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odditycircus-2002 · 7 months

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Medusa!Reader and Shang Tsung MK 1 (Part 3)

Spoilers for Mortal Kombat 1: Proceed with Caution

At first, Shang didn't recognize you since you changed in height and voice. He realized it was you from your mask and mannerisms. To Shang's credit, he seemed genuinely glad to see you again and relieved to see you are well, almost remorseful to see you ran away because of your "accident."

He claimed that he had guards searching the nearby land for you but didn't think you'd willingly go to the Wastes. Your mind and heart warred with one another when Shang touched your shoulder with a soft, fond expression. A look you haven’t seen in many moons and find yourself sometimes missing as much as hating.

That's when Baraka barked at Shang to back away from you. Internally, the Tarkatan's reasoning was to protect his friend from getting hurt, but deep in his soul, the reason was the same as a territorial male taigore. As if flipping a switch, Shang went from acting affectionately with you to callously gesturing for the guards to hold Baraka down so he could plunge a syringe into his spine, unflinching at the Tarkatan's pained roars. You shout Baraka’s name before demanding the soldiers to release him, chastising him for treating one of your patients so callously as if they were mere animals. Shang Tsung didn’t stop you. You kneel down to check on Baraka, then free him from his bonds and help him get back on his feet. You had to hold the large man back from attacking the Sorcerer, who then made the mistake of opening his mouth.

"Get away from that savage, Y/N! We don't want you to share its fate as well."

That’s when you hiss and yell at Shang Tsung that you more or less share that with Baraka, or has he forgotten that he caused your affliction? Shang’s eyes widened as he seemed honestly taken aback that you blamed him for your accident. He then offers to take you from the Wastes’ ghettos and back to your laboratory as an apology. He would find a way to reverse your mutation there, and you both can continue your noble work on a cure for Tarkat.

You immediately declined his offer, stating you were fine working at the camp. Shang's eyes widen at your rejection, a look of pain flashing across his face before it’s placed with a look of contempt. He narrows his eyes at you as he takes note of Baraka gently holding the hand you had on his chest within his much larger one.

Shang sees how it is and thus changes his tone accordingly. He gives a pantomime sigh, stating it’s a shame you refused since that’ll mean he’ll have to report to the Empress that you abandoned your post to hide your affliction from her. When she finds out, you’ll be stripped of your rank and assets, including your years of research and supplies, before being left permanently in the Wastes. Reminding you that Sindel is likely to take his word over yours because of your schism with Sindel and the promising results he’s shown.

"You remember why I have the Empress's ear, don't you?"

The sorcerer could feel your despair oozing from behind your mask. Baraka lets out a low growl, able to smell your troubled state, as he begs you to let him dice the Sorcerer into tiny meat chunks.

But you don't let Baraka do so. That's when Shang offers an ultimatum. You can continue your research at the camp, and Shang won’t let Sindel know about your condition in exchange for your notes on your progress. Shang will give you some supplies to continue your work monthly since he WILL return to the colony to take what he needs from the Tarkatans. Failure to comply means letting Sindel in on your new appearance and desertion. It was an offer you couldn’t afford to take.

So it’s with a heavy heart that you accept, much to Baraka’s discontent and Shang’s delight. The latter leaves you with the consolation that you could always return to the Laboratory whenever you desire, ensuring you’ll never return to the Tarkatan’s wretched camp. You merely hiss at Shang to hurry up and leave. Later on, in the privacy of your workshop, Baraka demands to know why you accepted an offer with that snake in the first place.

As much as you want to tell him, you have your oaths and can only say that he's treating someone very dear to you; you tell Baraka this as much. While he understands, he promises you that he'll TRY not to kill Shang for the foreseeable future but makes no guarantees that he won't. Baraka admits that seeing Shang in his colony and near you brings out something dark and feral within him, demanding he remove the threat from his home. While he's unable to see, you are smiling warmly at him behind your mask as you thank him.

so for the next few moons, you and Shang stuck to your new arrangement. However, even then, he tried to court you. He’ll leave you with new supplies to replenish your stocks and gifts in the form of herbs and luxuries such as fine soaps and bedding. If it weren’t for the colony’s need for such things, you would’ve thrown his gifts back in his face. So you had to swallow your pride and thank Shang for his “generosity.” You still tried to keep Shang from doing anything more to the Tarkatans under your care, warning him constantly that provoking them only worsens their symptoms and makes them more likely to violently lash out. Yet, the Sorcerer mostly doesn’t heed your warnings. You also had to ensure Baraka didn’t rip and tear into Shang Tsung on sight, but the Sorcerer didn’t make that easy. In fact, he seemed amused to watch Baraka’s hatred and irritation for him tug against your metaphorical leash.

During one of Shang’s monthly visits, Baraka finally had enough of the Sorcerer. Rather than letting the Sorcerer walk away after extracting his marrow, Baraka swiftly killed the guards that held him down with his arm blades. It would appear that, shortly after, the rest of the colony would follow suit and attack the imperial soldiers who herded them to the edges of the camp, finally fed up with their cruel treatment. Baraka then turned his attention to Shang, who grabbed you with a free hand to drag you away from the scene; Baraka then proceeded to kick his ass.

No doubt, the Tarkatan leader would’ve killed Shang Tsung if it weren’t for you holding out your arms in front of the Sorcerer and reasoning that Shang needs to stay alive. However, before Baraka could retort, that’s when Kenshi interfered by grabbing Baraka from behind. As Baraka is surrounded by Kung Lao and Johnny Cage, Shang Tsung drags you away from the fight.

He urges you to come with him, as it's now, or never to join him or be left behind with those beneath you. You refused, backing away from the Sorcerer. Shang Tsung seems hurt by your rejection before it's so quickly replaced by that iconic smug grin that you thought you'd imagined his hurt.

"You'll regret not coming with me sooner."

He then takes the form of one of the Tarkatans before disappearing into the approaching crowd right in front of you. You had no time to ponder about the sorcery you just witnessed, as your attention was caught by Kung Lao voicing your confusion out loud. You stood with the rest of the camp against these intruders. You had no idea whether or not they worked for Shang Tsung, but you wouldn't let them hurt any of the Tarkatans!

You fought one-on-one with Kung Lao as Johnny was occupied with the rest of the camp. Admittedly, the young monk fought valiantly against you, even with your use of magic and toxins. Still, even battered and bruised, you wouldn't back down. You reached your hand to your mask, having not initially taken it off during the fight, ready to unleash your power on the monk. You and the rest of the camp stood off from the three intruders until Kenshi explained to himself and his companions to Baraka that they were after Shang Tsung on behalf of Lord Lui Kang due to the threat he poses to both his and your realm.

Sensing no deceit from him, Baraka explains what he and the rest of the camp are doing along with their illness, including his life before Tarkat. When Johnny Cage asks if Tarkat is why you wear a mask, you take the time to explain that you're not infected as far as you can tell; however, your appearance is drastically altered thanks to Shang Tsung. It's also because of the latter that you cannot remove your mask unless absolutely necessary. You also explain that you treat everyone at this camp as its main healer. You finally drop your hand from your mask after Baraka signals everyone else to back down.

After leaving a couple others to attend the camp, including which medicine is for which, you tag along with Baraka to your former laboratory. You brushed aside Baraka's concerns, reasoning that you know where it is and the layout well, to which Kenshi agrees.

While none of the others could read your expression beneath your mask or body language, Baraka knew what was going through your mind while trekking to the lab. He knows and smells the anxiety coursing through your veins as you get closer to where it all went wrong for you. Yet, he silently assures you he's here for you when taking your hand into his own as if to lend you some of his strength. And you know something? You think you're already feeling stronger just by his touch alone.

You already ran once from Shang Tsung; you won't this time, not after the new information that's come to light and from your experience for these past moons. There are more lives at stake besides your own now, after all.

A/N: And that's all for now. I didn't exceed the word limit this time, but it seemed like the best place to stop. Hope you enjoy it. If so, don't forget to like, comment, and reblog, as those encourage me to write sooner rather than later! Stay weird, my fellow humans.

Playlist while Writing:

"Bury a Friend" By Billie Eilish

"Diablo" By Simon Curtis

"My Demons" by Starset

"Fish Inside a Birdcage" by Fish in a Bird Cage

"Loser" By Neoni

"Nightmare" By Set it Off

#mortal kombat #mk x reader #mortal kombat x reader #shang tsung #shang tsung x reader #mk 1 #mk baraka #mortal kombat 1 #mortal kombat headcanon #baraka x reader #oddball writes #Kung Lao #kenshi takahashi #johnny cage

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the-doomed-witch · 1 year

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✦ You’re An Idiot & I Love You

Wanda Maximoff x Fem!Reader

Summary: After Thanos, you and Wanda quit the team to live a peaceful life together, trying to leave behind the trauma. (Read warnings)

Word Count: 4.0k

Author’s Note: hello here’s another fic, i’ve been working on it since almost a week :) i cannot stop listening to 305 by shawn mendes so i based the latter part of this fic on the song <3 the initial part is just a vent fic lmao. i’m thinking of writing a part two, but i don’t really know. my gif btw!

Warnings: 18+ MINORS+MEN DNI. traumatic past events, post-war trauma, flashbacks & nightmares, smut, thigh riding, fingering, praise kink, names (princess), a little angst, fluffy | best friends to lovers

Masterlist

YOU ARE NOT PERMITTED TO REPOST OR COPY MY WORK.

— ✦ —

You hit the pause button on your phone, look at the clouds and sigh. The park near your home is an amazing place to be, with all its flora, and a clearer view of the sky. Cities are so full of buildings, it’s almost impossible to see a clear sky outside the park anymore.

Whenever anxiety comes over, sitting on the park bench and listening to white noise helps you calm down. It also helps Wanda know where to take you when you aren’t at your best.

Sometimes she would hold your hand and sit next to you, listening to the same sound in a different pair of headphones. It’s truly therapeutic for both of you. The events of the past few years have been deeply disturbing for the entire team of Avengers. So you and Wanda decided to quit the team, and swore that both of you wouldn’t never exercise your powers again. Of course, there could be exceptional cases where the use of powers is ultimately the only way, but it’s mostly nothing to do with your simple lives.

Wanda goes to a therapist sometimes, and has offered you to try it out too, several times. You just deny with a simple shake of your head, and keep the topic aside. You’re happy to see her get better, settle her unsolved traumas, and accept Vision’s death.

“I knew you’d be here.” Wanda walks up to you, which is also the reason why you clicked the pause button. You give her a sincere smile, which she returns happily.

“Guess I’ve developed a little longing for this place. I can’t help but be here, I feel the safest here when you aren’t around.”

“Oh Y/N, you know I always come back home and always will. You’re my best friend, and the only one. I’m so happy that living together has worked out for the both of us.”

“So am I, Wands. I know I don’t have to run around the compound looking for you anymore.” Smiling with melancholy, you continue, “I miss bumping into our friends while doing that.”

She sighs deeply. There are memories of Vision in her mind, but they don’t feel like a dagger anymore. They are just bittersweet feelings for a star-crossed love. “Y/N, it’s been years since we left the team. Do you think they miss us? I wish we had parted with no hard feelings.”

“I think that it’s fine. It’s been years, nothing big has happened. And I hope it only stays this way. I don’t care if someone is still pissed off after so long, the war damaged us just as it did them, and we are still recovering.”

“But Y/N… you’re just refusing it all. There’s no point in being delusional. It’s affecting you, and your mental health in a really bad way.”

“I know but I cannot help it Wanda! I have had nothing before the Avengers, I don’t even know what I am grieving for. I haven’t had anyone to go home to since forever, and now that I have it, I wouldn’t change it for anything. Not even for friends who’d have hard feelings against me after I choose to live a life post-war.” You feel like you’ve spoken too much, because you feel like tearing up.

Wanda comes closer to you and hugs you tight. “Y/N, honey, it’s okay I’m right here.”

You sit there with her, since there’s nothing else you can do right now. For several minutes, none of you loosen the grip, too scared that either of you could turn to dust.

— ✦ —

On the way back home, you hold hands like little kids. Living with your best friend has got to be the best decision you’ve ever made. Feels like she holds a key to the corner of your heart that nobody has dared to discover.

“Hey, what are you thinking?” she moves closer and sits next to you on the couch.

“Nothing, just that you’re probably my favourite person in the whole world.”

“Stop being so cheesy and tell me the truth.”

“It is the truth. I love being with you Wanda, I love you.”

“I love you too, Y/N. Your existence lights up mine. I don’t want to leave you, ever.”

You give her a kiss on the cheek, and reply, “I will not leave you, ever.” After being through all the devastating events together, you’ve both developed quite a habit of sitting together in silence and thinking. Snapping out of the state, you go to your room to sleep. Or maybe just lay down. Wanda remains in the living room.

— ✦ —

It’s almost 4:30AM and you haven’t slept. Thoughts about Thanos, his army, your teammates, Natasha, and Tony come back. Illusions of blasts, gore and doom fill up your mind. Countless number of people have lost loved ones.

Maybe, just maybe, you could have done something to save your friends. Resentment and regret feel like two old friends who come to lay down next to you.

Wanda is in her room, you can sense her sleeping. It would be a good thing to have someone to talk to, but not that great if you’d have to wake her up. Eyes open, you go back to staring at the ceiling. Tears begin pooling in the corners of your eyes, ready to roll down any moment now.

Silently, you sniff away the mildest nightmare of the night.

— ✦ —

You sit at your desk a couple of hours later, and begin writing something that you don’t know. “Good morning. You're up early?” Wanda walks in. She’s still wearing her shorts and tank top. And she looks damn fine.

“Good morning. Also, what do you mean by ‘up’?” you reply back sarcastically.

“Oh well, don’t tell me you stayed up all night. Now come here, you desperately need a morning hug.”

“You’re a hundred and ten percent correct.”

You get up and go hug her closely. She rubs your back and whispers words of reassurance in your ear. You just hold her and smell her messy hair. You’re sure she used your shampoo but it only makes you want to hug her tighter. After letting go, you look at her face adoringly and tell her sincerely, “You look pretty. So pretty.” She blushes and pushes your shoulder lightly, as a friendly gesture.

“Stop teasing me! I haven’t even had my coffee yet. I’m gonna have to sound mad at you if you make fun of me right now.”

“You think I’m joking? You look fucking gorgeous. Not even kidding, I’d kiss you if we were toge-” You regain consciousness and regret saying anything at all. Should’ve told her I’m being satirical for no reason, you think.

“What was that you said?”

“Nothing.”

“No no, you said something. Say it.”

“Uhhhh that I was making fun of you for nothing. Go tie a bun or something.”

“Did you just say that you would kiss me?”

“What?! No!”

“Okay, if you say so. I don’t trust my ears anyway.” She simply walks out of the room with an air of smugness.

During breakfast, she asks you a question you never expected, but should’ve seen coming. “But like, let’s say hypothetically, would you kiss me if I asked you to?”

You almost choke on the toast. “Wanda, let me have my breakfast in peace. Please.”

“Another question, who would you kiss? Who is your type even? I’ve literally never seen you talk about this in almost over a decade of our friendship. Come on, Y/N, there’s got to be someone.”

“No Wanda, I don’t have a type. If someone is for me, they’re for me. There’s no one that I like right now.”

Her face grew serious and her smile faltered. “You know I can read your mind if I want to, don’t you?”

“I know that. I also know you wouldn’t break a promise to know about a possible date of mine or something.”

“Fine, you win.”

— ✦ —

You’ve been in the park almost all day again. But your mind has been thinking of something else today.

Why did I even say that at all? Would I even kiss her? Would she kiss me back at all? She probably still misses Vision. She literally loved him so much, they were perfect together. No, I shouldn’t even think of this. Especially when Wanda loved Vision so much, and probably still does. But then again it’s just ‘probably’. SHUT UP Y/N.

Screw this. I don’t want to kiss her at all. Never ever.

— ✦ —

“Well you came back quickly, I didn’t even have to come to the garden to bring you back. That’s new.”

“Yeah I guess?”

“Too tempted to kiss me, aren’t you honey?”

“Can you please stop with that Wanda? I don’t even know why I said that at all. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to cause awkwardness between us. But you’re kind of amplifying it and it’s making me uncomfortable. Can we just not do this? You simply looked gorgeous, that’s all. And I’m not the one to kiss someone just because of how they look. Just leave this.”

“Oh-uhm, okay Y/N. I’m sorry, let’s not make anything uncomfortable for either one of us.”

Wanda seemed deeply hurt by your evidently irritated reply. For a moment, she also felt terror-stricken. It was a side of you that she had seen, but never faced before.

“Thank you. Do you need some help with dinner?”

“Nah it’s almost ready. You might want to set up the table though.”

“Most certainly.”

— ✦ —

The following week is all the same. Everything is sort of normal. Morning comes, you have breakfast with Wanda, you go to the park, Wanda comes to pick you up in the evening, you both have dinner, go back to your own rooms, and you grieve.

A parcel arrives in the mail. It’s addressed to “Y/N Maximoff” and you’re quite unsure how that feels like. Wanda takes notice of it, but says nothing. You kind of wish she’d say something about it. Wanda makes mention of going back to her chores, but you ask her, “Don’t you want to know what’s in the box? I mean, they could’ve mistaken either one of our names.”

“Not really, you can go ahead and open it.”

It was a real bummer. You feel guilty about her attitude towards you. You know something is definitely off with Wanda. You sure have had fights and arguments with her before, but none of them have made her turn away like this. You keep the box aside and decide to open it once Wanda starts talking to you again.

I mean, we are talking but you know what I mean, you tell yourself. And find it stupid. However, the rest of the day continues.

You decide against going to the dear park today, considering how pissed off Wanda already seemed. There has got to be something which could make up her mood.

“Hey Wands, you wanna watch a sitcom? It’s been a while since we sat together to watch one.”

“No Y/N, you can watch it by yourself. I’ve got some work to do.”

And in the same way, she was successful at avoiding spending time with you through any other activity. She was mad at you. You had to clear things with her as soon as possible, before she could find a hundred more reasons to be mad at you.

By the time evening arrived, all the work should definitely have been done. You did not disturb Wanda during her online work even though you’d do that normally whenever you stayed at home.

“Wanda, I need to talk to you. Please stop walking around. You aren’t even listening to me! Just wait for a few minutes. Tell me what is wrong.” You hold her hand to hold her back from leaving.

She takes a deep breath and questions you, “Why do you think something is wrong? Besides, you are the one who did not go have her nerves calmed at a park today but I didn’t go around poking in your business. Leave my hand!”

“Hey, hey take it easy. Wanda, your face literally says “I am pissed off but I want you to guess what it is about” and since I honestly cannot figure it out so I’m simply asking you. If you don’t want to tell me then nevermind. Whatever it is, I am sorry.”

“I don’t want your apologies, keep them with you. And you can go do whatever the hell you want, I don't feel like talking to you right now. Also yes, I am pissed off.” Wanda’s voice slowly rises with every word she speaks, and a little discussion transforms into a heated argument.

“Fine, if that’s what you want. I won’t talk to you and I’m not even going to speak a word around you. You can say au revoir to my voice because I’m not gonna say anything. Night!”

“Yeah, as if I wanna hear you talk. I’m tired of it anyways. Night!”

Both of you have gone to bed without having dinner. And your mind is playing with you again. Flashbacks of not only the greatest war, but also your biggest fight with your best friend till now. You can hear her words echo in your mind.

“Yeah as if I wanna hear you talk. I’m tired of it anyways.”

