picking up the hostage and throwing him over his shoulder with a small struggle. You follow along close behind, eyes checking both sides of you with some slight paranoia. It already came to the point in the day where you were very much over this job. Why the fuck couldn't you guys have just stayed in the circus business?

"Y/N! Take out those assholes up on the catwalks!" Blitz points to a few more demons that were going to be next on your list for the day.

While the two of you ran for the far exit, your eyes follow up to where Blitz was looking.

You spot them. "Got it!" Your voice beams, and pulling out your gun, you aim for the straps that kept the walk attached to the ceiling. One shot, you took the one side of the catwalks down, which results in the demons falling and tumbling down to the floor of the warehouse.

"Fuck yeah!" Blitz laughs as he uses the tied hostage as a punching bag for other demons that try to stop the two of you. He swings the hostage demon around, using him as his own personal weapon, causing some slight laughter out of you, to which both you and blitz were surprised about.

The demons you caused to fall, start charging your way. With a quick thought, you take out the knife strapped to your side, and get ready to use it. Blitz grins over at you. "Remember to aim for the neck!" He calls out from ahead of you.

Your smile brightens at the teamwork you both have. "Thanks!"

A hand reaches for you, but with a stealthy slide to the side, you duck under the arms and push the torso of a demon down to the ground.

This was getting . . oddly easy.

You hop over the demon on the floor, and smile brightly over at Blitz.

With you catching up to his side, your lips stretch into a grin as you open the door to the warehouse for him. “Did you see?” Your question was almost eager sounding. Breaking out of the shyness of the situation, you’ve actually gained a bit more combat knowledge.

Blitz grins over at you, throwing the hostage to the ground as the both of you make it out, and find a safer area to catch your breaths.

“Hell yeah bitch!” Blitz looked so happy, giddy, even. It was so freaking cute.

“I knew teaching you my way would pay off.” He crosses his arms, a soft smirk on his face.

Your face flushed lightly, the shyness beginning to take over just a bit. Your shoulders shrug upward, and the smile on your face was light. “Thanks,”

“I’m proud of you.” Blitz’s voice is quieter than his usual loud and obnoxious form, but you still catch it. Your eyes widen a bit, and staring at him in a small shock is all you could do for a second. “Really?”

Blitz looks flustered, so you decide to let any teasing go. It wasn’t often he would give real compliments. Even if he did know you long enough, to.

“Of course, fuck face.” He replies, rolling his eyes with a smile still stuck to his face.

You bump his shoulder, grinning just a little harder than before. “Learned from the best.”

______________________

really sorry its not my best work,, just allot goin on in life rn but I still hope you liked it anyway ! <3

#helluva boss blitz #blitzo #blitzø #helluva boss #helluva boss x reader #blitz x reader #blitzo x reader

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rosewaterandivy · 9 months

Text

fightin' to get better

modern!eddie x f!reader

summary: eddie does his damndest to get us out of the study to take a frickin' break.

a/n: My blog is 18 +, minors DNI; purely self-indulgent smut and prosaic idolatry here, my usual brand of filth.

🎶 ooh, let you slide up your hand, uh oh, let go all of my plans 🎶

Grad school could suck a dick. A whole bag of ‘em as far as you were concerned. The entirety of your summer had been taken up by this final class— a subject you loved, but far too much reading and work assigned for the condensed semester.

Eddie thought so too.

The man was quick to chime in when you’d had a glass of wine or two and finally extricated yourself from the front room you’d claimed as an office. Couldn’t understand how you would be complaining one minute and then the second he adds his two cents, you’re defending the professor in question.

But then again, you’d always been tender-hearted.

Which more than explained your penchant for collecting strays, present company excluded, naturally.

“That’s it,” he says, fingers working to peel the damp label from the beer bottle. “First thing tomorrow, I’m gettin’ on the horn with this so-called professor.”

“Eddieeee,” you whine, lips falling into a pout. “Don’t do that.”

He leans into it really playing it up, an eye roll and scoff combo, head inclining to rest on your shoulder as he falls on you dramatically.

“Can’t have my best girl pulling all-nighters every other week.”

His voice was softer, not laced with his typical jocular tone. The bright images of the screen dance across your faces in the cool room. Eddie settles against you, warm breath fanning across your chest and neck.

He can see the subtle dark hues beneath your eyes, hates the evidence of your sleepless nights spent in front of the computer, nose buried in a book.

“I know,” you rasp after a beat or two. “I’ll get better baby, I promise. S’just a few more weeks and then I’m army-crawling to the finish line.”

He cracks a smile, unable to hide his elation at your accomplishment— at you.

Eddie Munson and his genius girlfriend, who would’ve thought?

—

So it really shouldn’t be a surprise a week or two later when Eddie wanders into the study to find you up at all hours of the night. Again.

“Babe—”

“Jesus Christ!” You jolt in your chair, startled by the sound, and slowly swivel toward him. A deep breath once you realize who it is, eyes adjusting to the darkness of the room.