“You can go do whatever the hell you want.”

“Leave my hand.”

In all these years, you have never heard her asking you to stop holding her hand. It was too heartbreaking to even imagine it.

— ✦ —

Wanda doesn’t talk to you the following day. Or the one after. Or the next. No calling you for the meal, no coming to pick you up from the park, nothing. You feel like you have had enough, so you approach her directly.

“So, do you want me to move out or something?”

“No Y/N.”

“Then speak your mind Wanda, I don’t even know what’s going on.”

“‘Speak your mind’ you say? Okay, here goes nothing.”

Without hesitation, she places her hand on the back of your neck and pulls you closer. For a moment, she stares into your eyes, and then kisses you deeply. You’re feeling both surprised, and satisfied. She closes her eyes to just feel you, and you place your hands in her hair. Her lips leave a trail as they move down to your neck, you tilt your head upwards to grant her all the access she would need. Wanda bites your skin and you let out a rough moan, driving her completely crazy.

That’s when you realise. Your best friend is marking your neck and you have no idea what’s going on. You gently motion for her to stop, which, reluctantly, she complies with.

“What?”

She clearly wants to go back to the moment, so she breathlessly asks you in return, “What?”

“Wanda.”

“Y/N.” She looks at you with a grin and pecks your lips again. “Alright, fine, let me explain.”

“Yes please, because as much as I love it, I’m still clueless.”

“I just have one question, now that you know, would you ever kiss me?”

Your cheeks redden up at her question. You avoid eye contact, gulp, and reply, “If you want then yes.”

She probably wants to growl and bang her head against the wall. “WHY DON’T YOU TELL ME HOW YOU FUCKING FEEL ABOUT ME?! CAN’T YOU SEE?!”

“See what Wanda?”

“Oh my God I cannot believe this. You are an idiot and I love you so fucking much.”

“Wa-”

“Don’t you dare say another word, I hate you! You’re just acting-” You shut her up by kissing her intensely, and again, and again, and yet again.

After pulling yourself away, you need some fresh air. So you sit on the couch, and beckon Wanda to follow. As soon as you’re sat, she decides to sit on your thigh, facing you. She slips her hands inside your t-shirt and seeks your permission, “Can I?” You smile and nod back at her, giving her consent.

She unhooks your bra, and cups your breasts in her hands each. Gently, she begins stimulating them. Your shoulders relax as she helps you feel lighter. You shut your eyes as Wanda gets you all worked up.

Suddenly, she pulls out her hands. You open your eyes and frown, uncertain about what happened. Wanda rubs herself against your thigh, making you moan by feeling her wetness. “Take off your shirt.” She directs you. You do as asked, and she’s met with the sight of your bare upper body. She immediately dives in to lick and play with your nipples, as you close your eyes again. Quite occasionally, you managed to say the same two coherent words; “Oh Wanda…”

She loves seeing you this way. It’s been years since she saw you relieve your stress. She hovers on your top, and connects her lips with your lips once again.

After a long heavy make out session, you decide to consider her wetness still lingering on your thigh. Grabbing her by the hips, you guide her for a pace. She’s in her yellow cotton shorts, and probably wouldn’t mind ruining them even more for you. Her moans get louder and louder till she finally says, “Y/N I’m gonna-”

“Yes honey, do it.” was all it needed for the knot in her stomach to release as she made a mess on your thigh. You slip two fingers within her heat to help her ride it out slowly. You mutter small praises to help her stabilise herself after her climax. Words like “You’re such a good girl” and “You did so well, princess” clearly had an effect on her. When you’re done and you pull out your hand from her dripping cunt, you let Wanda have a seat beside you.

She keeps on breathing heavily, but then looks at the sight of you licking your fingers clean. It was irrestitable for her, she had to pull you into a deep kiss. It was evident — she loved kissing you, whether it was a cute peck, a make out session, or just her catching her breath.

“Let me return the favour detka.” She requests you. You feel like it isn’t really necessary, but you don’t feel like breaking the moment so you let her do it. She pulls down your shorts, and begins teasing you over the panties with her fingers. You arch your back and groan, “Wanda please don’t-” So she bends and kisses your clothed core once before helping you strip off.

Slowly, she pushes in a finger, then adds another one. You spontaneously grasp her shoulders, which perturbs her. So she withdraws her fingers and looks at you tenderly and asks, “Y/N, are you really okay with this?”

“It’s just that… it’s been so long since I have…”

“Hey, I understand. If you want me to stop I can stop right away. You are always my first priority.”

“No, I want this Wanda. Everything feels so right, after so long.”

She slowly kisses you again, and this time not leaving out a single space she hasn’t discovered yet. Before you could do anything, she filled your intimacy with her fingers yet again. It’s an agonisingly slow pace, and it makes you shudder underneath her. “You look so gorgeous Y/N. You’re the most beautiful person I know, inside and out.” You can only breathe heavily in response because you’re (i) speechless, (ii) cuntful.

Gradually, she picks up the speed for you. Echoes of your pants and screams fill the room, and Wanda is enjoying every single bit of it. Soon enough, you were ready for your release. You try to warn her, but she understands your signal and whispers gently, “Come for your princess, Y/N.” It was all you needed to make a mess all over her fingers. She rides you through it as your elevated heartbeat goes back to normal.

She watches you with affection, and moments later you return Wanda’s gaze. She sits beside you again, and you both are in a familiar comfortable silence all over again. You decide to break it and bring up the previous conversation, “So… I guess I love you too? You’re the idiot by the way.”

“What do you mean that you guess? If you want to play the game then don’t forget you’re the naked one here and I can tease you really bad.”

“Oh really princess?” You wink at her and shift closer to her. She wraps her arm around you and says, “Let’s get a little cleaned up. I’m feeling a little hungry.”

You innocently ask her, “What do you want to eat?” but her mind is already running towards the wrong places. She swallows and replies, “A cup of green tea would do for me right now, would you like one?” You shake your head in the positive and get up.

— ✦ —

You two sit on the balcony to have the green tea. It’s late at night and the city is asleep. Your mind stares at the dark sky, still not quite visible because of the buildings. Wanda looks towards you the same time you look at her, she’s smiling. “Look at the moon Y/N!” She points towards it. Your gaze stays fixed on Wanda.

“I am looking at her. She’s breathtaking.”

— ✦ —

The following morning was enchanting as ever. You wake in Wanda’s arms, who is already lying awake next to you, waiting for you. “Good morning detka,” she whispers, “I hope you had a nice sleep.”

Morning laziness takes over you, so you hug her tightly and hum. She giggles and rubs your back with her hand, indicating for you to not doze off again. You groan, “I feel like I've slept after years, probably the first time ever.”

“It’s because you are sleeping for the first time in years. I love seeing you like this, but you need to wake up lyubov.”

“Fine, but you have to answer my question.”

“Go ahead.”

“What were you mad about, yesterday and before that?”

She hides her face behind your shoulder. “It’s stupid.” You hold her chin softly and tilt her head so she’s facing you. She sighs.

“Fine. I just didn’t realise how badly I’ve ever wanted to kiss you until you accidentally said that you’d kiss me if we were together. I’ve never been around someone who I could sit together with, listening to some white noise, and feel at home with. Hell, I’ve never been with anyone who could tell me they love me with my morning face. And then you backed off by acting all I-would-never-kiss-you so I was just a little pissed off. I’m sorry. You see, it’s stupid.”

“It isn’t, you’re just an idiot in love with another idiot. Also, don’t you dare say anything about your morning face. Your freckles, your faded accent, your natural hair - my goodness Wanda, I’d seriously kiss you if we were together.” You place little pecks all over her face, making her chuckle. “I love you Wanda.”

“And I love you Y/N.”

You hear the doorbell ring out of the blue. Against your will, you had to get up and open the door. There’s the mail for the day - a few bills, and a small box, addressed to “Y/N Maximoff” again.

You call Wanda outside the room. When she comes next to you, you ask her, “This is the second box. What do you think it is?” She arches her eyebrows suspiciously and takes the box away from you to keep it next to the bowl of keys. “We can find that out later.” she says before kissing your neck.

#wanda maximoff #wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff x y/n #wanda maximoff x you #wanda x reader #wanda x y/n #wanda x you #mcu wanda #wanda x fem!reader #wanda smut #scarlet witch #scarlet witch x y/n #scarlet witch x you #scarlet witch x reader

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farfromstrange · 4 months

Text

Do No Harm

CHAPTER THREE: Broken Glass

Masterlist | Series Masterlist

Pairing: Matt Murdock x F!Reader

Summary: You have a really shitty night, and it only gets worse until a man in a black mask saves your life.

Warnings for this chapter: ANGST, graphic description of domestic violence (flashback), panic attack, mention of blood & injury, alcohol abuse, sexual assault, Reader tries to play the hero and it backfires (might piss you off)

Word Count: 7.6k

A/n: I worked very long and hard on this one, that's why I didn't post it last week. This is very heavy, so heed the warnings. I hope you all had a lovely Christmas! I’m spending New Year’s in London, and I won’t have my Laptop, so I’m already wishing you guys a happy new year! Spend the day with people you love. Do something that you love. Just enjoy yourselves and we’ll see each other again in 2024!

Read Chapter 3: Broken Glass here on AO3

The loneliness eats you alive like a parasite. As soon as the door of your apartment shuts behind you, the noise coming from the city disappears into the distance, and you are faced with the silent reality of being utterly alone.

It feels like you are living in a haunted house in the middle of nowhere, not a small apartment in the heart of Hell’s Kitchen.

There are no picture frames on the dresser in the hallway. The two plants you bought for yourself are slowly dying of thirst. The fridge is empty. You don’t own any decorations—you don’t even have a shelf for all of your books, and more than half of them are medical research material, anyway.

You may be living in this place, but it isn’t yours. After two years, you are no closer to settling down than you were when you first came to New York.

Every day, you ask yourself how long this peace is going to last, and every day ends the same—you’re still safe, but you are deeply unsettled. Your thoughts keep turning against you like demons that you can’t exorcize. Every day, you wonder when you will have to run away again because your past has a way of catching up to you when you least expect it, so you remain on edge. That’s how you live your life.

If you knew how to accept peace, maybe you would have settled down and personalized your apartment by now, but then again, do you even know who you are? Do you remember the girl you once were? Your memories of the past are scrambled.

You can only remember what it was like to live in a bubble, to be forced into a cage like a bird and turned into someone you never thought you would become. You remember running. You haven’t been yourself in years. Even if you wanted to, there is nothing left for you to put up that would feel like it belongs to you without feeling like pretentious bullshit at the same time. So, you don’t even bother.

It’s lonely though, having nothing and no one. Claire is your friend, sure, but you had nothing and no one back then, and you still barely have anyone now. She’s your friend, but that’s all she is.

You can’t admit it out loud, of course. You can’t admit that you feel lonely, and you can’t pick up your phone and call the one friend you do have to take up on her offer because of reasons not even the rational part of your brain wants to understand.

The lamp in the living room casts a dim light over the main area of the apartment and the open kitchen. You place Matt’s business card on the kitchen counter.

Should you call him? A million questions go through your mind, firing rapidly like bullets from an automatic gun. You’re not even sure if you want to call him. You felt comfortable around him, but enough to abandon all your principles? If you call him, he might ask you out, and what do you do then? You don’t date, not anymore, and you definitely won’t let a stranger into the mess that is your life. You can’t do that to a kind soul like him. Matthew is special in a way that you can’t put into words, and that makes the decision so much harder.

You know exactly what’s holding you back. It’s the same invisible string of feelings that is keeping you from personalizing your living space. You don’t know when you might need to run, and then what?

Your lungs contract. Air is a lot harder to come by when you’re all wound up. You hope that a nice glass of white wine will help put some things into perspective. Fooling around with someone can’t hurt, but anything more than that could lead to a catastrophe. You have had enough of those for a lifetime.

You like keeping to yourself. It keeps your heart safe. What happened today, meeting Matthew after you so miserably sought a place to be alone, it was a coincidence—a welcome distraction. And you seemed so like-minded at first glance. He was intriguing and you’re still wondering about his injuries and how he got them, but that’s not the point. None of this is.

The point is that you are not the kind of person he thinks you are. That’s why you can’t call him. And strangely, that hurts a lot more than simple heartbreak, knowing that you have been ruined for all relationships to come because you made one wrong choice and fell down the rabbit hole—unfortunately not into Wonderland.

“Shit!” you curse when a drop of wine lands beside the glass.

You lick your finger, trying to wipe the liquid on the counter with a paper towel. In the process, your hand accidentally brushes against the glass, and the sole touch sends it hurdling to the floor. You try to catch it, but the fragile glass has already hit the tiles of your kitchen floor. It shatters into a million pieces.

The sound reverberates in your ears. Like a shot in the dark, your body is jolted awake into a state of panic. The crash reminds you of hell, and the all-too-familiar flames start touching your skin again, set out to burn you alive. It’s a feeling you know by heart—a feeling you wish you weren’t so painfully aware of.

Glass breaks before your inner eye.

You were trying to make him a drink, you remember. He wanted Whiskey, no ice, and at perfect room temperature—it was always the same. After the first black eye that you had to hide under mountains of concealer, you taught yourself to perfect it. You didn’t want to disappoint him. You didn’t want to get into trouble.

You spent more money than you could afford on the one brand of Whiskey he always told you to get, even if that meant traveling to a store miles away from home. He always wanted that Whiskey, and who were you to deny him?

You didn’t pay attention for one second, and the glass shattered on the kitchen floor. Your heart stopped. The last drops of the brown liquid spilled everywhere, including your clothes. The glass was his favorite. Expensive, too. It broke because you weren’t looking. You were so stupid.

Fear froze the blood in your veins. Your heart stopped beating. You couldn’t breathe. You reached for a cloth with shaky hands, trying to pick up the pieces in time, but the sound of the glass breaking—that godforsaken loud sound that reminded you of obnoxious screaming—was instantly followed by an even louder echo of angry footsteps.

Over time, you became painfully aware of those footsteps. You knew how they sounded on wooden floorboards, carpet, and the stairs in the hallway of the apartment building. You still remember how they sounded when he was wearing those squeaky sneakers on the linoleum floors of the hospital.

It’s a sound that always sends shivers down your spine; everyone has those sneakers, but his footsteps were much heavier, much more demanding even when he wasn’t demanding anything.

And back then, you knew what would follow as soon as you heard them.

“What is this?” his voice reached your ears.

Your throat tightened. You didn’t even dare to look up. If you had met his eyes, you would have seen your fate in them, and the empty black hole that was his soul. “I’m sorry, I– I lost my grip and–and I dropped it,” you said. You thought that would fix it. How foolish of you, to have faith in someone who never had faith in you. “I’m so sorry,” you couldn’t stop repeating it.

You thought this time, he would listen to your apology. He would let you fix what you broke. You would have done anything for his approval, for his praise, and for him not to be mad at you. You didn’t want to fight. The evening had started so well. He even kissed you when he came home because you finished dinner in time. He smiled because you managed to clean even the last crevices of his apartment after your shift. He promised he would reward you.

You fucked up. You knew you fucked up, but you prayed to God that his good mood would keep you safe this time. That he would give you a pass because you have been so incredibly good. You’ve been the best girlfriend he could have asked for, so obedient, never questioning, and always on his side—you were wrong. So, so wrong.

He saw the empty bottle of Whiskey. He picked it up. “That was the last sip of my good Whiskey,” he remarked.

You stopped moving.

“I’ll pick up a new one,” your voice was barely above a whisper. “Stores are still open. This is my fault. Let me clean this up and I will–”

“You had one job.”

The sound of his voice turned cold, colder than usual. You exhaled a shaky breath.

“You had one job,” he said. “I go to work, I save lives, and I teach young, useless doctors like you how to do the same. All I asked of you was to cook dinner, clean the apartment and make me a fucking drink.”

With each word, his volume ascended. Your shoulder started vibrating, but you forced yourself to hold your breath. You couldn’t let the fear show. Being afraid, in his eyes, equaled weakness, and he would prove to you time and time again what weakness truly meant to him. He would turn you into a weak mess and laugh about it. You were trying your hardest to avoid any more unnecessary punishment. You had to tread lightly. He was in charge, not you.

And you breaking the glass was so stupid, all you wanted was to surrender. In your twisted mind, he was right. It was just a glass, but he told you how useless you were many times before, and you were slowly starting to believe it.

Without him, you were nothing. No one else could have possibly put up with you.

“What do you do?” He reached out and slammed the empty bottle on the ground.

You barely had time to react before some of the bigger shards hit your cheek, slicing the skin. It took you a second to process, the pain not even kicking in because you expected his hand to come down on you, not an entire glass bottle. The trajectory almost hit your eye. Almost.

“You spill my fucking drink!” this time, he yelled.

A sob escaped your lips. There it was, the smallest sign of fear and pain.

He rolled his eyes. You shouldn’t have sobbed, you knew that. “Get up,” he said.

You winced when he grabbed you and yanked you off the floor. The trail of blood ran hot on your cold cheek. It stung. Your heart was pounding in your chest, hammering against your ribcage and the fresh bruise that still hadn’t healed.

You were scared, and the tighter he grabbed you, forcing your chin upward to look him dead in the eyes, the harder it got to hide what you were truly feeling. In his eyes, you were nothing. And you were so weak, all you could do was to submit.

“Look at me,” he said. His eyes roamed your face.

You couldn’t not look at him. It was impossible. What you saw made you sick to your very stomach. It tied a noose around your neck, threatening to kick you off the high chair. Your feet were dangling dangerously close to the cliff.

“You’re pathetic, you hear me? Useless. You had one job. One. And you couldn’t even do that right.”

You opened your mouth, but instead of letting you speak, his hand tangled in your hair and he pulled, hard. “No!” he bellowed. “You have lost the right to speak to me.”

He said your name. He always said it in a way that made you want to vomit. Your first and last names were tainted because of him. He used them in vain. He used you. He used everything as he saw fit and believed he was entitled to it.

You hated him, but you also loved him.

“You’re going to clean up the mess you made, and then you’re going to go to the store, buy me another bottle of Whiskey, and you’re going to make me another drink. I don’t want to hear a single word out of you,” he said. “Are we clear?”

You nodded. He pulled a little harder.

“What was that?”

“Yes, sir,” you choked out.

When he finally let you go, you fell to the floor, your chest heaving with dry sobs. Perhaps he was too annoyed or maybe leaving you alone, finally, was a display of humanity.

The man you once believed to have loved you turned out to be a monster that would not have wept, not possibly, if you had died. He only wanted to control you, and whenever he felt like he couldn’t, he punished you. You stayed way too long because you believed in someone who was never there in the first place. The real him you believed to know once had never been real. He had been a fraud. He did anything he possibly could to lure you in, and then you were stuck.

But even knowing this, you wanted to please him, and you took what he gave you. You ate it up like a starved cavewoman. You had no one else but him, and that alone is a sad thought that you keep entertaining now.

The sound of broken glass has haunted you since that day. Whenever it happens, either to you or someone else, you find yourself in a state of shock. It’s never the same memory, but always alike. And it hurts. It hurts so much, you can’t breathe.

You touch your left cheek. The scar is barely visible anymore, but whenever you touch it, it feels like a mountain of regret. You can still feel the blood pooling under your fingertips, the liquid as sticky as it was hot.

You stumble over to the sink, circling the broken glass. Cold water; your senses need a sudden slap across the face or you will cower in a corner and surely die. Your heartbeat is racing in your ears, and your fingers shake as you form a bowl with your hands to catch the water from the tap.

Air returns to your lungs. Burying your face in the cold water, you focus on the way it seeps into your hot skin.

Broken glass triggers you. Squeaky footsteps in the hospital hallways trigger you. You zone out so easily. You can’t talk to strangers without suspecting the worst. Every time you pass the hospital administrator’s office, you’re scared you will get fired—that you will lose your job and your entire career.

He took everything from you. He broke you and the optimistic young woman you used to be. You were so bright, so ready to change your life for the better. You worked hard to escape the toxicity of your childhood, and you still managed to run into the arms of an abusive narcissist who saw you as nothing but his property.

It’s sad, and it’s utterly ironic; you told yourself you would never make the same mistake your mom made before she died, and you still did. You were foolish, and you’re still foolish now.

You can’t call Matthew. You can’t trust anyone, not even yourself, and even if he is trustworthy, he doesn’t deserve someone as damaged as you.

The business card lands in the trash can under the sink. You give it one last teary-eyed look before slamming it shut. It’s better this way. The excitement you felt when you first held it in your hands was bound to only be temporary. You knew reality would screw it up, maybe it truly is for the best. Or maybe this is the trauma talking and you’re sabotaging yourself, but even then it’s better this way.

It’s early in the morning, and you leave the broken glass on the sticky kitchen floor. You can’t touch it, not even with gloves. Every time you do, the scar on your cheek stings, and you lose your breath. Every bone, muscle, and nerve is hurting in your body, and every breath tears right through your soul.

You don’t want to live like this anymore.

The warm water of your small shower rains down on your clothes frame. The bottle of wine in your hand is no longer cold and mixed with water, but you don’t care. Your mind is fuzzy, intoxicated, and in agony. It’s a raging wave of anger with no possible point of release. You’re drowning in despair, buried in a grave of your own making. Alcohol knowingly doesn’t mix well with heartache, but it’s the only thing that will make the voices go away. It silences your thoughts just long enough for you to find a sliver of rest in this stormy ocean, something to hold onto so you won’t drown completely.

Your heartbeat aligns with the rhythmic pattering of the water. It serenades you. The fog engulfs your brain, weakening your already strained muscles. The cocktail in your veins is poisonous. You should know better than to do this to yourself. You’re a doctor, after all. You are well aware that liquor is not medicine, but it’s the closest you can get. You don’t care as much about your own well-being as you should.

Getting drunk all by yourself under the hot shower stream fits right into your miserable state.

The sun rises and falls over the next couple of hours. Your alarm goes as night befalls Hell’s Kitchen, but you don’t hear it. Only after it has gotten dark and your phone has started ringing with calls from the hospital does your mind registers that something isn’t quite right.

You wake up in a cold sweat. Your head is pounding. The wine bottle lies empty on the nightstand next to you, together with a bottle of tequila that you decided to open. Glasses are strewn around with empty takeout containers that are more than a few days old. At first, you’re disoriented, reaching beside you for your phone, which is still in the living room next door.

You forgot to close the blinds, but you were so out of it that you didn’t notice the hours pass by. The analog clock on the bedside table tells you that it’s a few hours before eleven. At night.

Your shift was supposed to start at ten.

The information takes a moment to connect and process, but as soon as it does, you snap out of whatever hungover state you are in and force yourself out of bed. You stumble over empty bottles and dirty laundry on your way to your phone.

“Shit, shit, shit!” you curse. You almost step into the pile of broken glass in the kitchen. “Fuck me! Shit!”

You are screwed, you know that. You’re not even sure if all the alcohol has left your system. You might as well lose your job tonight.

With one hand, you dial the hospital administrator’s number, who called you over thirty times over the past hour, while you try to find something to wear with your other hand.

The line finally clicks after what feels like an eternity. “You better have a damn good reason why you aren’t here, Olivia, or I swear to God–”

You cut her off. “I’m so sorry, Shelly,” you say. Your voice is slightly shaky, but you keep it together. “I didn’t hear my alarm a-and I slept in. This has never happened before. I’m usually a very light sleeper. I… I’m already halfway out the door, I promise. I’m sorry.”

“You slept in?!” Shelly answers, her voice resembling a screech. “What— Liv, seriously, are you okay?”

“I’m fine. I just… I slept in, that’s all. I’m so, so sorry. I know I screwed up.”

“Unbelievable. First Claire calls out with a mystery illness that apparently still hasn’t gone away, and then my best trauma surgeon sleeps in.” You can hear her shake her head over the noise of the hospital in the background. She sighs. “You’re lucky that this is your first tardy,” she says. “I’ll let it slide just this once. Just… hurry, okay?”

A weight falls off your shoulders. You let out an audible sigh of relief. “Thank you,” you tell her. “You have no idea how much this means to me. I–”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever. Just make sure you get here before midnight. And you will have to work the time that you’ve missed, even if that puts you at risk of having to pull a double shift. This is not up for debate. I feel like I’m working at a children’s daycare.”

You’re not sure if that was meant for you or if she simply forgot to hang up.

You grab your bag and your keys in one swift motion. “I’m leaving now. See ya!”

The bus you usually take to work at this time of night is long gone. There is one more that could take you to your destination, but you arrive at the bus stop just a millisecond too late. It takes off right in front of you, refusing to turn back even when you start sprinting after it, flailing your arms around wildly.

It’s late, it’s dark, and you’re all alone. The walk to the hospital is over half an hour long, and you promised Shelly you would make it in time before midnight. The next cab is miles away; you’ve checked the app twice, and anything beyond that would be too expensive.

Hell’s Kitchen is dangerous at this time of night, but you don’t have much of a choice. If you don’t try, there is a high chance Shelly will fire you. If she fires you, you would have to find another country to start over in—you burned bridges in all possible States, and anything closer to where you came from would be too dangerous for you.

Darkness doesn’t scare you; broken glass and loud footsteps scare you, but the dark of the night has always been somewhat of a soothing companion to you. What scares you is what could be lurking in that very darkness, and the thought makes you walk a little faster.

Your head is still pounding. Every step you take delivers a punch to your temples. You can feel your heartbeat in your throat. The streetlights are suddenly too bright for your sensitive eyes, but you push through. You have to.

“So stupid,” you mutter under your breath. “Universe, if you can hear me, just kill me now.”

Passing a particularly dark part of town with the mace on your keychain clutched tightly in your hand, a loud scream pierces the air. Your feet glue themselves to the ground.

Some things you can only understand if you have experienced the paralyzing feeling of dread that would cause a human being to scream bloody murder.

You would be lying if you said that the scream you heard coming from that alley wasn’t in any way familiar to you. Perhaps that’s why you choose to abandon all rational thought and run toward danger rather than away from it. Adrenaline is a funny thing, and when it interacts with trauma and anger that has been building for years, there is no knowing what the human body might be capable of doing.

With the mace in your hand, you walk toward the alley. The closer you get, the louder the desperate pleas grow. The helplessness in the woman’s voice paints a clear picture of what is happening.

“Hey!” your voice resembles a shout in the poorly lit alley. “Why don’t you pick on someone your own size?” you ask. Your voice becomes a foreign language.

The man, dressed in a pair of ripped jeans and a hoodie, is towering over a terrified woman. The bottom of her dress is slightly ripped, and it keeps riding up as she struggles against his grip.

From the corner of your eye, you can see the shiny handle of a knife sticking out of his boot; there is no telling when or if he will pull it. And when you look into his empty eyes, you realize you overestimated yourself.

“Get lost!” the man tells you. He must be around your age, judging from his features.

You shake your head. “I have no intention of letting you live out your disgusting rape fantasies on a real-life human being,” you retort. “Let her go, or I will call the cops.”

He takes a step toward you, his hand reaching for the knife. Instinctively, you extend your keychain and spray the pepper directly into his eyes. You empty the entire bottle on him, the adrenaline in your veins locking your thumb to the fragile button.

The woman slides out of her attacker’s grasp when he topples over in agony. He cries out. The spray is quickly causing the skin around his eyes to redden and swell. For a moment, he’s completely incapacitated.

You can tell that he didn’t calculate for this to happen. He also doesn’t seem to know the woman he decided to attack personally. He just saw a woman walking alone at night and thought he could take what he wanted like the animal he is.

Your eyes flick toward the woman. Sweat is starting to pool from your pores, mixing with the adrenaline.

She adjusts her dress, her sobs turning into heavy panting. You know that look on her face all too well. She has scratches on her thighs and arms. It’s hard to tell just how badly he already hurt her before you came along, at least in this lighting and from where you’re standing.

You reach out to support her. “Are you alright?” you ask her.

She looks down at her shaky hands, then back at you. She reminds you of a deer in headlights. With a gentle tug, you pull her further out of the alley. The man who attacked her is still blinded, clutching his skull and scratching at his eyes, making the effects of the pepper spray worse. In your mind, he can’t hurt you anymore, but you still need to get her away from him—as far as possible, too.

“A few cuts and bruises,” you observe, trying not to touch her as you assess her injuries. “Listen, I’m going to call the cops and we’re gonna get you to a hospital, alright?” You search her eyes until she finally looks back at you. “This is nothing I can’t stitch up in a few minutes,” you say, “and then I’ll get you someone who can help you process what happened. Just know that he can’t hurt you anymore. I promise. I’m a witness, and I will make sure he gets what he deserves.”

You should know better than to make promises, especially in the heat of the moment. This is not something you can confidently promise because things might not turn out in your favor.

The woman pulls her arms away suddenly. “No! No cops, no hospitals,” she pleads.

“I know you’re scared, believe me, I do, but–”

“No!” She shakes her head again, her voice becoming more determined as the seconds tick by.

You wish the world wasn’t as cruel as it is. You can’t force her. If it were easy, you probably would have turned to law enforcement too, but it’s not easy. What hurts the most is that you understand why she is so adamant about not calling the police and not going to a hospital, even with so many variables still unknown; you understand too well what it is like.

Shame and fear are powerful emotions—when all else fails, they take over.

“I’m sorry,” the woman’s voice quivers. She looks between you and her attacker once more. “Thank you, really, but I can’t—I have to go. I’m so sorry.”

“Wait!” You try to stop her, but she slips through your fingers before you can convince her otherwise.

She disappears down the street. Calling the police seems almost futile now. You look down at your phone. You’re still a witness to a crime. You should speak up about what you saw. You should try to get justice, even if it will be your word against his.

Your finger hovers above the call button, but a dark voice from the alley stops you in your tracks. “You bitch!” the man shouts. His voice carries, making you shiver. Now that you’re alone with him, you realize how helpless the situation really is.

You can’t move. You can’t run. You can’t hide. Your eyes widen. Even half-blind, he has managed to pull the dirty knife from his boot, and he is charging right at you. As if you are the substitute for the woman you just saved. You should have run with her. This was a bad idea.

“Fuck,” you curse under your breath. You press down on your keychain, but it’s empty now. You’re weaponless with a lot of fake confidence that is slowly swindling, and somehow, you still can’t move.

You’re frozen in place. Your own recklessness will get you killed. No one will miss you. Your corpse will be buried in a strange cemetery in a strange city that has only been your home for two years, and no one will ever know who you truly were because you told Claire to take your secrets to the grave with her. You will die alone with the familiar feeling of fear and despair spreading through your veins like wildfire.

Something inside of you cracks, and it melts your frozen muscles. You snap out of your haze when he is only a few inches away from you. In an instant, you have started backing out of the alley almost entirely. You’re running, and you’re running fast.

You believe that karma comes back around, but sometimes, it takes the wrong direction. You lose your footing suddenly, stumbling over your own shoes, and your ass hits the pavement with a force that knocks the breath out of your lungs. Your wrists bend at a painful angle as you catch yourself, and you look up into the red eyes of what you expect to be your certain demise.

The impact from the knife never comes. You know what it feels like to be impaled by a sharp object. You know what pain feels like—but it never comes.

You open your eyes when your ears pick up on the sound of bone breaking—the sight you’re met with startles you, and for a second, you wonder if you’re still alive. You touch your wrist to check for a pulse; it’s still there. You’re not dead, and you’re not hallucinating, either. This is real.

You’ve seen the news reporting on a man in a black mask scouring the streets of Hell’s Kitchen at night. For weeks now, gang bangers, suspected rapists, and drug dealers have been piling up in the emergency room with several fractures, some of them severe enough to require extensive surgery, but none of them were ever hurt enough to die from their injuries.

A Russian was dropped from a building a while back. He fell into a coma and then died suddenly a few nights ago, but that was the only patient who got beat up by the infamous Devil of Hell’s Kitchen who lost all quality of life.

You don’t like to judge, but there is something about him that makes you feel safe rather than afraid. He only beats up those who are in the business of committing injustice and pose a danger to innocent lives. He’s there when the law fails. And so far, he has never killed anyone. The injuries on the patients you treated were quite severe and suggested that whoever did it has a great collection of anger issues, but he has enough self-control not to kill.

He’s not a threat to people like you. He is, however, a threat to the kind of man who tried to rape an innocent woman and then threatened you with a knife.

Your attacker drops to the ground with a pained grunt. The man in the mask is towering over him, his chest heaving. You admire his physique for a moment too long. Your eyes trail from his toned chest in that tight black shirt to his backside in those tight-fitting black pants.

He seems oddly familiar yet, at the same time, he is a total stranger. A stranger in a mask. A stranger who throws fists like a professional boxer. A stranger who could crush your head within seconds. And still, there is something about him that reminds you of someone else, someone you just recently met, but you can’t put your finger on it. It wouldn’t even make sense if you tried.

You’re still sitting on the cold asphalt, staring up at the man who saved you. He turns his head toward you, slowly. His plump lips glisten in the moonlight.

“You hurt?” he asks.

Your throat is all dried up. One glance down at your palms tells you that you only scraped the skin, but you’re not injured. So, you shake your head. Maybe there is a little fear mixed into your stunned eyes, but only because this is a very strange situation to find yourself in, and you have been in a lot of very strange situations in the past.

He tilts his head ever so slightly. His nostrils flare. “You’re bleeding.”

You don’t even want to know how he knows that.

“Just a scratch,” you finally manage to speak up, although your voice sounds embarrassingly small.

You wipe your palms on your pants and slowly rise to your feet. Every bone in your body hurts. Standing across from him, you realize how much taller he is in person.

“I’m not gonna hurt you,” he says.

“I know.”

He stops. You can’t see his eyes, but the lower part of his face reveals the confusion that has taken him over.

“I’ve dealt with men worse than you,” you state. “I’m not scared.”

He chuckles darkly. “You’re welcome.”

People usually don’t talk back at him, it seems. At least those he saves usually don’t.

“I could’ve defended myself. In fact, I already did.” You lift your keychain. “I don’t know if playing the hero is your thing, but I’m not a victim.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“Excuse me?”

“I wasn’t trying to play hero,” he clarifies, a humorless smirk resting on his lips, “I was saving your life ‘cause you were trying to play the hero. Next time, I suggest you don’t bring mace to a knife fight.”

“And I suggest you don’t put your nose where it doesn’t belong,” you retort.

You were grateful for no longer than a second. Now, you’re just annoyed.

The alley is still. The atmosphere is heavy with the aftermath of the danger you only narrowly escaped—thanks to him, and you hate admitting that even to yourself. He seems unfazed, almost amused, by your attempts at asserting your independence, and the arrogance radiating off him is hitting the wrong nerve.

“This guy was gonna kill you because you decided to do the right thing,” he says, adjusting his leather gloves. “I decided to save your life. We both made decisions tonight, and it doesn’t matter whether we are happy with them or not. What matters is that no one got hurt.”

“Tell that to the woman he traumatized for life.”

He sighs at your words. “You still did the right thing.”

“I know,” you say.

“Are you always this feisty?”

“Only to masked vigilantes who think I’m some damsel in distress that needs saving and that everything can be solved with their pretty little fists.”

“Well, my pretty little fists are the reason you didn’t end up stabbed, so,” he answers, and his lips curl into a smug smirk. He shrugs, his black shirt riding up only slightly, revealing a sliver of marble skin. You can’t help but let your eyes wander.

“I don’t need a thank you,” he says, “but you need to be more careful next time. Don’t go into dark alleys alone, especially at night. It’s not safe.”

You want to give a snarky remark, but the sound of church bells in the background signal to you that it’s midnight, and you are supposed to be at work. Checking your phone would be a death sentence. Sirens can be heard in the background, but they are not headed for you.

Maybe Shelly won’t fire you if you’re honest with her about what conspired tonight—if you bare you allow her a glimpse into your soul—but you will suffer the consequences of your own stupidity gravely in the days to come, that much you do know.

You exhale an exasperated sigh. “I don’t have time for this,” you mutter.

“Got somewhere to be?” the masked man asks you.

“As a matter of fact, I do. But that’s none of your business.”

You wonder if he’s frowning under that thin cloth that is hiding his real identity. He still seems so familiar to you. How can he fight if he’s keeping his eyes covered? It’s not the first question you have asked yourself about him, but it surely is the most prominent one because no explanation for it makes sense to you; at least not one you can think of. You want to ask, but you also don’t want to keep encouraging him. You shouldn’t care.

You look back down at the man he knocked out. He’s still unconscious, and he’s bleeding profusely. The angry woman in you wants to let him rot here and let the masked man have his fun, but the doctor in you can’t just leave him there.

“What about him?” you hear yourself asking, but your mind is far away.

He tilts his head toward where you’re pointing, not actively looking. How could he? His eyes are covered. His eyes… You can’t make sense of this, and it is affecting your judgment. It’s making you frustrated.

“He can’t touch you anymore,” his dark voice suddenly sounds so soft.

A sliver of humanity shines through his facade. Your angry demeanor cracks. “You beat him up pretty good. He could have lasting brain damage,” you remark.

He pauses, tilting his head further toward the man on the ground. “No,” he says, pouting a little. “He’s still breathing.”

“He could still have brain damage.”

“He has a few broken bones, cuts, bruises, but he’s alive.”

“Those things are totally unrelated. You’re not a doctor, you wouldn’t understand. I’ve already treated more bad guys in the past month than I could possibly count on my fingers, and all of them seemed to fear the same man. Now, not many things can scare a gangbanger to death. Not many people can deliver blows so deliberately without actually fatally wounding anyone. I know it was you,” you say. “Everyone knows it was you, and they’re afraid of you. I’m not, but I am a doctor, and I took an oath to do no harm. I vowed to help those in need, including those I believe may not be worthy of my help. This has nothing to do with judgment. I know you don’t kill; I see it with my own eyes every damn night, but the Russian you beat up a couple days ago?”

That catches his attention. His head whips back around to you, his upper lip twitching slightly as if he is tasting the air. His attention is entirely on you. The question, “What?” gets lost as nothing but a breathless whisper in the cold night air.

“He was in a coma,” you continue, “and then he died. It’s probably unrelated to what you did, but there was only a small chance he would have ever woken up again anyway. Just because someone is still breathing doesn’t mean their brain is alive. What makes us human, who we are, that is all anchored in our brains. We can’t survive without it. You may not have killed him, but that guy barely had any brain activity left, and that is not something you can consider life.”

You didn’t expect him to sneer. You must have hit a nerve with your words, but it must have hurt him deeply.

“My point is, I am not letting you do the same to this guy. I’m calling an ambulance and the police, and I will let them figure this out.”

“He’ll walk,” he says, and his voice is dark again. It sends shivers down your spine.