And, sure enough, your boyfriend is standing there wiping the sleep from his eyes, sporting his Suspiria sweats and looking entirely displeased.

“God Eds, make a noise! You’re like Ruth Gordon just standing there with a tannis root.”

He crosses his arms with a sign, ignoring your barb. Ruth Gordon, with her blue eye shadow and head scarf? Puh-leeze.

“You said you’d be ten minutes.”

You shudder at the timbre of his voice— raspy and low, hitting the sweet spot that sends heat rushing to your core.

“Shit, I’m sorry, babe.”

Glasses discarded and hair askew, you sigh catching the time and start to pack it in for the night.

Eddie is surprisingly quick for someone snatched from sleep and dreaming, he turns your chair away from the desk and fixes you with a look.

The penetrating kind, where he squints and tilts his head like he just can’t figure you out. And yeah, he’s never really understood academia or why the books you’ve had to buy are always so damn expensive. But he does his best to support you, reminds you to eat and sleep more than he’d like because you have the tendency of getting too caught up and distracted.

His gaze softens, “C’mere pretty girl.”

Eddie picks you up and throws you over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes, despite your protests. Smacks your ass for good measure.

“M’gonna fall!”

“No, you aren’t,” he tuts, “Such a drama queen.”

He barrels through the dark house only to deposit you in the dimly lit bathroom. A shaft of light eeks in from a partially opened closet door, candles flickering on countertops catching their reflections in the mirror.

Right side up again, you pause and take a look around. The bathtub is filling up, bubbles growing in soft peaks of foam, and a bath bomb fizzles away, painting the water in candy-colored hues.

There’s a glass of wine and another of ice water, sweating against the ledge of the tub. An iPad propped up in the corner, your favorite show cued up and ready to go.

“Baby,” you say, turning back to him, voice barely above a whisper. “What is all this?”

He takes a step toward you, the slightest inclination of his chin prompting your hands to rise above your head. Eddie’s nimble fingers find the hem of your shirt and tug it upwards, soft fabric brushing against your skin only to be kissed with damp heat.

“Jus’ wanna take care of you,” he says simply, quietly. As if he’d rather do nothing else.

“Oh.”

His fingers alight on the waist of your shorts, thumbs hooking in and pulling down.

“Hmm.” He says, kneeling in front of you, brow quirked and eyes seeking yours. “Feelin’ lucky today or—"

The heat rises in your chest and neck, hands flying to cover your face while he lazily peruses your bare form.

Not so much luck as it was sheer exhaustion that informed your sartorial choices and distinct lack of underwear today, but you’ll take what you can get.

His breath ghosts along your thighs, muscles tightening inadvertently, the coil in your stomach winding taut.

As you step out of the shorts, Eddie turns off the faucet and herds you back against the sink. A brief lift and you're sitting on the countertop, legs splayed, head falling against the cool mirror behind you.

Eddie buries his head between your legs, and smothers praises between your thighs.

Eddie's pretty sentimental with oral— kissing, kissing, kissing— can't stop his lips from meandering, can't stop his mouth from savoring. He noses against your slit, tongue darting out to taste. A low rumble ripped from his chest as the slick muscle works against your petaled heat, savoring the arousal gathered there.

He gets dizzy off it. Selfish for it. It all goes to his head— whimpers and moans falling from your candy-pink mouth, a prolonged whine of his name.

Left, then right, back over again. Drowsy roaming paths, curving and bending, pleased when you arch into his mouth, forever wanting more. Licks you for hours like you’re the last bit of sweetness in the world, savors it long and lazy and delicate.

"Sweetheart," he sighs, pulling away briefly. Lips ruddy and wet with your slick, smiling slow and dangerous, “You’re fucking delicious, baby.”

You moan on his clever tongue and the sloppy sounds he makes. He's always stunning— eager and devoted to the singular task of lapping at you like a starved man.

Two fingers twist inside before he turns them back and shoves them in his own mouth. He repeats this again and again, like pulling a secret from your body that only he’s allowed to enjoy.

“Yes,” he sighs, “Fuck yes. Fuck—mmm—"

It's as if you're on the precipice of a coming storm, pressure building, and rising, too, in your belly, as he works into your body, heavy-lidded and transfixed on your beautiful face. Deeper until you’re shaking, pulling your legs up over his shoulders, getting him closer, closer, closer.

Your toes curl.

"Eddie—"

You shatter like a splinter of lightning. It bursts across your skin—a bright, brief halo—before it’s gone, chased by the explosion of swollen clouds. He muffles a loud fuck! into the meat of your ass, while his fingers continue to corkscrew inside of you.

He's wet down to his wrist, coaxing vestiges of arousal from you, and rises to kiss your open, panting mouth, your exposed throat. Eddie's lips turned wicked and desperate when he asks, "Think you can gimme another one?"

Nodding dumbly, bath and freshly laundered sheets completely forgotten, you watch as he all but yanks you down further, ass now hanging off the countertop. Swings your legs over his shoulders and dives back in, your cunt now positively flooded due to his velvet tongue.