You look at him, your confidence not wavering this time. “Then so be it, but I am not letting him die,” you say.

“How is having a rapist walk the streets of this city not doing harm?”

You raise your eyebrows. “Beg your pardon?”

“He will do this again, and maybe next time there will be no one to step in and he will hurt another woman.”

“So what, you want to kill him instead of surrendering him to the authorities?”

“That’s not what I do.”

“Then what do you do?”

“I’m trying to make this city a better place!”

His voice bounces off the walls building a cage around the alley. “And I’m just trying to save a human life, even if it’s a shitty one!” you shoot back. “It’s not our choice who gets to play God, okay? Death would be too kind for a man like him, and leaving him here won’t solve anything either. Like it or not, but I’m not breaking my oath.”

You made a promise when you became a doctor, and you are not going to risk letting someone die on your watch. That could get you into a lot of trouble.

You approach your attacker’s limp body. When you kneel next to him, a gush of wind blows through your hair. You assess his skull, his abdomen, and his limbs. So far, all you can see are superficial wounds, and the same fractures you have seen pass through the emergency room more than once in the past couple of weeks. He did a number on him, but his pulse feels normal and he is breathing.

You lift your head, but when you do, you find the spot before you empty. The Devil of Hell’s Kitchen has disappeared into the darkness, leaving you to fend for yourself. You should have seen this coming.

The ambulance takes a while to arrive after you’ve dialed 911. You try your best to keep the man stabilized, but he remains unresponsive. When help finally arrives, the emergency responders are followed by police, and you don’t hesitate to give your statement. You leave the masked vigilante that saved your life out of it—you may not have seen eye to eye just now, but you don’t want to rat him out either. You owe him as much.

Just as you’re picking your purse off the dirty ground to follow the EMTs to the hospital in the ambulance, giving you the perfect excuse to give to Shelly on why you are even later than you already were, a glimpse of silver in the shadows catches your attention.

“You did the right thing,” the Devil speaks only loud enough for you to hear, hiding in the darkness protecting the fire escape of the nearest building.

You swallow your pride. “Thank you,” you finally tell him.

He chuckles. “For telling you that or saving your life?”

“Both,” and you even offer him a small smile with your gratitude. That is all you’re capable of giving him, for now.

“Take care,” he says.

The glimpse of silver disappears, causing the metal of the fire escape to shake under his weight, and he is long gone before you even whisper, “You too.”

Tag List: @shiorimakibawrites @allllium @siampie @auroraslibrary @roseallisonparker @abucketofweird @thatonegamefish @capylore @kniselle @sumo-b98 @peachstarliight @danzer8705 @kakamixo @littlehappyperson @atemydadforbreakfast @stevenknightmarc @zheezs14

#matt murdock #daredevil #matt murdock x reader #matt murdock x f!reader #matt murdock angst #matt murdock fluff #matt murdock x you #daredevil x reader #reader insert #doctor!reader #matt murdock imagines #charlie cox #do no harm

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ay0nha · 10 months

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Some Unholy War | Theseus Scamander (III)

SUMMARY: You knew why he was on your mind. The sweater you wore was thick, not quite oversized, but spacious enough to remind you its fit was meant for its owner. Its scent exposed Theseus as the one to leave it beside the fresh towel his mother left on your borrowed quilt.

PAIRING: Theseus Scamander x f!reader

WORD COUNT: 2K

WARNINGS: canon-typical things, mentions of food/eating, angst, family dinner during the holidays, flashback, mutual pining, semi enemies-to- lovers, always a protective Theseus, SLOW burn, teenagers being dumb, **poets please don’t come after me, I tried my best with the haikus** , etc.

A/N: HELLO. This took me longer than I would have liked. This flashback is a filler, bleh. Rather than this sitting even longer, I figured I’d post! Next part, we’re getting into some Good Stuff. As always, thank you, @kalllistos . Comments are always welcomed. Enjoy.

PART I, PART II, PART IV

—YEARS PRIOR—

Your plate was full, everything delectably placed yet so unsatisfying. There were only so many times you could push the vegetables around until they fell back into their original place. Eyes were on you, and you knew you would have to feign your appetite, or the suspicion would intensify.

“This is delicious, Mrs. Scamander—” You hummed through a mouthful of food. You knew what you were playing at with the action—so eager to compliment you couldn’t wait until you swallowed. There was no doubt it was convincing, but you struggled to believe your own performance. “—Again, thank you for having me, I—”

“Nonsense!” She hushed you quickly, as she had every Christmas. The act was familiar, perfected over many years. “The holiday wouldn’t be anything without you.”

As the finale, you would wear a polite smile that would last until dessert; in between, you interjected, answering questions posed or even offering small insights into the topic. But you relaxed into your role too much, being caught in the eldest son’s gaze.

“What?” You held back a hiss despite his polite eyes. They were full of curiosity. You were too defensive to see how enamored he was, rather deciding not to be scrutinized.

His voice was quiet, knowing his extended family was prone to eavesdropping. Therefore, his words were clipped, “You alright?”

Even with the distance of the wooden table, you noted his voice was broken by adolescence. You would have noticed it sooner if you hadn’t avoided him so intently—the School Boy Hero. The name alone taunted you, reminding you of the success he would gain with ease and the distance that you had created. It was intentional, but it wasn’t exclusive.

Theseus was unfazed. Although there weren’t shared courses, he carved out time to find you. He greeted you like you weren’t the recluse of your younger year—as if you weren’t under the watchful eye of professors and students alike. It bemused you how one could smile so widely all the time. And now, he picked up on your act.

“I’m fine.” You tugged a smile for those around you. Despite the years of acquaintance, your presence at the Scamander family table still weighed on you.

You were eternally grateful for their hospitality and generosity. The Scamanders accepted you every year when your parents chose a getaway. However, each year, your childlike wonder at the decorations wore off. The reality hit you that you were out of place in their home, no matter how welcoming the family was.

He started again, pausing to determine his phrasing. “It’s just that you haven’t…”

“Theseus.” Mrs. Scamander started, warning humming in her throat. She always read you well. The best, really. “What was it you were telling me the other day?” The question was intriguing solely due to Theseus’ tense reaction as she turned to you. “He told me how well you’ve done with divination.”

Theseus’ ears burned, but his confidence stayed. You spoke before he could embarrass you further.

“Oh, well…” The moment was perfect for placing your fork down. You collected yourself well enough to appear bashful. “Theseus exaggerates.”

“Divination is—” One uncle started, suddenly being able to hear from the end of the table. “—not a profound subject, love.” There were murmurs of agreement, but you remained steady. “Focus on Ruines…”

“...Ancient Ruines is—” Another joined in, holiday intoxication booming with their words. “–far more valuable, well—” A bark of laughter. “–for everything! I—”

More piped in.

“If anything is—” Valuable, the sentence was finished by an echo of another. The overlapping conversation became unintentionally jovial, and attention shifted from you. “It has to be flying.” People nodded at the practicality of the suggestion. “I was always good at that.”

You grew tired of their critical haikus. The envy of a large family had left you. It was a constant dream to have open arms around you that provided everything unconditionally. But that was a facade, a liminal space only explored in literature and even more complicated in reality.

“She has an aptitude, actually.” Theseus’ voice carried well, too well. “Shouldn’t that be celebrated?”

The table responded with silence, their young family member no longer meekly looking for attention. Family dinners required debates.

“Of course!” Mrs. Scamander raised her cup to you, winking with tenderness. The action alone told you enough; once it was just adults in the room, her words would be as sharp as the knife in her hand. “I wish I had such talent.”

Mrs. Scamander was an intentional person. She knew the power of the topic she chose and remained purposefully quiet. She took in how Theseus’ demeanor confirmed her suspicions of his growing fondness for you. It was plain as day, but due to your ages, she knew the ignorance of mutual feelings would guide everything. More importantly, though, she was able to see how Theseus simmered with a maturing defiance that she was delighted he grew into. Further proving she had raised her son right.

You valued his comment. Oddly, it made every pea on your plate worth it—something of a smile emerged in private amusement. Theseus stewed, but it dissipated being privy to it.

—

Your fingers were stiff from the cold. You cursed the winter and how it made you physically fumble for the months it endured. It was as though your body rejected how it influenced you. Yet, your mind was made up long before the leaves started to fall.

You were leaving.

The plan was formed with caution. You prided yourself on your caution. It was a skill you inherited despite your parent’s apathy. The middle of the night would be far too obvious, expected. The sweet spot was when even the troublemakers would be sleeping when the sun rose with an icy fog that would cover you.

You’d finally be—

A knock made you jolt. You were able to slip away for a breath before the celebrations continued. There was pushed aside the guilt that flooded your stomach with the soft ask of entry.

You debated ignoring it, pretending you’d fallen asleep, but you’d already said yes.

Theseus drew the short straw of a rigged game. You missed his gait when he turned the hallway to find you. You curled further into the thick sheets as your only form of resistance when he finally entered the room.

“...been sent to get you.” He snacked on the sweets in his hands. He swallowed them in one go to continue his objective. “They’re threatening charades.”

“You’re letting the cold in…” There wasn’t a whine attached to your words, but there may as well have been. Thankfully, Theseus read through your words to find their instruction. It beckoned him closer after you heard the confirming click of the closed door.

Although the room was Newt’s, you always had a knack for filling the space you occupied. With the bed pressed against the window, the illumination of the Christmas lights was only to your advantage. You looked beautiful.

The butterflies in Theseus’ stomach were more like birds. Most likely crows, highly intelligent, and sent by you. You’d been off, secluded, despite the company surrounding you. Yet, he couldn't miss how your posture straightened at his presence. Those crows fluttered with pride.

“I had a dream about you the other night…” Your mouth was hidden behind your clothed arm. Your voice was muffled as you looked out the snowy window, but Theseus clung to every word. “A premonition, really.”

“... surprised your subconscious let me linger.” He teased, hands finding solace in his pockets.

You knew why he was on your mind. The sweater you wore was thick, not quite oversized, but spacious enough to remind you its fit was meant for its owner. Its scent exposed Theseus as the one to leave it beside the fresh towel his mother left on your borrowed quilt.

“Go on…” He encouraged you, not letting the silence seep too deeply. He learned its repercussions.

“It’s hard to describe.” You mumbled. You hadn’t regretted bringing it up, but you wished you chose something else as a justification to talk to him. “You were just there…” You said, confused at the feelings elicited by the admission. “We were talking like we are now...”

“Surely the conversation was more enthralling…” He knocked lightly. Theseus glided up beside you, shoulder fitted against yours, a comfort given.

“We were older.” You had to suppress a yawn at the memory. You were so tired, you weren’t sure if you could trust your own remembrance. “I didn’t recognize myself, but I knew it was you—your hair was longer, but it was…you.”

Even in your dreams, Theseus possessed a natural grace, a simple elegance, an understated presence. Tall and slim, he moved slowly, like a giraffe. His voice was both husky and calming. His eyes gave a sleepy appearance, and they fixed on you in such a manner that it was impossible to look away when he was talking to you. And when he reached to grab at your sleeve with those—

“What did we do?” He hummed, more intrigued.

You couldn’t tell him the truth, especially with the wide-eyed wonderment he wore. So he guessed. His age showed in his theories. In his mind, the two of you were clowns performing in front of a crowd or waking up late for O.W.L.S.

As they became more elaborate, you fell into a haze. Theseus was older now, in his final years of school. His face had matured, but youthfulness clung to him well. Theseus was boyish, and your dream confirmed he always would be. You struggled to accept how desire spread through you.

“Am I close?” His question felt like you had been splashed with ice-cold water.

“Not quite.” You said after a beat. You could feel a fear starting to smother every single trace of happiness that was rushing through your system just a moment ago, and you swallowed thickly, digging your fingernails into your palm.

Yet, the guilt wouldn’t stop you from your plan.

Through the fog of absolute fear, your mind managed to notice a tiny detail. You could claim Theseus could have no understanding of your desire to disappear, that he was one of the most privileged boys in the school who never thought or met many consequences, but it didn’t change one single fact:

Theseus Scamander, whether you wanted it or not, knew you well. Perhaps better than anyone. But above all else, you couldn’t help but be curious, looking at him so pointedly as he spoke. Would his lips still taste like those sweets? He was close enough to find out.

Just once.

Just the once couldn’t hurt. Could it?

“We had sex.” You blurted your words as if it would quell your thoughts. As someone who prided themselves on emotional maturity, you were flustered.

There was no reply save for a subtle retexturing of his breath, the gap between inhalations infinitesimally smaller, the length of his exhalations protracted.

“It’s a joke.” He said as if he’d forgotten. His face always got splotchy when he felt uncomfortable. Theseus scratched at his brow, then tinkered with a few curls that had gotten too long.

You stared at him for a moment, that light in your gaze growing soft, before you took a deep breath, looking down at the string you found between your fingers. He even understood your poorly timed, poorly executed humor.

“I don’t remember the dream, really.” Lying was becoming second-hand nature. It worried you, but only enough to settle with half-truths. “We were looking for something…Something that was…” You concentrated. “Important, I think. But it was too foggy to make anything out.”

Theseus was already looking for a solution, willing to white-knuckle it through anything.

“You knew where we were, though.” You hummed your words like a compliment. “You guided us through the fog like you’d been there before.” The truth tumbled out of its own volition. “...Like you knew it was the only place you could truly hide.”

You saw a flash of distinction across his face.

No, distinction was the wrong term. Recognition, rather.

Theseus wanted to speak before you did. You wanted to beat him to it. Yet, your names were called by a distinctive voice that reminded you both of the awaiting festivities.

“C’mon—” Theseus held out his hand, using his strength as a counterweight. “—they’re waiting on us.”

“And if I want to run away?” You mused with honesty, being pulled until you staggered into him.

“Can’t that wait? I’m quite good at charades.” Theseus said, shooting you that crooked grin of his, the one that you suspected had gotten him out of trouble multiple times.“You can run away after—promise.”

#q #theseus scamander #theseus #scamander #theseus scamander fluff #theseus scamander x reader #theseus scamander angst #theseus scamander x f!reader #newt scamander x reader

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sixhours · 4 days

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Meteor

She remembers the space he’d carved around himself, and the moment she realized the distance was too great to cross.

Rating: PG Word count: 1k

Notes: X-Files revival era fic.

Originally posted at ao3 01/19/2016

~*~

She makes her way up the long drive, the old farmhouse looming like a specter from her past. There are no lights in the windows, just a cold, hulking shadow against a darkening sky; an apt metaphor if she thinks about it too much, which she won’t.

“Where are you, Mulder?” Scully whispers to herself. His car is parked next to the porch. It’s evening, too early for sleep.

The air is damp as she leaves the warmth of the car, carrying a folder of papers. Spring has turned the ground to mud beneath her feet, and she, in her most expensive pair of heels, frowns. Her good boots are at the bottom of a box at the back of her closet along with the rest of the things she never unpacked.

The porch creaks in the same places, the screen door still protests on its hinge. She knocks once before trying the handle, finding it open.

“Mulder?”

The house is dusty and silent. She curses under her breath, gooseflesh rising along the back of her neck, wishing she had her holster. Three months on the job after so long away and she’s still not used to carrying.

She’s debating whether to check upstairs or leave the file on the kitchen table when a voice calls her name from outside.

“Scully?”

She steps onto the porch, squinting into the darkness. “Mulder? Is that you?”

“I’m out back,” he calls. “Watch your step.”

She turns on her phone’s flashlight and makes her way to the back yard. A shadow sits on the frame of the old pickup they haven’t used in years.

“I’d have left the porch light on if I’d known you were coming,” it says.

She points the phone in that direction, eliciting a wince from her partner as the beam hits his eyes.

“Ow, Scully.”

“Sorry,” she mutters, shutting off the light. “What are you doing out here, Mulder?”

There’s the distinct sound of liquid sloshing, the kiss of a bottle at his lips.

“Just sittin’ and thinkin’.”

“In the dark? It’s chilly,” she says, rubbing her shoulders for emphasis.

His face resolves as her eyes slowly adjust. He’s sitting on the tailgate, legs dangling off the end, a beer nestled between his thighs.

“I thought you’d be working.”

“Guy can’t take a break once in a while?”

She smirks. “Who are you and what have you done with my partner?”

“Hah-hah, funny. Have a seat, Scully.”

She does after a pause, easing herself onto the tailgate to join him.

“This’ll warm you up,” he says, offering her a beer.

“How many of these have you had?” she asks, accepting the bottle with a raised eyebrow.

“Just the one, doc. Don’t worry,” he says. “It’s not that kind of party.”

The cap twists off; the taste of malt fizzes on her tongue, goes down smooth.

“I take it you’re here for business and not pleasure,” he says, nodding to the folder in her lap.

“Mm. It’s the autopsy results for Lisa Baylor. Scrapings from her fingernails revealed traces of skin; they’re processing the DNA and I asked the lab to run it through NICS. We’ll have the full results in the morning, but I thought you’d want to get an early start.”

“You ever heard of email, Scully?”

“You mean the thing that keeps you tethered to your computer at all hours? Yeah, I’ve heard of it,” she mutters.

He offers a wry smile. “You didn’t have to drive all the way out here for that.”

“Maybe I wanted to talk about the case in person.”

His voice grows soft. “You don’t need an excuse to visit, you know. You always have a place here.”

“I wasn’t looking for an excuse.”

“Checking up on me, huh?”

“Mulder,” she sighs. “Don’t start.”

A cricket chirps in the grass at their feet, filling the stillness that hovers like a black mist. She remembers the space he’d carved around himself, and the moment she realized the distance was too great to cross.

“You’re right. I’m sorry,” he says finally, nudging her shoulder in apology. “Been a rough year. Sometimes I forget we’re on the same side now.”

“I’ve always been on your side, Mulder,” she murmurs, feeling their history like a lead weight in her chest. “I’ve only ever wanted what was best for you.”

“I know,” he nods, then holds out his bottle. “Truce?”

“Truce,” she agrees, letting the glass clink softly. For a moment, the silence is comfortable, familiar, and she closes her eyes.

When she opens them, she’s looking at his profile in the dusky light. With his beard shaved and his hair trimmed, she can almost see the man she met twenty odd years ago. Without thinking, she reaches out to touch his cheek, the stubble rough against her fingers.

He looks over, bemused, and she pulls her hand away, still feeling the ghost of his skin against her palm.

“You clean up good, G-man,” she says.

He chuckles, his gaze turned upward. “Hey, it’s starting.”

He points to the sky and her eyes follow, trying to see what he sees. A pinprick of light flicks across the sky, followed by another, and then another; the beginnings of a meteor shower.

Mulder reaches behind them and pulls out two rolled sleeping bags, settling back against one in the bed of the truck. She doesn’t ask why he brought two instead of one, for the same reason she knows the extra beer in her hand was never intended for him.

She pulls the rolled blanket behind her and lies back to watch the show. Her eyes flit from one corner of the heavens to the other as more of the blue-white streaks make their way across the night, and she marvels at how the stars can still stun her with their beauty, how the universe in all its endless mystery can be so breathtaking, even after bringing such grief.

His voice is rich and vulnerable, spoken to the open air. “It wasn’t all bad, was it, Scully?”

She doesn’t have to think. Her response is as immediate and as involuntary as a heartbeat. “No…it wasn’t.”