On the bright side, this all-nighter was exceedingly better than the one you had planned; you wouldn't have it any other way. Well played Eddie Munson.

Well played.

#eddie munson x you #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson smut #eddie munson fanfic #🏃🏻‍♀️💨#Spotify

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chiefdirector · 3 months

Text

Photographing | Tim Bradford | The Rookie

(Y/N) spun on her chair, waiting for the computer to make its move in the latest of a string of chess games. The Sergeant in charge of the detectives, Caradine had been drying her out when it came to cases, leaving her nothing but time. The computer moved its King to B7.

Rolling her eyes, (Y/N) debated moving her bishop only to be cut off by Grey approaching her desk, a small box neatly tucked under his arms.

“Are you really playing computer games right now?” He asked incredulously.

She quickly closed the tab. “No…?”

“Don’t you have a job to do? Or are you still left behind? Because if you are, I can speak to Sergeant Caradine, get him to ease up on you.”

“No. Thank you though,” She shook her head, turning in her chair to fully face Grey, “As much as I appreciate it, I don’t need special treatment. Especially right now. I need to earn Caradine’s trust again…. Not that I had much of it in the first place. But onto another subject, what brings you over? Super cool secret crime to fight?”

Wade laughed, placing the box down in front of (Y/N) “Not quite. This was dropped at the front desk for you. Smitty tried to open it, so I rescued it.”

“I didn’t order anything.”

(Y/N) carefully picked up the box, examining the outside for a return address. The only text was her details for the postage. No stamps, no indication of where it came from.

“Who dropped it off because clearly it didn’t go through USPS.” She stood up, taking a step back from the desk.

“Right,” Grey said, reaching for his radio. “I’m calling the bomb squad.”

“Don’t!-“ she cut him off before the order could be given. Instead, she moved for the second drawer in her desk, pulling out a pair of latex gloves. “You held it. It’s far too light to be any form of explosive. It felt almost empty.”

Grabbing the Swiss Army Knife from the pocket of her jacket, she flicked the blade open, slicing through the top layers of tape, leaving the flaps of the cardboard loose. Gently, she opened both at the same time and peered inside.

The box was empty save for a single photograph. It was a polaroid image of (Y/N) and Tim leaving their home for work yesterday morning. He held her hand, shielding her from the outside. She was almost invisible save from her hair flowing out from behind her.

Flipping it over, (Y/N) silently read the message inscribed in red ink. All my love, R.D.

“‘R.D.’ Regina Diaz. She’s trying to mess with me.” (Y/N) passed the photo over to Grey, “she also sent me the other photos using polaroid.”

“This was yesterday. Look, you’re wearing the same thing. Did you see anything when you left?” He asked, pacing the photo back into the box.

“No, Tim might have. I’ll call him now.”

Grey raised his hand, moving to take his radio out. “Don’t. You’ll only panic him.” He lifted the radio to speak into it. “Officer Bradford, it’s Sargent Grey, I need you to report back to the station A.S.A.P.”

The radio buzzed with static as Tim replied. “We’re about fifteen minutes out. What’s up?”

“Just need an opinion on something. Meet us in my office. Have Chen go to help on the front desk.”

As Grey spoke to Tim, (Y/N) gestured to her empty cup, signalling that she was going to get a coffee. She rolled her eyes once again as Grey nodded at her, knowing that he wanted one too.

----------

(Y/N) sipped on her coffee from her pink mug, closing her eyes to relish the taste. There was little she enjoyed more than coffee.

“You look like you’re about to propose to the cup there.” Grey said, looking at (Y/N) over his own mug.

“What happens between me and the contents of the mug is none of your business,” she smirked, resting the mug on Grey’s desk in front of her. “Besides, you look just as invested.”

Greg looked like he wanted to respond when he looked up at the sound of knocking on his office door and someone entering. “Bradford, come in. Take a seat.”

Tim complied, sitting down next to (Y/N), sending her an inquisitive look. He reached forward for her mug only to have his hand slapped away.

“What’s going on? Is everything okay?” Tim asked, looking back and forth between his wife and the watch commander.

“Did you see anything strange yesterday morning when you left the house?” Grey asked, picking up the Polaroid picture, passing it over to Tim to look at. “This was delivered to the front desk this morning. Smitty tried to open it.”

Tim rolled his eyes, “Of course he did. But I didn’t see anything. Any idea who sent it?”

“I’m having Lopez look at security footage now. But the back says it’s from an ‘R.D’.”

“Regina Diaz.”

“That’s what I thought,” (Y/N) said, reaching for her coffee again, “but I had a look at the other Polaroids. It only matches the handwriting of one of the pictures. The other is completely different.”

Tim placed his hand on (Y/N)’s thigh, squeezing it softly in reassurance. “So you think that this could be the other person, posing as Diaz?”

“It’s a possibility. But until we figure it out, I want you two to be careful. Who knows what’s waiting out there for you. But at least we know that there is a threat now, we have something to look out for.”