She finds his hand without trying and listens to the sound of their mingled breathing as the sky falls around them.

cc @today-in-fic

#the x-files #mulder x scully #fanfic #x-files revival

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plasticbag3207 · 1 month

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Alastor and Vox Possibly Knew Each Other in Life

I recently started writing/planning a fic centering around how Alastor and Vox met, and how their friendship turned sour into what their rivalry is today. I’m sure people have already written fics like this but I haven’t seen any (not that I’ve been looking) with this as the main plot and without heavy shipping.

Until literally this morning I wasn’t ever quite able to peg down Alastor and Vox’s ages. I assumed they were at least in their 30s, though it didn’t seem out of the question to say they were older or maybe even a little younger.

That is until I found the leaked character sheets of them. Apparently a year (or two?) ago someone leaked a lot of the character sheets/voice sheets for most of Hazbin Hotel’s cast. Obviously leaking is bad, don’t do it. I also don’t know if everything on those sheets is still canon, so I’m only going to talk about the ages. Also massive thank you to my friend for talking about this with me and helping me come up with stuff :)

(Theories, Headcanons, and Spoilers for the fic below the cut)

According to Alastor’s character sheet, he’s roughly in his 40s, and I’m going to say he was born in 1891. Assuming sinners don’t physically age at all after going to hell (because I’m 90% sure they don’t), that’d make him 42 at his death in 1933. Vox on the other hand, I’m saying was born in 1902, and died in 1955, making him 53 when he died. With these dates Vox and Alastor were only 11 years apart.

In my headcanons Alastor landed his job as a radio host in his mid 20s (1913), and built his way up to being the most popular radio host in New Orleans. By 1918 (27 years old) he had his own full show, which ran for 15 years until his death—and was wildly popular.

My headcanon for Vox on the other hand, is that he started as an actor. He always loved attention, and soon by his early 20s (1924) became a big hit on the silver screen. Very quickly he climbed to the top, becoming beloved by Hollywood and starring in many more movies over his lifespan.

I don’t think Alastor had such a massive disdain for television or visual media yet, though I’m not going to say he loved it. He saw Vox as some attention hound, constantly desperate for more with an insatiable appetite—not unlike himself.

Vox at some point stumbles apon Alastor’s radio show, and instantly loves the guy. He laughs at every joke, loves the creativity of the sound effects, and such. After some tugging of strings he meets Alastor in person and offers to interview him on one of his late night shows. Alastor reluctantly accepts, though the two can’t help but be put off—and even annoyed at times by each others’ presence.

The interview, to say the least, does not go very well. Alastor found it a bit humiliating, Vox being too caught up in the spotlight and not all that willing to share it with Alastor. After that, Al decided that “this face was made for radio” and radio only.

They potentially saw each other in passing, but beyond that their interactions were limited.

Eventually Al dies, and is outed as a serial killer. Vox becomes ever more popular with televisions becoming a household item of the 50s until he dies.

Yippie :)

I’m not 100% sure how much of this is canon compliant, but whatever it’s my fanfic I’ll do what I want with it. Also don’t worry I didn’t spoil the entire thing, just aspects of their human lives. Most of the fic will probably be in Hell. (When/if I post the fic on Ao3 I’ll link it here aswell)

EDIT: I started the fic, it’s a little rough but I’ll polish it up eventually. I also can’t promise I’ll stay 100% true to everything I talked about in this post but it’ll probably be pretty close. Anyways, I hope you enjoy :)

#plasticbag3207 #hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel headcanon #hazbin hotel theory #hazbin hotel vees #hazbin hotel vox #vivziepop #alastor the radio demon #hazbin alastor #hazbin hotel alastor #vox hazbin hotel #fanfic

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mariatesstruther · 8 months

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I honestly don't get why Maria was so anti-Joel oh he's a horrible person he's done horrible things he can't be around us, but accepted Tommy fully to the point he's the father of her child when both did the same things, ran with the same people and all of that.

I mean I love the character, but that confuses the hell out of me. Why's Tommy accepted but Joel damned?

okay, so… this response took me like half hour to write. my wrists hurt, my jaw is clenched, my brain is hot. i love u anon thank u very much for this chance to vent about just why my girl maria has been so misunderstood. let’s go

i personally think this is where many people fundamentally misunderstand maria’s perception of joel. she’s not cautious of him primarily because of tommy or anything tommy has said, in my personal opinion—she’s cautious of him for and because of ellie

ive said this on my blog a few times and i think so have @steeb-stn and @clickergossip (and maybe @liveandletcry23 and @bumblepony i have a shit memory so tagging just in case) so im gonna tag them to credit their words and ideas about maria as well, but the FIRST time maria sees joel, he’s with this rando twelve year old girl who he is seemingly so protective over that she cant even be sniffed by dogs who are just trying to detect infection, which would be good for ANYBODY. that’s his first strike for untrustworthyness, because why the fuck wouldn’t he let this girl be tested???—we know why, of course, but maria doesnt. shes working on the very limited info about joel/ellie’s relationship that she has from just her own observations, and i think we need to remember that as we go through analyzing why she moves how she moves

shes knows from tommy at this point is that joel had a daughter, but it is definitely not this little girl. so why the fuck are they so close. what have they gone through. are they okay. is ellie okay. is their relationship safe for her??? THAT’s what she’s thinking about, in my opinion, while shes staring joel down at that dinner table. she’s reasonbly suspicious, and i can’t blame her for it.

i had to cut this it’s literally maybe my longest post ever so. heres the cut

ALSO, it’s not like she’s a straight up bitch to joel like some of y’all seem to make it out to be??? she never says or implies that “they can’t be around” or anything like that. she offers them clothes and food and supplies. she sets them up in a house. before dinner, she gives them a personal tour (which, to be fair, she did because she was probably trying to keep an eye on them and figure out more about whether or not ellie is safe, but who wouldnt???? i know tess would! and yall would love her for it!). tommy literally says to joel before they leave that there will always be a place for him and ellie in jackson—you cannot tell me you believe he said so without already have maria’s green light for joel and ellie to stay

ALSO, i wanna consider some other things that i haven’t seen many ppl talk about. on that walk she takes with tommy and joel and ellie, she makes it sound like tommy has been with them for at least years AND she maintains the confidence to say that residents in jackson stay off the radio—i could totally be wrong, but it seems to me from the look tommy and joel share right after that it’s obvious tommy has been talking to joel BEHIND MARIA’S BACK???? did no one else catch that??? am i misinterpreting big time??? id assume because theyre married and from the way tommy talks about jackson that he’s been in jackson for at least 3 years maybe, and we know that he only stopped radioing joel a couple months before the show’s main plotline starts, so timeline wise there had to be some overlap of tommy still radioing joel from/around jackson. idk if anyone of my mutuals has thoughts on this but i personally think it’s important to point out, because it establishes that maria likely doesn’t know or think tommy and joel kept in contact, at least not as recently as up to some months ago. she knows that tommy and joel are close, but at the same time, she doesn’t think tommy really knows or talks to joel anymore, either. so how is she supposed to extend him any trust as tommy’s brother????? how and why would she give this man any benefit of the doubt???? it wouldn’t make any sense. she’s more practical and discerning than she is naive and kind, and y’all can think what y’al want about that but i love her for it. it’s very necessary for a woman like her to be the way she is

okay, so back to your question. back to why joel is “damned” and tommy is “accepted.” let’s talk about joel for a sec

y’all like to babygirl and idolize the absolute fuck out of this man

we know that not only was he a smuggler, but he killed and tricked and took advantage of people, shamelessly and brutally. we know that tommy did so too. maria knows that tommy has done the same things. maria also knows that tommy left that life because he couldnt do it anymore, and joel continued because he could

point blank period!!!!! yall can argue with me all u want but tommy left that murder life and joel did not. im not saying this makes either brother good or bad or better than the other, i love joel sm and i think both of them have an undisputed capability to do unspeakable things in order to survive. but tommy got to a point where he hit a limit, whereas joel doesn’t seem to have one. this is at least my personal interpretation of their conversations in the game and the show

tommy DID join the fireflies, which we all know now is not any fucking better than whatever the fuck joel was doing—the difference is the reasoning, though, and considering tlou is all about reasoning and the why, we need to consider the reasoning behind tommy’s decision: he wanted to do something better, something good, something he thought had a purpose. we all know now that the fireflies are bullshit, their purpose is bullshit, and they’re willingness to kill a child for the sake of the “cure” is it’s own entire paradox of bullshit. but they were a rebel organization fighting fedra, who fucking suck, and probably had somewhat of a better reputation back when tommy was interested in joining—or maybe they didn’t, to be fair, i don’t know! the point is, tommy went to them seeking some sort of better purpose, some type of redeption; in joel’s own fucking words, “tommy’s what we used to call a joiner. had dreams of becoming a hero... wants to save the world.”

tommy is idealistic. he’s romantic. he’s optimistic, almost to the point of being fucking naive. thats why he enlisted in the army, thats why he enlisted in the fireflies—he wanted to feel good about himself and the world he was living in. he needed it to have some light at the end of the tunnel for all the bullshit to make sense. and yeah, he was wrong both times in joining up. we know that, joel knew that while it was happening, and tommy knows that in retrospect, too. i think jackson is the first place he really found true, real purpose—not the kind that is propagandized to you and goes up in smoke, but the kind that is well and truly earned. that’s why he is so loyal to jackson and to maria—they finally gave him was he desperately spent his life searching for

and im just saying, from maria’s perspective, she’s someone who lives for purpose. she lives for jackson and for it’s people and for it’s future, and she has to maintain some sense of idealism in the face of all that fucking ugliness to be able to mentally live im and run a place like jackson, to believe that it’ll work. i think that idealism she has, she sees reflected in tommy’s desperation to be a better person who’s fighting for a better life. she sees that need for redemption and goodness in him, that need for things to be fucking worth it, and hears she hears it in his story. she gets to relate to him with this in a way she doesnt GET TO RELATE with joel YET (we STILL HAVE TIME PEOPLE. WE HOLDIN OUT STRONG FOR THE JOEL AND MARIA BEST FRIEND AGENDA)

but to continue, THEN maria spends YEARS with tommy, getting to know him, getting to know his guilt. just like tess with joel, she’s sees the worst and the best of him and gets to fall in love with all of it. so of course there’s gonna be a bit of a bias and a blindspot, towards him—just like any of are other characters have weak spots for the people THEY fucking love

so that’s i guess why i think tommy is “accepted” by her, i guess, and there’s honestly way more them and their romance that i could make a whole separate post about but i’ll leave it there for now. back to joel and why he’s “damned,” which i don’t think he is

again, from what maria knows, he made an active CHOICE to stay in the lifestyle of smuggling and murdering and QZ bullshit, even after tommy chose to leave—and idk what y’all imagine joel and tess to be doing in those many years on their own, but it’s not fuckin picking flowers, for me. they’re dangerous, dangerous people—more dangerous that fedra, and more dangerous than the fireflies, if we’re being fucking real about it. and we LOVE tess and joel for this, or at least i do

but jackson is not a place where people get by with smuggling or backstreet deals or threats. it’s not supposed to be that place. we all LOVE jackson in fics and hcs and aus because it’s literally a place where joel and ellie finally get to breathe and not worry about their safety/survival first. and you know who keeps jackson that way????? MARIA. AND HE BEING FUCKING PICKING ABOUT WHO JACKSON LETS THE FUCK INSIDE

so yall just expect her to by YIPPY SKIPPY when joel, THE JOEL THE SUPER SMUGGLER MURDER COWBOY, strolls into town????? WITHOUT TESS, WHO WAS SUPPOSED TO BE THE MORE PERSONABLE AND REASONABLE ONE???? what????? she’d be crazy not to at least try to be a little intimidating, to make it clear to joel that he will not get away with any of that qz bullshit here. she’d be naive not to, and maria is anything but naive

and i know most people don’t like her for that “a bad reputation doesn’t mean you’re bad” “not always, at least” line, but i actually think it really fits so well in establishing that she’s not afraid of joel, not afraid of challenging him or making him own up to things he’s done. it’s just so so cool to me, i just can’t hate her for that????? she’s establishing with him that she knows what tommy knows about his time in the QZ, and she’s letting him know if that joel shows up here in jackson, there will be fucking problems for him. which i think is a completely fair warning????

so let’s continue. let’s talk about The Scene, the one with her and ellie, the one with the “tommy was following joel” line. ONE thing i’d like to point out about this scene—MARIA IS THE ONE TO TELL ELLIE ABOUT SARAH, NOT JOEL. AND THAT IS A BIG BIG BIG REASON FOR WHY SHE WARNS ELLIE NOT TO TRUST JOEL COMPLETELY

we know what joel and ellie have gone through, at this point, but maria has barely any idea. she sees that ellie has this fierce protectiveness and lots of secrets when it comes to her and joel, which like—can we all be fucking objective here for a second. this can SO easily and SO reasonably be interpreted as something sketchy going on between joel and ellie that maria should be concerned about.

(slight tw about older men-younger woman relationships bc im gonna be personal for a sec, its quick) we don’t know maria’s past or what she has seen or been through, but personally as someone who has been in a situation where an older man has taken advantage of my naivety in the past, i am now extremely hyper vigilant when it comes to young girls around older men in my personal life today. ellie and joel’s situation and how it looks would raise MJAOR red flags for me personally, if i was in maria’s position. that’s just a personal perspective have that really affects the way i view this scene (end tw)

and so maria finds out that joel has kept the fact that HE HAD A WHOLE ASS DAUGHTER from ellie?????? WOULD THAT NOT BE SUS AT ALL TO YALL???? i mean we know why joel doesn’t tell ellie, as gameplayers and watchers of the show, but again. maria is operating on the info she has right in front of her, which is that joel has been omitting maybe the biggest fact of his life from this young girl who is willing to defend and trust him with her entire life, even after she finds out she’s being lied to. this is alarming

so at this point, she’s questioning joel’s intentions with ellie, and in my opinion, it’s not at all unreasonable for her to do so. she then continues to press, because the red flags are flying and she wants ellie to be crystal clear on the kind of man she’s traveling with (“there are CLEARLY things you don’t know about joel” — “so then you understand my concerns”)

AND THEN ELLIE. BLESSED SMART AMAZING ELLIE COMES IN WITH THE DEFENSE—“and tommy did it too, are you worried about him?”—which like, i love this line. i love this moment. i think because i go so hard for maria a lot of y’all think i’m blind to when ellie is making points, but i 100% cheered her on when i first watched this scene, like i’m sure y’all did—because it’s true! it’s fair! if maria is going to judge joel for those things, she needs to extend the same judgement to tommy

the thing is, it’s still fucking true that, as i said earlier, tommy left that life. both the smuggling, and the fireflies—he chose to stop, while joel didn’t—he was smuggling literally up until the day him and tess found ellie, so. there’s that. she continues to judge joel and not tommy because she knows for sure that tommy has changed. she doesn’t know joel enough yet to see that he has changed, too

so then, the dreaded line: “tommy was following joel.” let’s talk about it.

i don’t love this line either, tbh! i think it’s a weak defense on maria’s part, and a weak line on the tlou hbo writers part—probably my least favorite line of maria’s overall. but i do get why she says it, and i kind of think i get the purpose??? i think????

it reminds me a lot of joel’s line, earlier, about tommy being a “joiner,” and i think it’s funny that, as opposite as joel and maria like to think they both are to each other, the way they describe tommy is pretty much the same. tommy is a “joiner” to joel and a “follower” to maria, and in all respects they both love and hate him for it. idk where i’m going with that exactly, just something interesting to think about in terms of the joel and maria best friend agenda

but i also think this line get’s taken out of context a lot, because the full line is “tommy was following joel, the way you are now.” maria says this line to lead into her main point, the really fucking important line in this scene: “be careful who you put your faith in. the only ones who can betray us, are the one’s we trust.”

WHICH IS TRUE. IT IS THE POINT. AND WHEN JOEL LIES TO ELLIE, HIDES SOMETHING FROM HER YET AGAIN at the end of the season/game, IT BECOMES A THEMATIC CLIMAX POINT THAT CONNECTS BOTH OF THE GAMES

maria is not saying this to “damn” joel—and i personally don’t think she is “damning” joel in the way you imply here, as there’s definitely potential for them to develop a relationship in s2 once she has more information about the truth of how he thinks of ellie. i think she’s warning ellie not to trust joel, because she doesn’t trust joel, at the end of the fucking day—and that’s about it. she trusts tommy in a way that she can’t quite trust joel yet, and why would she, at this point? it would make no sense for her to

so y’all can blame her and hate her for her distrust all you guys want (btw not necessarily talking to you, anon, ive just gotten some very nasty asks about maria from others so im talking to them rn!!!!!!!), but i’m sorry—you can’t tell me that it doesn’t at least make sense. she’s MARIA. she’s MADE OF SENSE

#WHEW #DO MY THUMBS HURT #i cant even be bothered to tag this fr #maria miller #asked and answered #joel and maria best friend agenda #tommy miller #joel miller #tess servopoulos

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11queensupreme11 · 3 months

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Lol that wasn't me but I will let you know when I post on AO3 and credit you. I have a bad habit of jumping around a lot in my writing so it might be a while. Here is a bit from much later that might have to be cut. It features 8 year old Percy and children's fantastic ability to remember complex terms and apply them in the funniest ways possible:

"Percy stared at the man before her. He looked young, with a face she believed would make any of the old ladies from the apartments coo if they saw him. However, pinchable cheeks were probably not a judged criteria when taking the exams to become a doctor. The lady at the department of health office had said that "Medicaid does not cover elective work" and Percy was not even sure they had insurance now that they lived outside the US. Medical debt was a serious issue and would probably spawn paperwork more difficult for Mom to handle than any monster or weird relative. Smiling politely, she said “So are you a pediatrician? What program did you graduate from? Where was your residency and how many years have you been practicing for?”

The man's face was now frozen and Percy decided to press onward continuing “What insurance providers do you accept? I was on Medicaid previously but that won’t apply anymore with the move so you will have to get the new information from my mother. Along with my medical history which would be needed to provide appropriate care.” Pausing and tilting her head racking her brain for more terms she had heard at the real pediatrician’s office, she continued “You did talk to him right? 'Any medical care that is not immediately lifesaving given to minors requires consent from a parent or guardian recognized by the state.' Given my father is not on my birth certificate and has not signed and acknowledgment of paternity his word will not count. If you treat me without mother’s permission billing will be the least of your worries, the medical boards and courts don’t mess around when it comes to unnecessary medical work done on children without parental consent” she finished watching the man’s eyes widen a little more in shock.

However instead of the stuttered backtrack she was expecting, instead Mr. Beelzebub burst into a low and somewhat menacing laugh. With a smile, he said, “To answer your questions, I am not a pediatrician of any kind, I am a researcher specializing in the… hm… how to put it, most unusual of cases, and probably the only god in the three realms capable of treating someone like you.”

“So, you don’t actually know anything,” Percy said folding her arms and feeling rather put out. “And you have no previous experience working with children.” Honestly, she was really starting to wonder what went on in the heads of her father’s family. With a sigh she continued “Uncle Hades, this man is not a real doctor, he sounds like a scammer.”

Normally she tried not to be that blunt (after all mom always said stuff like “discretion was the better part of valor” and all the like) but this was really starting to test her patience. “It is common sense that any strange man offering you free medical treatment in his basement is definitely up to no go. Haven’t you heard of stranger danger? ‘Only trust adults whose credibility can be verified by another safe and trusted adult like your parents’.” She recited while turning to her uncle hoping to see a light of understanding appear in the man’s eyes. Honestly, why did she have to be the adult in this situation? Had these people never seen public television?