“So what now?” Tim asked.

“I’m going to make a few calls, update the case file with this development. See if I can figure anything out.” (Y/N) said, finished off her coffee, placing the empty cup back down on the desk. “Then go see where this photo was taken, see if any cameras could’ve picked up who took it.”

“I can do that. I’ll take Chen when she’s done with the footage.”

“Take her now,” Grey said, standing up to guide the two Bradfords out of his office. “I’ll have Lopez check the cameras. We can all report back here when we have something.”

(Y/N) nodded, moving out of the door, Tim hot on her heels. She weaved in and out of the officers to go back to her desk. Sitting down, she gestured for her husband to perch on top of the surface.

“I don’t think this is anything.” She broke the silence, watching Tim’s expression change to confusion at her words.

“How so? This is clearly a warning, if not a threat.”

(Y/N) hummed, leaning across to take one of Tim’s hands in hers, using the moment to find the right words. “No. I think it was meant to throw us off our tracks. Have us chasing our tails. Psych us out, you know.”

“I know,” he said, getting down from the desk, before leaning over to give (Y/N) a quick kiss. “Just be careful anyway. I can’t let anything happen to you.”

“Okay. I promise, but only if you do.”

“You know me, Mogs, always careful.”

(Y/N) looked down before nodding, watching as her husband left to find his Rookie. Tim hadn’t called her ‘Mogs’ in years, he only did when he was worried, not that he would admit it.

Chapter 20 | Chapter 22

Series Masterlist | Masterlist

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#tim bradford #tim bradford x reader #tim bradford imagine #the rookie #the rookie x reader #chiefdirector #bottom of the river

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marvelmusing · 1 year

Text

Keep Your Judgement

Chapter Two

Pairing: Aleksander Morozova x Fem!Reader

Summary: Settling into the Sanctuary, an old house fashioned into a safe place by the General, you find yourself recruited by the man himself to free some of your fellow Grisha.

Warnings: canon level violence, death and blood, limited season two spoilers.

My Masterlist • Series Masterlist

Life almost feels normal again.

The Sanctuary is an old country house, with peeling wallpaper and worn-out furniture, long abandoned by whatever nobles of the past had been inhabiting it. Every day, the halls are slowly being filled with Grisha as the General regularly takes small groups out to liberate your people from the First Army camps.

Durasts aren’t typically involved in field work, especially not for a mission that is combat orientated, so you are often left in the workshop not far from the General’s own rooms. Mostly, you keep your head down, beginning work on a treatment for the effects of merzost that have been ailing the General.

Genya had shared her concerns for him with you, telling you she struggled to heal the scars on his face, or the fragment of the stag embedded in his hand. A young Alkemi, Vladim, had joined you a few days ago and the General had asked for him to work on a remedy, although his results so far have all been temporary.

Yesterday, the tidemaker that had been accompanying the General for the majority of these rescue missions, Fruzsi, had been injured. A bullet wound to the leg that had been healed incorrectly during the journey back by an unexperienced heartrender. Once they arrived back at the Sanctuary, she had received the proper medical attention, but she could not assist the General in the field for the next week.

At lunch today, you had heard several Grisha speculating over who would be joining the General on his trip this afternoon to a camp along the riverside over an hour away from the Sanctuary. Which is why you’re confused when the doors to the workshop open, revealing the General who strides towards your desk purposely.

“Can I help you, moi soverenyi?” you ask him.

He says your name smoothly, a quick glance over the notes you had been writing before his gaze runs up towards your face. Then he nods.

“You are to accompany me this afternoon.”

Setting down your pen, you nod slowly, not meeting his gaze as you ask,

“Alongside?”

He waits until you lift your eyes to his before he responds,

“Just us.”

That makes you hesitate.

“Are you certain? I haven’t seen official combat.”

The corner of his mouth curls slightly, as if he has found something amusing, and you straighten yourself. He links his hands together in front of himself, rolling his shoulder slightly as he looks down, and the shadows around you ripple.

“You are forgetting my nichevo’ya.”

“Of course not, sir. I only mean to say that, not many would rely on a durast as their counterpart for a mission such as this.”

He regards you for a long moment, tilting his head in a manner that has you feeling as though he intends to study you.

“The camp we are travelling to is only small.” There is a pause before he adds, “And you are no ordinary durast.”

Leaning back on the balls of his feet, the General looks towards the windows reveal a clear view of the foggy grounds surrounding the Sanctuary, meaning he doesn’t see the frown on your face in response to his words.

As he steps backwards, a half-smile tugs at his lips.

“Besides, you’ve proven yourself more than capable of self-defence.”

His words remind you of the moment he had arrived to free the Grisha in the camp that held you, only to find you had freed yourself and many others before taking on the First Army soldiers, picking them off one by one.

Some nights you wake with a jolt, phantom wire pulled tight against your throat in your dreams, and you sit up in bed gasping for breath as you push away thoughts of jeering soldiers and your friends being thrown into the Fold.

As those memories return to you now, you shake yourself, raising your chin towards the General as you ask,

“When do we leave?”

»»---------------------►

The plan is simple enough.

While the General engages with the First Army soldiers, you slip unnoticed over to the cells holding your fellow Grisha captive. Unlocking cages and unclasping shackles becomes instinct, a familiar synchronisation of your hands and your power.

With each person you free, you give them the same instructions. Any healers are to tend to the wounded at the meeting point you had agreed upon with the General. The crack of the Cut in the distance reassures you that he’s still fighting as you unlock the last set of shackles.

Searching through the rest of the camp, you grab a few bundles that contain food and first aid supplies, fright halting your actions every time a shot rings out.

As you head towards the meeting point, your eyes scour over the people tucked carefully behind the bushes, searching for a head of dark hair and a black kefta to match. He isn’t here.

“Where’s the General?” you ask.

Met with frowns of recollection and contradicting stories of his last sighting, worry stirs within you. Something doesn’t feel right. He should have disposed of the soldiers quick enough to have returned to you long before now.

“Wait here. If I’m not back within the hour, head north, the horses will take you back to the Sanctuary.”

Carefully, you make your way through the almost silent camp. Following the sound of fighting, you peer out from the side of a tent, just in time to see the General take a punch to the face that makes you wince. The scars on his face are newly healed, you can’t imagine how much pain he must be in from a single punch.

There’s four soldiers, though the General seems to be holding his own despite being outnumbered. A billowing plume of shadow curls around the feet of one of the soldiers, but the General’s nichevo’ya appear to be resisting his call.

From the pain wracked expression on his face, you realise that his body is resisting the request for more merzost. He might have the capability for more power, but his current pain level isn’t allowing him to summon it. With a frustrated cry, he slices one of the men in half with the Cut.

As you step out from your hiding spot, clasping your hands together to join the fight, someone grabs you from behind. Frustration and fright fills you. How has this happened to you again? The sound of several guns being clicked into position, including the one pressed to your cheek, has you stilling instantly.

The General has been manhandled into a half-kneeling position with his hands behind his back. Dark blood, stained with merzost, trickles down his forehead, blooming from the scar there that had reopened.

A large figure holds onto the General, pulling a knife from his belt and holding it against the General’s side when he struggles to free himself. The man holding on to you hisses against your ear,

“Hands where we can see them.”

Then he shoves you forwards.

The General’s eyes lock on yours, widened slightly with surprise at the sight of you. Something flickers over his features, too fast for you to identify. Was he annoyed that you hadn’t stayed at the meeting point? Was he concerned for you? Or disappointed that you had been caught?

Rousing yourself from your spiralling thoughts concerning the General’s opinion of you, whatever it may be, you focus on how you’re going to keep both of you alive.

The man standing behind you moves forward to get a closer look at the General and an uncomfortable feeling crawls over your skin as you stand with your hands raised in surrender.

“I know where the rest of them are,” you say quickly, drawing his attention away from the General. The man raises a brow at you. “The rest of his Grisha, I know where they are.”

Taking a deep breath, you lift your chin as you stare at him.

“You let me go and I’ll tell you.”

There’s a brief moment of consideration before the man nods.

“Alright then.”

“There’s an old country estate.”

The General struggles against their hold, his eyes ablaze with an anger that chills you to the bone.

“No,” he demands and the desperation that leaks into his voice makes you ache. Unable to pull your gaze from his, you say,

“It’s south west from here, around ten miles from the nearest town.” The complete opposite direction of the Sanctuary.

The intensity in his eyes shifts into something you can’t identify, but the General doesn’t miss a beat at the sound of your lie, his voice low with warning as he hisses,

“Traitor.”

There’s enough heat in his tone to make you shiver, a prickle of shame in your chest as if you had actually just sold out your fellow Grisha instead of bluffing.

The man turns towards his friends, putting his back to you. Just as you expected, the other two soldiers raise their guns to put you down at the nod of his head. Pressing your pointer and middle finger together, you reach for your power, seeking out each bullet that they intend for you.

The mechanisms within the guns shift as the triggers are all pulled in succession. Twisting your hands together, you bend the path of the bullets, sending them hurtling back at the soldiers.

For a few seconds, they all stand stunned. Then they collapse, one by one, including the man who had grabbed you.

Now only one remains, the one holding his knife against the General’s side. He grips tightly onto the back of the General’s neck, steering the both of them backwards as you step in their direction.

“Stay back,” he warns you.

Seizing the blade with your power, you hold it still in his hand, unable to be moved anywhere closer to the General.

“Drop it,” you order him.

He shakes his head, looking down at his weapon as he attempts to stab the General, his arm shaking with the force of his effort. His determination makes your own hands shake with exertion and you know this stalemate won’t last long.

A dark thought crosses your mind, something you have never considered before, but you’re desperate, so you push your power up from the knife to seek out a different material. Jerking your dominant hand in a harsh motion, you release your power and there’s a satisfying snap.