Instead, both men broke out into uproarious laughter and Percy considered what the consequences of pelting them both with ice would be. Perhaps if she froze their brains, it would fix whatever mental deficiency they were currently experiencing. Maybe some kind of brain worm?"

OH IT WASNT YOU???? oops 😭😭😭 ok thank you for clarifying then!

ALSO EIGHT YEAR OLD PERCY IS SO PRECIOUS???? and is loki a better mom than og!sally or did he just send percy to a good school cuz she sounds a lot smarter than her 12-16 year old canon self 😭😭😭😭

BUT BEEEEEEELLLLL IS HERE 😍😍😍

im ngl, after i realized beel was in the scenario, i blanked out and just focused on him LMAO. i'm sorry i just love him so much 😭😭😭

i can't wait till you post, ur writing is sooooo 😩👍

#👸🏻| asks #👸🏻| arsenic blues

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dweamofsweep · 5 months

Text

Final few drawings from this sketchbook now that I’m recycling it! Kind of sad because this particular notebook was one I used as a little kid, it has some suuuper old and embarrassingly bad (but funny) drawings in it.

Also just going to put this here; I know something kind of blew up here over the weekend in this corner of Tumblr. Dr. Tezuka has been dead for several decades now, so we will never know exactly what “ending” he thought about for Tenma and Astro further than how they got separated and never really permanently reunited throughout his numerous re-writes and loose canon tendencies. That’s up to us to parse and make meaning of and potentially imagine beyond for ourselves as audience members of the series, which many fans have done over the years (And even any other official work done after Tezuka’s passing, like AB2003 and ATB, Pluto etc are basically the same thing). I believe we are allowed to disagree with the evaluations of media that others come up with, whether just in our heads or posted publicly! However, it is not our job to budge every last person’s opinion on the internet. We may “see” each other on a somewhat regular basis because, let’s face it, this fandom is pretty small, but at the end of the day none of us know everything that informs the meaning being made by the others — and we are not obligated to disclose such personal information for any reason, in real life or online. To give you an example and offer up something about myself, Astro as a character resonates with me in large part because he stands on the border between one group and another; although he is certainly a robot, he lives his life as a human would most of the time, creating a split between himself and other robots while still not being accepted fully into human society. It gives him a unique opportunity to bridge the two together, but as a result he can never be entirely one or the other. The reason why I find that fascinating is because I am a second-gen immigrant Asian-American, and it forms some parallels with the way I feel in my own life, having been raised more American than Asian. Also, my parents are culturally Chinese-Indonesian, but ethnically appear Chinese (as do I). I will never be fully accepted into native Chinese, Indonesian, or Chinese-Indonesian communities because I act too much like an “American” despite my appearance. I will also never be fully accepted into the American community I live in because I still cling onto some of my heritage, and of course also because of my appearance. But maybe due to my experience in both worlds, the chances have increased that I could foster greater empathy, interest, or understanding between them, and Astro gives me hope for that.

However— I wouldn’t expect anyone here to know that (or even remember after reading it — it’s fine, you can purge the info from your brain LOL) even if it does affect my readings of certain scenarios and stories. If someone were to post something that doesn’t acknowledge or reflect the perspective I have, I can feel any type of way about it, but I have to remind myself I don’t know where they’re coming from and to try not to take it too personally, since they don’t know where I’m coming from either. Maybe someone has had the exact opposite experience from me, maybe they just haven’t been in any comparable situation to begin with, they could also be a lot younger or older, or from another part of the world — on the internet you really just don’t know, and a person doesn’t really have to tell you if they don’t want to. Personally, once I’ve said my piece, I’ve said it. If someone disagrees with me over the same point repeatedly, and I considered their viewpoint but decided to retain mine, I don’t continue to engage them, because I know it gets unproductive sooner or later (neither side changes their mind or learns anything new, if anything we both just become more stubborn about our own arguments because we have to keep making the same one over and over). I do think about Tezuka’s and other artists’ work very seriously, as an artist myself and an aspiring professional, and I believe that’s a valid angle to come from. Yet I often just draw things on a whim despite the aforementioned, and as embarrassing as it is to admit, most of my drawings have very little meaning. I just post on here hoping it might make someone else a bit happier to see it; I suspect that many others in the community do the same. (Obviously if I misrepresent something severely in my own work, which I hope I will not but you never know, I want someone to tell me about it, but I didn’t think this was the case in the particular situation happening now.)

and… I will freely admit to sharing outlandish internet takes both as a kid and as an adult, then changing my mind and looking back on it, as well as my behavior in general, later with regret 😭 it will happen again, I’m sure… perhaps this is one and I should have kept my mouth shut, but I hope this at least gave some of my perspective. If you want to probe any further into my thoughts or ask for clarification you can!

#Astro boy oh boy

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sydney-the-faithful · 3 months

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<:} for what it's worth, I think it's very heartening to hear you care so much about trying to right past wrongs (with regard to your and Kylar's separation, I mean), even if you're not sure where to start. That's a start in itself! And, in addition - as best I can tell, though I may be misreading it, it sounds like you were both only kids then. Your parents barring you from seeing him wasn't something you could control, and you couldn't have known the end result.

Hindsight is 20-20, as they say.

As for trying to mend the bond... Hm. Have you ever said any of your thoughts on this to him? My apologies for the forwardness, but it feels like a useful step if not. It might not land you back in his good graces immediately, but I think talking about what happened between you in the past could help in recovering from it. Maybe in a letter, if talking face to face isn't a good option... He's mentioned wanting to know how to cook better for his beloved before, so I'd suggest offering to show him some things, but I don't know if thats a skill of yours in the first place. (Which if not - fair, I think! It's tough...) (...To be fair, also, I'm not sure he'd accept.) Good luck, whatever you try? As long as it shows you're making an effort, I think that's what really matters.

Anyway, good luck with everything!

Thank you so much for your kind words :) No, you’re not reading it wrong, we were just kids. But still, it… sucks. You know?

I’ve tried to keep the whole situation vague up to this point, because I want to respect his privacy but I suppose I could be more clear about my conflict.

It wasn’t only my parents who barred me from seeing him. I’m sure nowadays, my dad would actually encourage me to talk to him. He really liked Kylar! But no, the real reason I’m so hesitant to reach out is because Kylar was condemned by our order. Speaking to him, bonding with him, it was all strictly forbidden. If I do so, I’m explicitly disobeying the temple.

Kylar used to be my best friend. Genuinely, I’d go so far as to call him my only friend back then. I think it’s natural for me to miss him, even after so many years, you know? I would love to cook with him, or talk to him more than just a, “Oh It’s been a while, how are you?” “I like your drawing!” But I just. I can’t.

…And it’s not like he even wants to, anyway. He doesn’t look at me. I really don’t think he even likes me. I think all of this might have been one big act of selfishness. Reaching out, getting back into contact with someone should be a genuine, selfless proposition. Not something that should be done to fix my guilt or my past regrets.

I don’t know what to do. Maybe this was all pointless. It’s been foolish of me to stir up the past. What’s done has been done, and I can’t do anything about it without threatening my place & position in the temple. …I need to think more on this before I do anything stupid. Thank you all for the wise insight & tips for getting to know him again, but… I’m not sure if I should.

I want to. I’m really worried about him, and as much as I do genuinely miss him, I don’t think it’s a wise decision. Especially not if I’m posting about it online. I’m lucky I haven’t had a stern talking to already for trying to contact him :(

#Please don’t go onto his account and ask him about what happened #I’ve shared too much already I don’t want to cause any more problems :(#kylar #sydney_speaks #personal

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celestiarambles · 4 months

Text

Hitmen Have Feelings Too

Hii this is my contribution to JoMarina Week 2024! I'm posting this now because it's actually January 6 here in my country xD

Just a disclaimer, I have never been to a bar nor to India, so what happens in this one-shot may or may not be accurate

I apologize for any mistakes in the chapter. I hope you enjoy! (I actually enjoyed writing this lmao)

JoMarina Week 2024 Day 6 - Bonds

Summary: When Carmen takes some of the Bureau members out for a much-needed break after the disasters in India, Marina and Jonah drunkenly bond with each other, making Marina realize that Jonah wasn’t as bad as she thought he’d be.

Also cross-posted on Ao3: Hitmen Have Feelings Too - celestiamirasol - Criminal Case (Video Game) [Archive of Our Own]

Marina knows how beautiful she is. Her coworkers tell her that everyday, and men would immediately tell her how smitten they are with her even when they just met.

However whenever she looks at the huge scar on her neck caused by the assassination attempt she survived years ago, she would constantly think otherwise.

It’s the only thing that catches her attention whenever she would look at herself in the mirror. No kind of concealer could even cover it up. Screw it. Once she finishes up her makeup, she grabs one of her scarves on her dresser and wraps it around her neck, adjusting every fold to make sure no inch of the scar could be seen.

“Marina!” Carmen knocks on her door. “You ready to go?”

“Just a second!”

After solving a murder in Bollywood, India, Carmen and Athena invited the Bureau for some drinks for them to finally relax after the previous events that transpired recently, but only her, Angela, and Jonah decided to come along with them. Jack wanted to hang out with Lars (even though Lars was busy with his book, The Flashing Light), Ingrid declined due to work, Ripley just simply didn’t want to and Dupont was trying to learn how to play cricket. Elliot wanted to come along, but Carmen didn’t allow him to since he was underage.

When they arrived at a bar in Mumbai (whose people were able to quickly pick themselves up due to the recent flooding), the place was decently packed with people, with performers playing Bollywood music, making its nightlife alive even though the sun was only about to set.

Occasions like this are rare for the Bureau due to the demands of their job, so Marina rarely gets to drink. She doesn’t like drinking on the job, for it makes her even more stressed. But once she gets the chance to, she immediately seizes it.

“We deserve this, guys.” Athena says as she comes back with Carmen, both setting down various bottles of alcohol on the table. “When I was still a cop in Pacific Bay, we would usually go out and bond with drinks after a major case.”

“I guess we just don’t do it after what happened with the chief back then in Spain…” Carmen sighed, pouring a drink. She then slides it over to Angela. “So Angela, what’s the deal with Lars and that book? Has he finally found that spiritual enlightenment?”

Angela accepts the shot glass. The golden wedding ring shimmering in her finger caught Marina’s attention. “I don’t know, I still haven’t been able to talk any sense into him. Ever since he started reading that book, he’s been raving about the flashing light. At first, I just thought that he meant the bulb in his lab was broken. But then I realized it was the name of the guru’s book!” She quickly downs the shot. “It’s like he’s been indoctrinated!”

Being the psychologist of the team, Marina would usually help and offer advice to her teammates as a friend. However, she couldn’t think of any sensible advice to give somehow. There’s a reason why she chose to specialize in criminal psychology instead of marriage counseling, after all. All she could say was, “Maybe it’s his way of coping after his near death experience?”

“Oh. definitely.”

As the coroner continued to rant about her husband (with the agents trying to butt in with some advice along the way), she noticed how Jonah, the only guy in the group, was only simply intently listening. Or he was probably trying to. His ice cold eyes stared off at the distance, swirling the liquor in his glass before downing it, then would occasionally pour himself another one. He probably doesn’t understand the topic at hand. Why would he? Marina thought. Based on her psychoanalysis back then, hitmen like him aren’t capable of basic human empathy. Would he even be able to understand the concept of love? To her, they’re all psychopaths.

“Well, maybe we can leave early and you and Lars could have a date night together. We have the night off, after all.” Carmen suggested, smiling at her.

To Marina’s surprise, Jonah suddenly spoke up after being silent the whole time. “Yeah… maybe this time, you can properly communicate your feelings with him. It’s best for you two to open up to each other as a married couple, after all.”

“Well, I understand that the recent occurrences were traumatic to both of us… but I’ve tried my best to communicate with him. He’s been only focusing on that book he’s been reading. He wouldn’t even look at me.” Angela downed another shot. “I just want him to at least talk to me, tell me how he’s feeling…”

“We were all so busy with the recent disasters here in India, he probably hasn't fully understood what he’s feeling, so like what Marina said, turning to the guru is his way of trying to process things. At least try to understand that, and Lars should understand that you’re trying to reach out to him. Understanding’s the key to forgiveness, after all.`` Somehow, Marina could feel that Jonah’s gaze has shifted to her for a different reason. And whatever reason it may be, she didn’t like it.

“Wow Jonah, are you drunk already?” Athena laughed. “I didn’t know you could get so philosophical like that.”

“He has a side like that.” Carmen smirked, taking a sip of her drink.

She didn’t know that Jonah’s presence could annoy her even more. Why the hell did this blockhead decide to even come with us? She downed her drink and grimaced at how the liquor permeated in her throat.

After a few shots with the group, Marina decides that she had enough of Jonah’s existence and separates from them, heading straight to the bar. She called the bartender over, unconsciously twirling her hair. “Could you give me… a drink that could best describe how you think of me?”

During the rare occasions that they get to visit bars, this was Marina’s favorite game to play. She was enthralled by the raw, authentic atmosphere in bars, especially on how people wear their heart on their sleeves after getting drunk, in which they begin to show their real selves. She believes that everyone hides in a facade. And she was interested to know what bartenders would think of her so-called facade.

With a blush on his face, the bartender agreed and got to work, with Marina watching. After mixing and shaking the contents, he then poured a colorful liquid onto a shot glass, then he grabbed a lighter and set the alcohol aflame. “Sweet and feisty, just like you. And with a hint of vodka, too.”

Amused, Marina took a spoon to diffuse the flame. “Is it that obvious?”

“Your Russian accent? Definitely. It makes you hotter, may I add.”

She resisted the urge to roll her eyes. Oldest trick in the book. Once the flame was smothered, she downed the drink. She could taste the heat in her mouth, but there was definitely a hint of sweetness to it.

“How is it?” “Do we have a problem, buddy?” Like a menacing guard dog, Jonah approached the bar and glared at the bartender, holding a bottle of whiskey. Intimidated by his rugged look, the bartender immediately scurried over to the next customer.

Great. The psychologist frowned as the weapons expert sat next to her. She looked away from him, refusing any contact with him as possible.

But he insisted. “Hey.”

“Otyebis.” She muttered in Russian.

“So uh… why did you leave us?” His intimidating aura somehow dissipated, like this time he’s the one intimidated by Marina.

“Because I hate your face.” Jonah frowned and set down the bottle of whiskey on the bar counter. “Well, you never accepted the amulet I tried to give you…”

“That’s because an amulet won’t fix anything.”

“Well… could a drink at least fix something?” He grabbed Marina’s shot glass and filled it with liquor.

“Most definitely not.” She rolled her eyes. “You could’ve poisoned that.”

“Why would I even do that?” “You tried to do it once, maybe you’re here in the Bureau because you’re still out to get me!”

He chuckled in response. “You have quite the creative imagination, sweetheart. I shoot my targets, I don’t poison them. And I told you, I never miss a shot.”

“I remember that. And I also remember you telling me you purposely missed because you thought I was beautiful. What, were your previous targets hideous?”

“I-it’s not that, I swear!” Jonah blushed. “Normally, my targets are ordered to be killed because they’re threats. A danger to society. Take Omar Bahir for example, if I hadn’t killed him, Carmen and Athena would’ve been the ones dead. But you Marina… from the moment I saw you, I had a feeling you didn’t deserve to die. And I was right. You shouldn’t be the one to pay for exposing their crimes.” Unconsciously, Marina picked up the glass of whiskey and took a swig, the memory of her assassination attempt still fresh in her mind. How the bullet flew in the air in less than a second, giving her no time to dodge, and the color of the wintry blue sky in Russia as she laid helpless and bleeding on the Russian snow, too weak to call out for help.

As a psychologist and a criminal profiler, she would know whether a suspect was lying or not, the inner machinations of her mind, and a higher level of understanding and empathy. The Bureau only hires the best, and she is deemed the best in their eyes. But Jonah… she couldn’t see through him. Or maybe it’s because she refuses to.

Are hitmen really capable of having human empathy?

The funky and exotic Bollywood music overpowered the silence of the two as they took turns pouring and drinking their glasses of whiskey. Both of them didn’t know what to say, nor what to do.

Feeling awkward, Jonah scratched his neck. “I know sorry won’t fix what’s done… but I truly am sorry, Marina. I don’t know how to make it up to you.”

Then as if the alcohol began to take complete control of her body, Marina grabbed Jonah’s shot glass and she almost overflowed it with whiskey as she poured it. “You can start by taking a shot for me.”

“What?”

Her lips formed a playful smirk. “Hit or miss.” Jonah shook his head and downed it, some of the liquid spilling on his shirt. “Is that… all you want me to do?” His words were slurring.

“Ha!” The psychologist laughed loudly. “You’re already drunk!” “So are you.” He chuckled lightly to himself.

Suddenly, the alcohol made Marina forget her previous animosity towards Jonah. She didn’t know how long they stayed chatting drunkenly in the bar, but she was surprised at how similar they actually were.

“You actually took Psychology too?!” She was shocked, but her drooping eyes prevented her from expressing it.

Jonah nodded. “I actually planned to go to med school, but then I got enlisted in the army and then my focus just shifted. It actually comes in handy during hostage situations, I was glad I was at least able to finish it.”

Another conversation then opened up once Marina offered to check out the amulet that Jonah wanted to give her so badly. “So this thing symbolizes forgiveness?”

“Uh yeah, just like what that Dupont said.” She smiled. “I’m actually quite interested in cultural trinkets like these. It’s one of the things that I look forward to whenever we go to different places for missions.” “So… does that mean you forgive me?”

The amulet glimmered in her hands as Marina contemplated his question. “...Not until we dance first.” “Wha - hey!” Jonah had little time to process what the psychologist said as she pulled him to the dance floor of the club. She then broke away to shimmy along to the smooth tunes of the trumpets and drums. “C’mon… don’t tell me you don’t know how to dance?”

A smile slowly spread across his face as he awkwardly stepped side to side and bobbed his head to the beat, watching Marina drunkenly dance. Catching his lack of dance moves, Marina shook her head and took his hand once again. “That’s not how you dance…”

She attempted to spin him. Jonah twirled regardless of their height difference, laughing at Marina’s enthusiasm. “...that’s how you dance!” She yelled.

The two then laughed, jumped and swayed along to the music, their playful dance moves drastically clashing with the dramatic and funky mood of the music. Jonah then pulled Marina closer to him.

While the blood orange sun sunk on the horizon, the air became hot yet invigorating at the same time. Something seemingly put them on a high they can’t back down, and it wasn’t the alcohol.

Then like a magnet touching a metal surface, the two kissed.

It was like they were the only ones there at the bar. Marina closed her eyes, lost in the moment, while Jonah placed his hand on her shoulder, longing to get closer to her. But by accident, he made her scarf slip and her huge scar was now then exposed to the world. To Jonah.

Feeling the hot air turn chilly and breezy, Marina then pulled away to see her scarf on the floor. It made her snap out of the drunken trance she was in..

Jonah’s eyes widened at the huge scar, realizing where she got it. “Marina…”

“Get away from me!” She picked up her scarf and then ran away, stumbling a bit. Jonah didn’t know whether to chase after her or not, but he still did, worried that something might happen to her if she got away from his sight.

“Marina, I’m sorry!” “No!” Marina ran outside, where she accidentally bumped into Athena, whose phone was in her ear, looking a bit confused.