The soldier cries out in pain, dropping his knife and clutching the newly broken bone. Instantly, you lunge forwards to retrieve the knife. He becomes aware of your sudden movement, staggering in your direction with anger twisting his features.

With as much force as you can muster, you land a punch to his jaw. He stumbles back, caught off guard, and you slam the knife into his chest. As he falls onto his back, you cling to the handle of the knife, twisting it as you land over the top of him.

Blood pools over your hands, droplets spurting over your face as he chokes out his final breath, lungs and throat clogged with the thick red liquid.

It’s then that you realise you had been holding your own breath, body heaving as you take in air, recoiling shakily from the body. This wasn’t the first death you had caused, but pressing a knife into a man’s heart is completely different to redirecting bullets.

The sound of someone saying your name pulls you back to the present.

Somehow you manage to lift your gaze from the blood drying over your skin, and the General’s eyes are dark as they scour intently over your face.

“Are you alright?”

The nod you give him is weak, though the sight of him wincing as he moves to stand helps you to shake away the daze and focus on finding some first aid supplies.

He thanks you rather curtly when you offer him a pot of ointment that should help his scar heal again before he disappears into one of the tents to deal with it himself.

Genya had told you he had insisted on her healing his scars, instead of a healer, so you suspect he feels somewhat self-conscious about them. Whenever you see him, you try not to stare at the dark lines that spread over his features, but the thought of how he gained them always tugs slightly on your heartstrings.

While the General is tending to his wounds, you clean your hands, scrubbing with the harshest cloth you can find to scrape at your skin forcefully. The General finds you as you’re drying yourself, wincing slightly at the drag of the rough towel over the raw skin of your hands.

He pockets the ointment you had found, giving you a small nod as you discard the towel.

Silently, you walk through the camp, and it’s only once you’re half way to the meeting point where you had left the other Grisha that the General speaks up.

“You broke his arm.” Not looking at him, you nod. “How?”

Shrugging lightly, you share your reasoning with him.

“Everything contains matter. Bone is just another material.”

As you step over a puddle, a quote from a Grisha theorist comes to mind.

“Aren’t we all but things?” you muse quietly.

The silence stretches between you.

“Thank you,” he says softly.

»»---------------------►

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#keep your judgement au #aleksander morozova #aleksander morozova x reader #the darkling x reader #the darkling au #shadow and bone au #shadow and bone x reader

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catnipaddictt · 19 days

Text

Work song

wc: 2.7k

series masterlist ⭑ co-creator @memoiich

Entering the office took years off your life. Not only were you tired you were now sweaty and flustered. Moving past the old lady at the front desk you made your way to the elevator. If your day couldn’t get any worse it just did. The elevator wouldn’t open when you pushed the button so you asked the lady at the front desk and she said in a monotone voice “the elevator doesn't work, miss”. You were ready to cry but held it together, went back to the hall and looked around until you saw a big mat green door with a sign “stairs'' so you ran up at 120 km an hour just to get to the office still 2 hours overdue ,swinging the door open completely.

Out of breath you were greeted with the secretary desk and the angry man standing in front of it. Mr Rex, your brain told you quickly. You recognised him from the flyer, he was wearing a blue suit with a matching tie and three gold clips, and well, his face was livid. Pure anger radiated from him “Do you know what this is?” he questioned gesturing to the desk behind it “this is the desk you should have been sitting at by 9 this morning“, “I'm so sorry sir I-“ “I don't need your excuses I need a explanation“ at this point more and more gazes fell on you, “My car broke down mid way, I had to walk the rest of the way here, it took me 30 min, i'm so sorry sir” he let a sign escape past his hardened facade and he spoke way calmer now “well why don't you get to work then, and if you have any questions ask someone other than me, do you understand?“, “yes sir.” The army would have been proud of you. “Just call me Rex” but Rex clearly wasn’t. He walked away from you back to his office and you settled behind your new desk.

You had come from a branch in your hometown so the work wasn’t hard to adjust to. Reading emails, forwarding emails, getting the planning in check. Rex was a busy guy and it was clear that he hadn’t had a secretary in a few weeks, So it took some time to get it all in check, at least an hour…or 3. It also was taking an extra long to finish because you were very very very tired. Your eyes were closing as if they were shutters, then open, then closed, until a hand waved in front of your face. The hand snapped you out of it pretty quickly and you finally heard a voice.

“Hello there, didn’t mean to intrude but you look …sleepy” you looked at the man. He had to be in his late 20’s dressed with a kind smile and matching gentle blue-greenish eyes. Your gaze must have stayed pretty long because he chuckled and handed you a cup. Taking the cup you looked back at him “don’t worry it's just coffee, my name's Obi wan Kenobi, I work over there” he pointed over his shoulder at the now empty desk in front of you. You must have been really tired because you would have noticed the handsome man not 3 metres in front of you. "I'm y/n, I work here now” you pointed at the desk below you “I noticed, you made quite an entrance” he said holding back a snort. “Well yeah, my car broke down and this arrogant mechanic left me at the side of the street and then I had to walk and it's like 50 min at least and then yesterday my neighbour just…” he cuts you off. “Do you have a ride home?” Obi wan asked you partly to stop the word flow. Not having thought that you answered “No, I don't”, “Well Qui Gon and I carpool” he pointed at an older friendly looking gentleman with well kept hair that reached his mid back at the left end of the office, who waved at the two of you. You waved back smiling “ If you wanted to we could give you a lift” he followed up. “I would love that”.