Athena lowered her phone and ended the call. “Marina, I was trying to call you -” “Marina, please, I didn’t mean to -” “NO!” Marina grabbed Athena’s hand. “Stay away from me, and never talk to me again!” He then turned to Athena for help, who just sighed. “Carmen and Angela headed out earlier, Angela wanted to try and talk some sense into Lars again… I suggest you sit in the front of the cab later, Jonah.”

Once they were able to haul a cab, Marina was the first to go inside the back seat, trying to distance herself from Jonah as far as possible inside a small cab. Frowning, Jonah did what Athena said and sat in front.

“So… what did Jonah do?” Athena asked once she was sure that the weapons expert was asleep after a few minutes.

Staring out the window, Marina contemplated how to respond. Both of them were drunk, so she didn’t know whether both of them mutually consented to that kiss or not. She didn’t know (or maybe remember) if they actually enjoyed the kiss. Marina wanted to hate it, but the foggy memories of the things Jonah told her about him, his interests, the guilt in his eyes when he saw her scar…

Is there really something more to Jonah than assassinations and murder?

For a whole week, she’d been thinking about it. Ever since the kiss, Jonah never attempted to approach her again. He would avoid her gaze whenever they’re both in the breakroom while Marina reaches for a bag of tea. He wouldn’t look at her during briefings or emergency meetings with the Bureau either. Whatever eagerness was first there trying to make up with her before was now replaced with hesitance and fright.

A cup of tea in her hand, Marina sighed once again while thinking about Jonah. It felt embarrassing for her to admit he has been on her mind ever since they kissed.

She knew she wasn’t overreacting, so she didn’t need to apologize. Any person would react like that if they ever survived an assassination attempt before. She’d even think it was Stockholm Syndrome given that he held her captive before, but no, she wasn’t like that…

Her previous animosity towards him turned into curiosity. The previous psychological analysis she conducted towards him was on her desk. It indicated her perception towards him as an aggressive, dangerous individual with volatile instability… previously, she’d immediately thought he wasn’t to be trusted. Her instincts were never wrong, after all…

However, he refused to kill her. He had principles, he wasn’t easily blinded by the money nor the task at hand. He could’ve chosen to kill her without any further questions, but he chose not to. And somehow, he brought along the guilt of almost killing her all this time.

Maybe there’s a chance I was wrong about him.

Knock, knock. Marina turned to her office door. “Come in!”

The door opened to reveal Athena. It made Marina a bit disappointed, hoping it was Jonah. “Hey, Lars is inviting us to the monastery since he’s going to renew his vows with Angela there. Wanna come?”

“Uh, sure, definitely.” Maybe it’d help her take her mind off of Jonah for a bit.

But it didn’t. As the Bureau watched the happy couple kiss amidst the orange rays of the sunset, it only reminded Marina of their own kiss. And why she chose criminal psychology instead of marriage counseling.

“I am so happy that Angela and Lars have made it through all these hard times, Athena…” She whispered to the agent beside her.

“Definitely. I hope their marriage will keep staying strong.”

“Me too…” She heard Jonah say, who was on Athena’s other side. “Marriage is hard work. It takes guts to forgive…”

“Speaking of forgiveness…” Marina spoke up and turned to Jonah’s direction. This time, there was no alcohol influencing her. It’s simply her own conscience. “Jonah, I've had time to think... about how you disobeyed your orders to kill me… Maybe I should get a better understanding of your side of the story... over some tea?”

“Tea? With me?” Jonah’s eyes widened, the blush evident in his face. “Uh, sure! Just say when.”

She laughed in response, hoping to bond with Jonah, their hearts finally on their sleeves. Without any liquor. “...When.”

#criminal case #criminal case game #criminal case save the world #jomarina week 2024

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shes-homeward-bound · 2 years

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Crash and Burn | Chapter 6

Summary: You’re the first female driver to compete in the Formula 1 World Championship in decades and it’s your second year of navigating through a male-dominated sport. Your talent and drive to prove yourself made you vicious on the grid. Your seemingly unshakeable confidence was never questioned- until a certain Ferrari driver made you crash and burn.

Pairing: Carlos Sainz Jr. x Reader

Chapters: 6/?

Warnings: swearing,

Word Count: 4.6k

Posted on: 07/27/2022

masterlist

A/N: This is long overdue! I hope you all enjoy this chapter and please feel free to comment. I love to hear feedback. Just a reminder for plot purposes, I usually change events that happen during actual races. Remember, this is fiction!

Chapter 6:

Danny Ric was known to be one of the nicest people in Formula 1 and you wholeheartedly agreed with the statement. Daniel graciously offered his ranch as a place to stay for drivers who wanted to extend their Australian trip. You, Lando, Charles, Carlos, and Pierre happily accepted the offer which was how you found yourself vacationing on a luxurious ranch with the boys. Neither you nor Carlos wanted to leave the country and you thought this was the best way to spend time with your friends, especially Carlos. The only problem was keeping your relationship a secret from the others. It resulted in you and Carlos having to sneak around to spend time together. From late-night talks in his guest room to early mornings cuddled in your bed as you and Carlos drifted in and out of sleep. Lando and the other boys surprisingly haven’t brought up your mystery man and luckily haven’t noticed when you and Carlos would disappear.

One morning, Carlos woke you up extra early to watch the sunrise. With a picnic blanket and coffee in a thermos, you and Carlos took a small hike to this spot that supposedly had the best view of the sunrise. Sitting on the blanket, you watched Carlos look in awe as the dark blue sky turned orange. As you sat there relishing in Carlos’ presence, you felt a pang of guilt. Here you were tucked away in some corner of the ranch hiding from your friends. Yes, you were spending quality time with Carlos and you couldn’t help but feel ashamed of the lengths you would go to ensure your relationship was hidden from the boys.

“Carlos?” you asked as you took his hand and traced his veins with your finger. “How do you feel about not telling Lando and the others about us?”

Carlos’s gaze moved to you, watching the sun softly grace your features as he carefully thought of his answer. “I know you don’t want the public to know about our relationship. I also know that you’re not comfortable with the boys knowing so it doesn’t matter what I feel. If you don’t want them to know, I don’t either.”

You shook your head as you clasped his hand and held it to your chest. “You’re so sweet and considerate but you’re also in this with me. I need to put your feelings into consideration.”

Carlos softly smiles as he moves closer to you. “I think we should keep our relationship private and I wouldn’t mind showing you off to the fans once in a while. But, I do feel bad about keeping it from our friends. It is really hard not being able to hold or touch you in front of them,” said Carlos as he squeezed your leg. “I think Pierre has given you more public displays of affection in front of me that the boys can’t even suspect we’re together.”

“Carlos!” you said as you playfully slapped his arm. “Are you jealous? He hugged me that ONE time and it was because we won the drinking game.”

“I am not jealous! I think Pierre likes you a little too much, that is my observation.”

You laughed as you realized how serious Carlos was acting. “Babe, trust me when I say that Pierre is only my friend. If it bothers you so much, I can always tell him to back off.”

With a smile, Carlos pulls your body flush against him and wraps his arms around your waist. “Okay… maybe I am.”

You snickered. “Wow, I didn’t take you to be the jealous type.”

“You’re all I think about now and it’s hard keeping you a secret,” he said as he hugged you tight and nuzzled into your neck. You hummed as you both sat in silence and held each other until you could no longer bear the hot Australian sun.

*******

After a few video calls with your manager and performance coach, you slipped on a bikini and made your way to the swimming pool. Since it was the last full day at the ranch, your little group decided to make a big barbecue dinner. You and Daniel’s girlfriend lounged on pool floats as the boys bustled around preparing for the meal. You were dozing in and out of sleep but the mention of your name caught your attention. Slightly opening your eyes, you take a peek and see Carlos and Lando talking as they grilled food. Lando must’ve thought you were asleep because you heard their conversation as clear as day.

“So y/n told us something the other day…. about meeting someone. She said she met someone at dinner with your family?” asked Lando.

“Ehhh, yes she did,” said Carlos, choosing his words carefully.

“Who is it? One of your cousins?”

“I’m sorry mate, I cannot tell you who. She made me promise not to tell anyone.”

You heard Lando audibly whine. “Ugh, not even a hint?”

The silence that followed made you glance to see Carlos busying himself with the barbecue as Lando stood and pouted. It took everything in you not to laugh as Lando babbled on.

“You know, I wanted the both of you together. Your seriousness and y/n’s determination would have been a great match. You've been acting different since you ran into her in Mallorca. I was beginning to think something was going on between you two but I guess I was wrong.”

You watched Carlos trying his best to act as nonchalant as he could. It was hard to see Carlos so uncomfortable and you were starting to feel bad for lying Lando. With a heavy sigh, you knew what you had to do. You hopped off the float and make your way out of the pool. Determined as ever, you didn’t even bother drying yourself as you marched toward the unsuspecting pair. The others watched on, probably thinking that you heard the conversation and were on your way to mess with Lando or shove him into the water. You lock eyes with Carlos and before you could change your mind, you wrapped your arms around him and kiss him. At first, Carlos froze but relaxed as he realized what you were doing. You could feel him smile as he pulls you closer, not minding you were drenched in pool water.

The sound of screams and laughter from the other drivers separated you from Carlos. You sheepishly looked around as you gauged everyone's reactions. Lando stood in shock before he jumped around and loudly claimed that he knew he wasn’t imagining things. Pierre stood there holding his drink dumbfounded that he didn’t see this coming. On the other hand, Daniel was still cackling and finally calmed down when his girlfriend joined his side.

“I fucking knew it. Y/n’s room is near mine and I swear I would hear someone sneaking into her room at 2 in the morning. I was suspicious but I never found out who it was,” said Daniel.

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help the smile as you felt this weight lift off your shoulders. “I’m sorry that we kept our relationship a secret. Other than our families and performance coaches, you guys are the only ones that know about us and we’d like to keep it that way. The relationship is still new and this is the first time two F1 drivers have been in a relationship. I don’t know how the public will act but I already know it’ll be crazy.”

Pierre steps up and claps his hand on you and Carlos’s shoulder. “Don’t worry, we will help you out whenever you both need it.”

“Our lips are sealed. Although I’m a little offended that my best mates have been hiding this from me, I guess I understand the situation,” joked Lando.

Breathing out in relief, you made your way to hug Lando. Ever since Carlos expressed that he felt awful for lying to your friends, you realized how wrong it was to keep something this big from Lando. Now that the secret was out, you and Carlos could act like yourselves in front of the others. You were able to sit next to him and relax without worrying that you and Carlos were being too obvious. Carlos could finally give you public displays of affection, he didn’t go overboard but a hand on your thigh or shoulders made him happy.

The barbecue dinner was ready and to your embarrassment and the other drivers' amusement, Carlos insisted that he would cut and prepare the steak that was served in front of you. The jokes about Carlos treating you like a princess were endless. You brought another round of laughter when you reminded them of the stark difference between the Carlos that ignored you last year to the Carlos who was doting on you. This brought Charles to tears as he recounted the times he would remember Carlos actively trying to avoid the Aston Martin rookie. Carlos used your body as a shield as he hid his bright red face from the other drivers.

With full bellies and a drink in hand, your group surrounded a bonfire and talked about the next race in Imola. As the boys started talking about their favorite Imola memories, you looked around appreciatively at your friends. Nestled into Carlos’s side, you tried your best to live in the moment, everything was perfect and peaceful but deep down you knew it wouldn’t last. You couldn’t help but think of the repercussions when the teams on the paddock find out about you and Carlos. It wouldn’t be long until the whole world finds out and you weren’t ready for the shit storm media and critics would bring.

Closing your eyes and inhaling campfire smoke along with citrus and sandalwood, you let yourself snuggle closer. Your future seemed scary but at least you had Carlos by your side.

*******

The moment you stepped off the plane from Australia, you made a beeline to the Silverstone circuit for some testing. You had your relaxation but now it was time to grind and help the team improve the car for Imola. After some testing with the car, you went back to your apartment for some gossiping and yoga with Anna. She put you on a strict routine for the remaining days leading up to the race. Working on your body, mind, and car, you were laser-focused to earn yourself a podium in Imola.

While you were in England, Carlos was back in Italy working just as hard with his team to work on the car and strategize. Carlos’s DNF threw the whole team in disarray because it meant that their lead for the Constructors championship was compromised. The race strategists were going over possible scenarios of things that could go wrong during a race. They kept asking Carlos if he had any traumatic life events that may potentially be distracting him and nothing came up when he thought about it. After meetings in the Ferrari headquarters, he went for lunch with his performance coach Rupert.

“How was Danny’s ranch? You and y/n had a good time with the boys?” asked Rupert.

“It was beautiful, we should go visit next time we’re in Australia. As for y/n, she is great,” said Carlos as he grinned. “She is this amazing, kind, funny, and intelligent person. Her personality is unique, she is a strong woman but I guess I should have expected from the only female racer on the grid.”

Rupert smiled as he watched his friend practically glow as he talked about you.

“We told the boys.” continued Carlos. “It was such a relief letting our closest friends know about us. I know they are just friends but seeing Pierre and y/n do their usual banter made me feel a little jealous.”

Rupert snorts. “So you pushed y/n to tell the others about your relationship because you were jealous? You’re so whipped.”

“Whipped?”

“Yup. Whipped. For the past 7 years of your F1 career, I have never seen or heard you talk about any of your girlfriends. She has taken all your attention, I was surprised that you agreed to stay at Daniel’s ranch to decompress. The Carlos I knew last year would have gone straight to headquarters and done some testing,” said Rupert. “I guess our spirited Aston Martin driver was the one to break down those barriers. I’m happy for you mate.”

Carlos sat back as he absorbed Rupert's words. Everything he said was right, especially the part where you took all of his attention. He reflected and thought that having you in his life made everything better but he couldn’t help but think that maybe he was too focused on you. Carlos quickly brushed that idea out of his head, your presence in Carlos’s life was like a soft glowing sun. Warm and invigorating. You made him happy and his family loved you, he couldn’t think of a better pairing than you and him.

Since the race was in Italy, Carlos didn’t have to travel and it was the perfect reason for y/n to come and visit him in his apartment. Carlos is a clean man and kept his home tidy and the day before you arrived, Carlos deep cleaned everything. He wanted the apartment to be perfect and he didn’t want a single speck of dust or a smudge of dirt. When he heard you knock on the door, he flung the door open and was met with an engulfing hug. It had been about a week since you last saw each other and you both acted as if it was a whole year. After a heated greeting, you finally look around to see the beautiful apartment that Carlos lived in. It had tall ceilings with a loft area that looked like a converted office space. The decor was modern and minimal with a few picture frames of his family and F1 cars that he had driven.

After freshening up, you plopped down on his couch and stretched your arms towards him. Carlos chuckles as he carefully lays on top of you, playfully pinching your side. You were absentmindedly playing with Carlos’s hair when you remembered you had Aston Martin obligations.

“I can’t stay over tonight. Seb and I have to get up early tomorrow to do some promotion for some new Aston Martin models.”

Carlos frowns. “But why can’t you just sleep here and then leave early?”

“Because I know myself and I wouldn’t want to leave.”

“So you’re saying that you cannot leave in the morning…. because of me?” Carlos says as he teasingly winks at you.

“Oh fuck off! You know what I mean!”

Carlos laughs and holds you tighter. “I am only joking, I promise I will make sure you get up on time. I’ll even drive you to the circuit!”

You pursed your lips in fake annoyance. “Fine. But we’re taking my rental car, not your flashy Ferrari.”

“Deal,” said Carlos. “That means I’ll have to pick you up and we get to spend even more time together before the press conferences and practices start.”

You grinned at his enthusiasm. 6 months ago you would have laughed if someone told you you’d be cuddling with Carlos Sainz.

*******

The start of race weekend went off without a hitch. You reunited with your friends in the paddock and so far, no one had accidentally blabbed about your relationship. You were able to sneak a few meals with Carlos but race weekends were where you expected to see less of Carlos. Free practice was a little rough with the car fighting you in corners. Qualifying was a little better as the car’s pace was faster and you were able to place yourself in P11 for the sprint race. You were feeling the pressure because they haven’t talked to you about renewing your contract. You were hoping and praying to the universe that you would place in an even better position for the actual Grand Prix on Sunday.

It was 20 minutes into the sprint and you were heavily defending your position from none other than Carlos and his Ferrari. Carlos crashed early in qualifying, and here he was trying to climb up the grid. You knew that the Ferrari was faster than your Aston Martin so the only thing you could do was use skill and defend as if your life depended on it. Unfortunately for you, it meant that you had to be rough on your car and you could tell your tires and engine were degrading faster than you wanted. You pulled maneuver after maneuver and held your place for two laps until you felt your tire lock up and as you put all your focus to control it, Carlos managed to get the inside line and pass you.

“Fucking hell, he'll never let me forget that,” you mumbled to yourself.

You chased the Ferrari but half a lap later, a bunch of sensors lights up on your steering wheel as you feel the car slow down.

“No no no!” you yell into your radio. “The fucking engine!”

“Y/n try to pull off onto the side, there’s smoke coming out of the car.”

“I'm so sorry. I pushed too hard.”

You do your best to park the car on the gravel and ironically, you park beneath a monitor flashing the yellow flag that you made happen. You turn your head to see that the back of your car emitting more smoke than you expected. You quickly scramble out of the car and wave the fire marshals over. A few of your fellow drivers passed by slowly as they examined the burning car and signaling you asking if you were okay. You were in a daze until you saw Carlos’s Ferrari significantly slow down behind the safety car. He lifts his visor and craned his head to try to get a better view of you. You give a thumbs up to reassure him but you weren’t sure he could see you amongst the group of fire marshals.

You get a ride back to the garage after you make sure that the car was going to be alright. You trudge into the garage still wearing your helmet while holding back your tears. You felt like you let your whole team down, everyone was working so hard and it was wasted in a matter of seconds. You go to a corner and sat in silence as you tried to calm yourself. None of the engineers or strategists tried to talk to you, they didn’t know how to handle a crying woman so they left you alone. Once your team principal Mike saw you talking to Anna, he used that as an opportunity to approach you.

“I’m so sorry Mike. I fucked up. We were doing amazing all weekend and I screwed it up for everyone.”

Mike merely shook his head and hugged you. “I’m sorry that we couldn’t provide you with a better car that could accommodate a good driver. This was not the result we wanted but you did the best you could with what you had! You gave that Ferrari a run for its money!”

You shrugged. “I messed up and now I’ll have to start at the back of the grid.”

“You are one of the most talented drivers I’ve had the privilege to work with. Knowing what you can do, you’ll catch up to the front in no time,” said Mike.

He hands you a headset so you could watch the rest of the race and listen in on the team radio. You find a stool in front of a monitor and make yourself comfortable as you watch the rest of the sprint race. Of course you wanted Sebastian to have the best position possible but you secretly hoped that Carlos would finally get his first pole position. You watched wide-eyed as you watched him try to overtake but winced when a couple of other drivers were able to overtake him. The sprint race finished with Max on the pole and Carlos starting at P8.

“P8? What the hell happened Carlos?”

*******

Debriefing had just ended at the Ferrari motorhome but team principal Mattia and a few race strategists asked Charles and Carlos to stay behind so they could speak privately. They were overall pleased with their team's result but had a few concerns about their drivers.

“Charles, good job on P2 today,” said Mattia. “Carlos….you were fast all weekend, what happened? The strategists and enginners were looking at your data and the car seemed a little different after the Aston Martin DNF. Was it a driver error or is it something wrong with the car?”