Rex's office door flung open. ”That's my sign to go!” Obi wan said while turning on his heel. Rex walked over to you “Do you have my plans for next week?”, “Yeah it's right here, I planned the meeting with HQ on Wednesday instead of Monday because bail organa is visiting Monday”. “Bail visits quite often so you don't have to worry about his meetings, just make sure to tell Obi wan ”, “Do you want me to move HQ back to Monday?”, “No, I don't need to see fives just yet”. “Okay then this is the final planning”, you say as you hand him the sheet of paper. “That’s perfect, you've been working for a few hours now, why don't you take a break” he said and walked straight back to his office.

Then it dawned on you that you definitely didn’t know the layout of this office at all. After the morning you kind of just sat down and did your job. You looked around confused when Obi wan raised his hand and pointed to a brown door with a little window. While walking to it you looked only to be greeted by the second shit-eating smirk of the day. It also looked strangely familiar. Weird...

You opened the small door and were greeted with the sight of 2 vending machines, a little kitchen and 4 tables that seated four. At one of those tables sat Mr. Jinn eating a fruit bowl and sipping a glass of jawa juice. He waved you over, though it was more of a swipe of the hand than a wave. Sitting in front of him you could now see that he must have been closer to his 40s than his 30s. ”You’re y/n aren't you?” he said, more of a statement rather than a question “Yeah that’s me”. Before you could question why he was so confident in his guess, He answered, “Obi wan told me you would carpool with us” he finished it off with a smile that made the crows feet beneath his eyes appear. “only if it's not a bother of course”, “It’s definitely not a bother, you look like a decent person plus even a indecent person wouldn’t be a bother if they need the help”. You weren’t used to your coworkers being ...well nice . At your last job there was an intern named Axel who couldn’t catch a hint if it gave him a head start. ”Thank you Mr Jinn''. “Just Qui Gon is fine”. Qui Gon had gone back to munching on his fruit bowl, so you had followed his example and started eating your late lunch. It was quite peaceful. Qui Gon was one of those rare people who understood and respected universal silence, without fidgeting under its pressure. But that beloved silence was broken when 3 men stumbled through the door.

One of them was Mr Kenobi but the other 2 you only noticed in the office. The first one sat across from Mr Kenobi. He was a Kiffar and had a golden line across his nose right under his eyes. He was doubled over laughing while holding on to the second man. And a green Nautolan who was laughing even louder than the last. The only one that wasn’t laughing was Mr.Kenobi. He was wearing a sour expression and a noticeable blush covering his face. “Wanna carpool” the Kiffar yelled and bumped his hip with Mr.Kenobi's.

You looked over to Qui Gon who had a ‘disappointed father’ look. He let out a fake cough “uh hum“ at the pure sound of it, the 3 of them looked your way. Fear was the only way to describe the look upon their faces. The Kiffar was the first to snap out of it, “Hey i’m Quinlan Vos and this is Kit Fisto” he pointed to the green Nautolan on his left. ”And this one you already know” he finishes while grabbing Mr.Kenobi by the shoulder. “It's nice to meet the both of you” they both shook your hand.” Mr kenobi i had to tell you that Monday Mr. Organa is visiting” you remembered “Yeah Mr. Kenobi you have a meeting Monday” Quinlan responded with a odd tone to his voice. Mr Kenobi was clearly flustered “I could possibly change the meeting if your nervous “ you said “oh no there is no need I just I'm not used to being called by my last name” he retorted “I thought it was company policy” you said. At your last job they were rather strict on this rule mainly because ‘you're obviously a secretary, you should have some respect’, so it became the norm. ”We generally are a bit more lax when it comes to the rules,” Qui Gon stated. Then Rex walked in looking stressed “Y/n I need you to help me with the meeting for tomorrow now” he said more agitated than angry. You packed up your stuff quite quickly and followed Rex out to his office.

”So what seems to be the problem” you asked as nicely as you could, “I got an email from headquarters and they want to move the meeting from Wednesday to as soon as possible”, “That shouldn’t be a problem, I could probably move it to Monday, as I said before, and move Mr. Organa to Wednesday”. You didn’t know if you should call Mr. Organa Bail. “Can we have the meeting tomorrow?” He retorted “I will have to check with Obi wan since he is currently still working on the deal”. Rex turned around and pushed some numbers into the hologram behind him. “Hello Obi wan , how far away are you with the lettering company deal?” he questioned. “About as far as I could be in 2 days” Obi wan responded. “Well I need it done by tomorrow morning, goodbye”, “wait rex i-” Rex hung up. “That went great ,didn't it?” He said to you while wearing a stressed smile. All you could do was stare at him befuddled.