Carlos looked at them startled. Usually, they would sugarcoat anything about a driver error but they were upfront this time.

“I am not sure what happened.” stammered Carlos. “I kept pushing and nothing was working.”

Mattia and the strategists whispered among themselves before facing their drivers again. Mattia cleared his throat as he tried to come up with a tone that didn’t sound like a scolding parent.

“Carlos, I’ve noticed that you and the Aston Martin driver y/n have gotten close this year. She is a lovely woman and an even better driver. I noticed she’s been visiting the garage more than usual.”

Carlos felt his stomach drop. He glanced at Charles to see that even his teammates face had gotten a little pale as they both registered what Mattia was saying.

“Yes, we have gotten closer this year,” stammered Carlos.

“I know that you have your personal life but when your personal life starts to affect your racing, that is when we have to intervene…so we can fix it,” said Mattia. He spoke in such a gentle manner that it was obvious he was trying hard not to upset Carlos.

“Y/n is one of my closest friends on the grid,” chimed in Charles. “She visits me all the time.”

Mattia nods. “Ah yes, I know she is your friend but to Carlos she-”

Mattia gets cut off by one of the race strategists. “What Mattia is trying to say is that we don’t care if Carlos is dating her or whatever. We just care that Carlos is 100% focused on his job. We’ve noticed that recently he’s been unfocused and we just want to tell Carlos that he needs to fix whatever is distracting him,” said the strategist bluntly. “Charles, you’re the teammate and we expect you to make sure that he is focused on race weekends.”

Carlos’s jaw clenched and unclenched. He hated getting reprimanded and hated it even more that they included you in the conversation. Sure, this hasn’t been his best weekend but he had no idea why they had to drag you into this.

Taking a deep breath, Carlos nods. “I will be more focused from now on, I promise. I just don’t know why we're talking about y/n when I am the one making the mistakes. ”

“We’re not trying to insinuate anything! We're just making sure that our drivers don’t have any psychological or physical blocks hindering them.” responds another strategist.

Before Carlos could start fuming, Charles reasures his bosses that he would watch out for his teammate. Charles takes him and makes a beeline out the door, he needed to get Carlos out fast before he could say anything he would regret.

Later that afternoon, Carlos makes his way to your hotel room with a small bag of pastries. He knew your performance coach would disagree but one cannoli wouldn’t hurt. You open the door and after kissing him hello, you take the bag of pastries and flop onto your hotel bed. As if he read your mind, Carlos collapses next to you.

“How are you?” asked Carlos. “I was so worried when I saw the smoke come out of your car.”

You sigh as you close your eyes and lean into him. “Thanks to you and my brilliant defending, I pushed the car too hard to the point that it caught on fire.”

Carlos laughs at the little dig towards him. “I am sorry but hey, I had to do my job.”

“It was nice battling with you again. Too bad you were too fast for me.”

“I am lucky that your rear tire locked up because you were impossible to overtake. I was so impressed AND annoyed at how good you were.”

You groaned as you relived the moment in your head. “I’m so mad at myself.”

Carlos notices the lines creased on your forehead. He noted that those weren’t there the last time he saw you. He wanted to tell you about the meeting he just had with his bosses but decides against it after seeing the stress you were in. He leans in to kiss you on the forehead, he would just have to tell you after the race tomorrow.

*******

You grinned as you heard the deafening cheers from the stands as you, Daniel, and Carlos battled for P7. Your race engineer radios in to tell you to be patient since the boys were being much more aggressive, they were more likely to make a mistake. You comply and kept the pressure on Daniel. You weren’t trying to pull any moves but made sure he knew you were still in the battle. As the three of you approach turn 10, there must have been some tailwind which resulted in a loss of downforce. All three cars spun and chaos ensued.

You saw the front of the Ferrari heading toward you and your instincts kick in as you grip your wheel tight and swerved away from the red car. Gravel rained down as you and Carlos did your best to avoid each other. Luckily, your car was still in good condition to drive out of the gravel pit. A yellow flag was called and you used that time to pit and change your tires. After pitting, you joined the other drivers on the track and was informed that you were P7 and that the yellow flag was caused by Carlos getting stuck in the gravel. After making sure Carlos was okay, let your mind focus on the race again. You went from the back of the grid to P7, you were determined to get a podium. The yellow flag gave you the opportunity to catch up with the other drivers which meant that once the green flag came out, you would have an easier time hunting down the drivers in front of you.

Elation.

That was what you felt as passed the finish line. You screamed and pumped your fist in the air as you approached the pit fence that was currently filled with the Aston Martin employees celebrating with you. The moment you parked your car in front of the P3 sign, you leaped out of the car and launched yourself towards the sea of Aston Martin engineers, mechanics, and strategists. All the drivers were so sweet and expressed how happy they were with your result. You gave each of them a big hug but realized someone was missing. You looked around and realized that Carlos was nowhere to be found. You catch Charles’s eye and he shrugs, he tells you that Carlos was probably still stuck in the Ferrari garage.

Unbeknownst to you, Carlos was on his way to congratulate the top 3 but was shoved back in the chaos as a crowd formed below the podium stand. Carlos couldn’t help but grin when he saw your bright smile up there on the podium. Max and Checo douse you in champagne and your shriek in glee. Carlos was happy for you but then he had the most intrusive thought. What if Mattia and the strategists were right? Were you the reason he was having one of his worst seasons in Formula One?

don't forget to comment and reblog!

tags: @oyesmendes, @forzaferraris, @harley-sunday, @thatoneidiot16, @haterpenny, @mysticalnightenthusiast, @laura-naruto-fan1998, @helluvahazelnut, @starjane312, @thatchickwiththecamera, @sticksdoesart, @xscorpioxmoon, @sanne-p, @lovingroscoee, @ruledchaos, @callmequeenbeee, @nochillnel, @dr3lover, @urbankaite2, @justharrysworld, @ohthemisssery, @zoobabystation, @fangirlingcontent-blog, @dan3avacado

#carlos sainz jr x reader #carlos sainz jr #carlos sainz x reader #carlos sainz fluff #carlos sainz x you #f1 fanfic #formula 1 x reader #formula one fanfiction #formula 1 fanfic

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callsign-bunnie · 1 year

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Idk if it’s the same for anyone else but I personally haven’t sent asks for stalker because I thought you would be getting loads of them! I’d love to see more if anything comes to mind, the first idea that came to me is that maybe someone else starts stalking Soap?

Haha, no not really! I got quite a few today, but for the most part, I don't really get asks for it as much! If I'm slow to posting something, it's usually because I haven't gotten a ton of requests for it!

Ghost wasn't sure why he'd let Soap drag him to this. He wanted to make Johnny happy and part of that was meeting his friends, fully, he knew that. But... fuck, Ghost hated meeting new people.

Technically, the only new people he'd be meeting was Gaz and Alex, but... two was more than he'd like to be meeting that day. One was more than he'd like to be meeting.

Whatever, it was important to Soap and... so Ghost went. It was at Alex's house, which was decent considering his age, but it was apparently a family house, so not surprising. He'd inherited it after the death of both of his parents, according to Soap.

Ghost had decided to opt for a half facemask that Soap had gifted him, which also had a skull print on it. Soap seemed to have picked up on that little hyperfixation of his, because almost everything Soap had ever gotten him had something to do with skulls. Not that Ghost was complaining, since he loved skull stuff.

Ghost ran a hand down his face as they arrived. Soap had dragged them to a grocery store and had them pick up a bottle of wine to bring as a gift for Alex and Gaz. "They've only been together for two months," Soap mumbled as he knocked. "But we don't bring it up."

"Okay?" Ghost didn't care. He was not judging someone for going for it. "Who proposed?"

"Alex." Soap nodded a bit before smiling as the door was answered by Gaz, who smiled brightly in return. "Gaz!"

Gaz hugged him and nodded a little to Ghost, though Ghost definitely picked up on the glance Gaz gave him. Ghost didn't like it. It was a "I know what you are" glance. Ghost felt picked open, but Rodolfo and Soap had both reassured Ghost that Gaz was not a threat. Gaz was easily influenced, apparently, and Rodolfo had managed to tell him that Ghost was a good guy.

Ghost wasn't sure he believed that Gaz accepted that, but he was sure Rudy would keep Gaz from trying to tell Soap to leave. Rodolfo would have to or Ghost would just simply call the police and inform them that he knew where Alejandro Vargas was.

"It's nice to meet you." Gaz nodded to Ghost when he and Soap finally broke apart and offered a hand.

Ghost tensed but accepted the handshake and nodded. "You too." He mumbled.

Soap relaxed a little beside him and Ghost couldn't help but feel bad. He knew Soap wanted this to go well so desperately. "What did Alex cook? It smells good."

"He roasted a chicken." Gaz smiled and let them in. "How are both of you?"

Ghost let Soap answer, just kind of trailing behind him to the table, where a man, he assumed Alex, was setting the table. Ghost kind of cringed at still being the tallest in the room, though it did allow him to intimidate. Being huge was a double edged blade. On the one hand, he could use it to intimidate and scare people. On the other hand, he stuck out like a sore thumb when he was trying to blend in.

Ghost pulled out Soap's chair like a proper gentleman and then sat down himself, unsure if he should offer help to Alex. Though, from the looks of it, Alex didn't have much else to do.

Gaz thanked Soap for the bottle of wine and left to get glasses. "So, have you made any progress in planning the wedding? That's next month, right?"

"Alex changed his mind and he wants like a ceremony and stuff, so... no, it's going to be the end of this year." Gaz shrugged, setting down the glasses when he came back.

Alex moved over and kissed his temple. "I was stupid for insisting on an elopement to begin with."

Gaz laughed, smiling. "Thank you. Anyway, we're looking at venues this week. Well, I am. I thought maybe you, Rudy, and I could make a day of it?"

Soap glanced at Ghost, who shrugged. Rodolfo would be there and Ghost knew better than to limit Soap's contact with friends. That always led to the downfall. He'd limit his friends and then Soap would feel controlled and start to buck and try to get away and slowly hate Ghost. No, Ghost knew better.

Soap smiled and turned back to Gaz. "I'd love to! When?"

"Friday." Gaz had definitely picked up the little interaction between them and he was frowning deeply, though Alex seemed to distract him with some plates. Gaz quickly set to putting them around the table, shortly before the doorbell was ringing.

"I got it." Alex murmured, kissing Gaz's temple again. Ghost had to admit, they were kind of a sweet couple. You'd never guess they'd only been together two months before getting engaged.

Gaz smiled and nodded, sitting down, as Alex let to go answer the door. Ghost frowned deeply when he heard Alex say hello, only to be answered with a "hey, man" from a voice he recognized immediately as Alejandro's.

Rodolfo had let him out? Why? Ghost hadn't even tried to convince him to let him out, yet. Honestly, he wasn't even planning on it. He doubted Rodolfo would even be convinced but... here he was. Ghost looked behind him to see that Rodolfo was in fact with Alejandro, holding onto his arm. He'd never seen so much emotion on Rodolfo's face. It looked almost natural.

"We were all worried about you." Alex told Alejandro, who just shrugged.

"I was... making some very stupid decisions but I'm back now." Alejandro smiled and came in when Alex let them in, guiding Rodolfo with him.

Rodolfo was practically beaming as he followed Alejandro in, looking up at him with adoration in his eyes. Ghost decided that was almost more uncomfortable than the lack of emotion that was usually there. It was almost uncanny. Funny. Rodolfo looked off when he was most natural.

Alex shrugged. "Well, we're glad you're back." He smiled and pat Alejandro's shoulder.

"We are." Rodolfo confirmed and Ghost realized, when his smile widened and his blush deepened as Alejandro kissed his cheek, that Rodolfo wasn't faking it.

What. the. fuck.

Alejandro tugged him to the table and Rodolfo seemed to gladly follow, smiling in greeting to everyone else. "Hey." He nodded to Soap, who had been watching them enter. He frowned when he saw Alejandro.

"Hello." Soap nodded. "Alejandro... where the fuck have you been??"

Alejandro winced. "I'd rather not talk about it. It's... uncomfortable."

Rodolfo nodded in agreement, avoiding Ghost's eyes. Ghost frowned a little but nudged Soap. "Let's not push, okay?" He murmured.

Soap frowned and looked at Ghost before nodding a little. "Alright."

Rodolfo relaxed and mouthed "thank you" to Ghost, who just shrugged. Favor for favors. He wanted to stay on Rodolfo's good side.

Finally, Alex sat down and they started to eat. Ghost didn't like having to pull his mask down for it, but no one commented or even really acknowledged it, so eventually he forgot about it.

He listened to the conversation everyone else was having but mostly drowned it out, not really caring if he was honest. Weddings weren't his thing, though he had no doubt Soap would get him dressed up and drag him out to Alex and Gaz's. He would gladly go, to support Soap, though.

Eventually, Soap started to ask Alejandro and Rodolfo questions. They were slightly prodding, just asking why Rodolfo hadn't told them the moment he found Alejandro, if Alejandro was okay, stuff like that.

Eventually, Alejandro just gave in. "I went on a bender." He admitted.

Ghost almost laughed. Even Rodolfo looked at him, shocked. That was clearly not the story they agreed on. But... Ghost had to hand it to him. It was just uncomfortable enough that no one would question the legitimacy of it. Why would you lie about something like that?

Soap immediately blushed bright red, taking Ghost's hand and squeezing it kind of hard. Not enough to hurt but Ghost knew he was deeply embarrassed. "Oh. I'm sorry."

"No, it's alright. It was a short bender but... I landed myself in the hospital and didn't have any of my money or cards or anything to get myself home. Rodolfo found me around last week and he wanted to tell you guys immediately but... I was too embarrassed. I didn't want anyone to know what had happened." Alejandro cringed and rubbed the back of his neck.

Alex winced. "Yeah, I get that feeling. High school was fucked up." He and Alejandro fist bumped. Ghost decided to keep his comments about that to himself.

Honestly if Ghost had his way, he'd never think of high school again.

Alejandro then nodded and continued. "So that's why I was gone and why I've been so secretive about it."

Rodolfo to his credit played his part very well and only looked at Alejandro with silent sympathy. Ghost turned and looked at Soap with amusement but didn't say anything about it.

After a moment of brief awkward silence, they decided to find a different topic of conversation and Alejandro looked relieved.

Ghost would have to ask Alejandro later how he managed to come up with such a story as he wasn't even entirely sure Alejandro drank alcohol. Though from the way everyone accepted it, there must be some history there. But that was honestly none of Ghost's business.

Alejandro would tell him if he felt like it.

Soap seemed to go quiet for the rest of the conversation. Which Ghost found equally amusing if he was honest. He loved Johnny and one of the things that drew him to Johnny was his impulsiveness and his inability to think before he opened his mouth, but that was bound to get them in trouble and look where they were.

So Ghost just squeezed Soap's hand under the table and chuckled softly, knowing that no one but Soap could hear.

After a brief moment of awkward silence, Soap spoke up to compliment Alex on the chicken and asked him where he got the recipe. Alex seemed flattered and responded that it was a family recipe. To which Gaz seemed to get quiet and paid a lot more attention to his plate. From the looks Soap and Rudy shared, Ghost inferred that this was probably a sore subject for Gaz.

Alex could be seen moving his arm under the table, assumingly to take Gaz's hand and leaned over to murmur something in his ear that no one else could hear.

Gaz smiled weakly before turning to the rest of the group. "Technically I'm not even supposed to be eating it."

Alex winced slightly and at everyone's questioning glances. "My mom hasn't come around to the idea of us being married. It's tradition that when the son's in my family get engaged that my mom will tell the fiancé all their favorite family recipes. But my mother refuses..."

Gaz laughed and shook his head. "Apparently that only applies to daughter in laws." Under his breath, he continued. "White daughter-in laws."

Alex winced pretty hard at that, but his lack of denial spoke more than his words ever could.

Ghost decided to make probably an ill timed joke, but what could he say he was awkward anyway and proceeded to say. "Well Johnny never has to worry about that, both of my parents are dead." To which Rodolfo and Gaz laughed a little too loud. Alejandro and Alex looked at them both with concern.

Gaz decided to explain first. "My parents gave me up when I was a baby so I never met them and my foster parents when they got me were already tired of fostering so when I turned 18, I went to college and never looked back."

Rodolfo nodded in agreement and mumbled. "I went into that creep's basement with an alive family and came out with two dead parents and siblings who refuse to speak to me."

Gaz seemed to turn bright red at that before weakly mumbling. "Dead parents gang." Ghost laughed a little to hard at. He had to admit, he kinda liked Gaz.

Soap awkwardly spoke up. "Well my parents are also dead but... I'm a little concerned for you three now."

Alejandro shrugged. "My parents are both alive. I have a pretty good relationship with them."

Alex said. "Do you though? They didn't notice you were gone for three weeks."

Gaz lightly wacked him across the arm. "Alex!"

But Alejandro only laughed and just shrugged. "Yeah, I guess." Clearly, he wasn't too bothered by the statement.

Ghost had had a lot of experience watching people. Hell, that's how he got in his current relationship by watching Soap. Through this experience, he picked up natureal reactions people had to things.

For instance, when someone said something insensitive the usual reaction is to laugh it off, maybe apologize, or maybe just go haha and move on. However, Alex did none of those things. Instead, Alex just smiled, nodded at Alejandro and turned back to the table.

This wasn't empirical evidence that something was wrong with Alex. But when Alex caught Ghost's eyes, Ghost puffed up a little. He broadened himself, tried to make himself look bigger.

And Alex just looked at Ghost and smiled.

Soap frowned when he got a text message on his phone. It wasn't from a number he recognized, though Soap had to admit he wouldn't have recognized it regardless. He had had the same cell phone number since he was 16 years old and if someone tried to read it out loud to him, he'd probably stare at them blankly and just go "what's that?"

Hi! You don't know me, but we share a math class and I think you're cute. -Bug

Soap flushed dark, frowning. Oh. I'm sorry, I have a boyfriend.

That's alright. -Bug

Soap raised an eyebrow. Was he accepting rejection? Or was he going "I don't care that you have a boyfriend"? We can be friends, though. Why did Soap send that?? Ghost was going to kill him.

Really? Awesome! -Bug

Soap smiled a little. Just friends, though.

That's alright. -Bug

Do you like movies? -Bug

I do, why?

Trying to make small talk -Bug

Soap smiled. He was already picking up awkward vibes from him. Probably learned how to pick that stuff up from Ghost. Where do you sit in math?

Oh, in the back. I don't like being seen -Bug

You sound like my boyfriend

Simon Riley, right? -Bug

Funnily enough, Soap didn't actually know Ghost's full name. Yeah, I think so.

You think so? -Bug

I know so. Soap's face flamed bright red. Fuck, it was text. He had the opportunity to read over them before he sent them, yet his dumbass just types and hits go. Fucking idiot.

Right. -Bug

I do! Soap was going to die. He was a moron! Anyway, do you like movies?

Sometimes. Not too many of them. -Bug

Do you like movie theatres?

Oh, no. Definitely not. -Bug

Soap frowned a little. Why?

Too loud. But, I like watching them at home. -Bug

Soap shrugged. Makes sense. Rodolfo was the exact same way. Honestly, he'd stayed away from move theatres for nearly three years due to one of his friends not liking them. He didn't miss them, too much. He'd rather spend the 20 dollars on the actual movie.

Hey can I ask a question? -Bug

Sure what is it?

When are you going to break up with that boyfriend? -Bug

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