There was a knock on the office door so you moved to open it. “There's no need to open that” Rex whispered. Another knock came from the door “Rex, I know you’re in there!” Obi wan 's voice came from the other side. “Y/n i'm going to hide behind the door, while you open it” Rex whispered to you in the seriousness of a war commander leading his troops. So you did as you were told. “Obi wan , how can I help you?” you opened the door. “Where is he?” He asked, looking at you. You pointed at the door while saying “Oh Rex isn't here “Obi wan was holding himself back from laughing “Then why don't you go to your desk?” he said while stepping to the side. "I will, good luck finding Rex” you said with a wink.

The rest of the day went quite smoothly. When the end of the day came around people started to leave the building. You were seated near the door so you said a polite goodbye to the people that left. Most people seemed to like it except this one zabrak who made a grunting noise while rolling his yellow eyes. Rude. In the end only Obi wan and Qui Gon were left. You approached Obi wan even though he looked to be focusing on his work. You didn't need to guess why. “Can I help you?”

“I don’t think so, I just need to plan this deal out with Ryloth lettering” he said looking rather desperate at his computer. “I'm a secretary, planning is my job” you answered with a self assured smile. Obi wan looked up from his computer and scooted over a nearby chair. You took the seat “so how may I help you?” You asked him in your secretary's voice. Obi wan gave you a look of panic as he answered, “I need to contact their office but my emails don't go through”. “Is the office still open?”, “I think so”, “okay wait”. You walk over to your desk and get the office holo out. “What's the number?” Obi wan gave you the number and you called it as quickly as you could. A man answered.

”Ryloth lettering, how can I help you this evening?” A monotone voice answered from the other side. “Hey i’m calling from Paper Force, we sadly have to move a meeting from wednesday to tomorrow morning” you told him. "May I ask with whom this supposed meeting is going to be?” Then it dawned on you that you hadn’t asked Obi wan about it so you did the good-old talking a bit away from the phone. “Who is the person for the meeting?” “Orn Free Taa” he whispered back. You told the man on the line his name and the hour for the meeting. “Okay Ms. L/n, the meeting has been moved forward, have a nice evening.” “You too and thanks again”

You closed the holo and Obi wan looked at you hopefully. ”So did it work?” he asked, tired and nervous. “Yes it worked, your meeting is tomorrow morning”. Obi Wan's face lit up immediately. “You’re a lifesaver Y/n” He almost yelled as he pulled you into a hug. “Are you two finally ready to go?” Qui Gon spoke, having walked in mere minutes ago.

Obi wan let go off you and you shifted a bit awkwardly around him to gather your stuff to go home. Obi wan did the same at his desk. You followed Qui Gon to the parking lot. “There she is,” he announced. As you looked past him you saw a half sage green half white Volkswagen minivan. Obi wan opened the door for you and you entered the velvet orange hippy dream that was Qui Gon 's car. “Do you like Radiohead Y/n.” Obi wan asked “I do, why?” “That's all you’re going to hear in this car" he said almost laughingly.

And right he was. 50 min and 1 entire album later you were finally back at the front door of the Alderaan apartments.

The door of ‘Shaggy’ closes with a slam. Shaggy was what Qui Gon called his wagon because “he has character” he stated. Obi wan agreed, the velvet seats had gone through quite a lot. Ever since Obi wan and Qui Gon had met back in college, Shaggy had been by their side. Qui Gon was only 2 years older but took Obi Wan under his wing pretty quickly. Because of this, Qui Gon was fine tuned to Obi Wan’s behaviour and so it began.

“So..” he let the o hang in the air as the music swirled around, “Y/n huh, quite an interesting person.” It might sound like a statement but he wanted an answer. “Yeah she's nice” he was going to talk himself out of this. It definitely wasn’t his fault that Qui Gon had walked in on that moment. He hadn’t even thought of it at the moment but yet here he was. “Do I need to just say it?” Qui Gon asked with a lilt to his voice. “I don’t know what you could be talking about my friend” Obi wan might have been known as ‘the negotiator’ of the office but whatever he was selling Qui Gon wasn't buying it. “Look, i'm not saying you did anything wrong but you know the rules, if you’re willing to break those, so be it” he stated rather gleefully as if he had just sipped the best jawa juice the world had to offer.

Obi wan knew the rules and their consequences. The office headquarters had installed them to make sure the workers would, well, work. The one Qui Gon was referring to was the ‘no work attachments' which was basically a ban on office relationships. “Oh come on Qui Gon , we both know a hug can’t be classified as a relationship” he huffed and mumbled “otherwise you may have had one” he pointed out Qui Gon ’s non-existent love life. Qui Gon burst out laughing “For your information, it's by choice” he said. He parked the car in front of the ‘for sale’ sign in Obi wan ’s front yard. “Now get out of my car, squirt.” “A nice evening to you too” Obi wan yelled back slamming the door. He watched Qui Gon leave with a wave.

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