#fanfic: shattered glass | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

hanasnx · 4 months

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❝ incendium. ❞

── stephen glass x reader

MINORS DNI 18+ WORD COUNT: 3.3k SUMMARY: when a lie snowballs out of stephen's control, you swoop in for unorthodox damage control. NOTES: sorry i posted with the wrong title at first | wrote most of this over a year ago, so the style is a bit different, but stick with it trust me | if you say "part two" in the comments, you better come into my inbox with an actual plot or idea that will fit this "au" WARNINGS: f!reader | editor-in-chief!reader | suggestive content including sex and porn mentions so no minors still cos i dont want them on my page ever | deceit | inappropriate contracts.

When you’re the Editor-in-Chief for the biggest magazine of the year, you’ll have a couple thousand rumors spread about you. You wouldn’t pretend that its source wasn’t jealousy that drove poor opinions of you to circle the sandbox. It’s child’s play really, the way sparks of lies catch ablaze to spread like a dry forest’s fire. You’ve always imagined the end of the world to begin and end with a great flood— it was a blue planet after all. With that comforting metaphor, a measly incendium left you unbothered.

You didn’t have a free moment in your schedule, and it had been like that for months. Being in charge meant shouldering the work of the workers underneath you, and it often meant taking some home with you— work, not workers. Speaking of which, you’d wish you’d find somebody decent to take home. Unfortunately, a relationship really didn’t fit into your hectic calendar.

It was nice to have a personal assistant. She took care of the unimportant things for you, while you got to work on time and started on your bulleted list in order of priority. Said assistant, Maddy, sat at a desk outside your office, and when she entered to drop off your coffee she picked up, you seized the opportunity to inquire her knowledge on number one on your list.

Maddy hummed questioningly as you waited, blinking at her over your reading glasses. “Oh!” She clapped her hands together once her memory was jogged. “The New Republic ran something a little detrimental to our brand. Our CEO’s legal team reached out to me to ask you to handle it before they had to step in. The last thing they want is a lawsuit—“ she rambled on and you held up your hand, quieting her. Upturning your palm to invite her to hand you TNR’s piece that supposedly mentioned this company.

Maddy read your mind, spryly collecting the paper to place in your possession.

It took seconds for you to scan it, creasing your brows in response to its misinformation. Maddy studied your reaction to its error. For you, this was not a matter of opinion, it was a matter of fact, and required your addressment.

“Get Chuck on the phone, I want his earliest appointment.”

STEPHEN GLASS moistened his lips as he furiously typed up his latest story, anxious to meet the deadline with a particularly difficult article. His coworker Caitlyn swung in by his door frame. “Yo, Steve, Amy and I wanted to head to the bar after work today. You free?” Caitlyn had figured out the best way to ask him if he wanted to hang out was to put as little pressure on it as possible. He reminded her of a chihuahua…consistently shaken.

Stephen glanced her way but continued typing. “Yeah? Got it… maybe…” he drawled dreamily, and she concluded he wasn’t entirely listening.

Inviting herself inside, she slumped into one of his cold, blue, faux leather chairs. “What are you working on anyway?”

“The Gainsmen piece. I was supposed to have it done already but it got buried.” he responded, eyes glued to the screen as if hypnotized. His hand blindly fumbled for his pen off to the side, like a good friend Caitlyn leaned over to slide the utensil into his fingertips. He banged the end of it against the meat of his thigh, revealing the ink tip so he could scribble some sort of note on his pad, all without ripping his pupils off the growing lines on the monitor. His coworker had never seen him so… intense. To free up his other hand for efficient typing he tucked the staff of the pen in between his lips.

Stephen had the power to make her worry for him. From what she observed, he was overworked, and spent more time here than he ever did at home when he should be resting. That reasoning eased her into her next question, “You want me to help?”

A sudden shift in his demeanor, his full attention on her for the first time since she entered his office, raising his brows with a hopeful glint in his dilated pupils. He pinched the pen in his knuckles, balancing the end of it against the corner of his mouth. “Would you?” His disbelief was adorably naive, as if surprised he’d ever receive help… if he deserved it. A smile tugged at Cait’s lips when she nodded, parting them to respond when a slam of a door tore both of their attentions away.

It was you, the notorious editor of their largest competitor. It had silenced the entire floor, quiet enough to hear your heels click on the thin carpet, and Stephen’s pen drop onto his keyboard. Cait glanced at him as he scrambled to catch it in a failed attempt to prevent its further clattering against the keys.

Every pair of eyes was on you as you cut through the stations. Your mere presence froze those around you, as if afraid to do something wrong and offend you in some way. At least, some of them anyway. Stephen always thought it was because of how stunning you were. Bone-chillingly authoritative in stockings and a pencil skirt. Behind his glasses his pupils dilated as they scanned from bottom to top, watching you walk further from him through the glass of his office. He gulped, thoughtlessly leaning in his seat to consume every angle of you his limited view from his desk would allow. Caitlyn had faced him again just in time to catch him in the act, and he settled back into his chair as if he hadn’t moved at all. She resisted the urge to flash him a quizzical look as he sheepishly watched himself fiddle with his pen in his lap.

You did not waver your gaze from your goal, and Chuck had been expecting you. He wore the warmest smile he could muster as he opened his door for you, a headache having come on from the call he received earlier, announcing your scheduled arrival. “Miss (l/n),” he greeted with a nod, and you returned the greeting as he closed the door behind you. The frosted windows left a lot to the imagination of the employees on this floor. Everyone wordlessly agreed to remain reticent in order to eavesdrop on any juicy tidbit they could claw their sleep-deprived hands onto. Not only that, but as if enslaved to their subconscious desires, they shifted closer, gravitating towards Chuck’s office, crudely concealing the way they inclined their ears.

Stephen’s hands clammed up, and he dropped the pen in between his legs so he could wipe his palms on his pants. He had a feeling he knew what you were here for.

The conversation inside was indecipherable to the surrounding throng, except for one fragment at the resolution, resounding through the room, causing prying eyes to desperately study your blurred figures in hopes to interpret what kind of violent gestures you punctuated your threat with.

“I will not be trifled with. My magazine did not tank my first year, it was the year before I was brought on board.” Able to see your arm raise, clutching a fluttering page, and slam it down onto Chuck’s desk. “When I came on I saved that establishment. I’m sick of reading about how the last Editor’s fault was mine! I expected more from The New Republic.” You had straightened. “Let a simple fact like this go unchecked in the future and I’ll poach you. Understand?”

It was impossible to tell whether or not you waited for Chuck’s response before storming out. Stephen still thought you were as elegant as ever, observing you as you strode to the exit. He had suspected why you were here, and what you said at Chuck’s had confirmed it. You had nipped Chuck for signing off on Stephen’s piece. His mouth ran dry when your gaze landed on him. You didn’t recognize him as the man who wrote what you had come to pontificate on. Instead, you saw a boy in glasses, gawking at you from the seat of his desk as you happened to face him and accidentally make eye contact.

Stephen had no idea you didn’t know who he was, and that assumption caused him to raise his hand at you to offer you a polite smile and a wave. You acknowledged it to be proper, unfaltering in your traipse. Just as soon as you’d left, the floor reignited, bustling and trucking through paperwork as if you’d never appeared.

Caitlyn, unaware of Stephen’s current situation, had stood from the chair, and leaned against the back of it as she collected her thoughts, narrowing her eyes at Stephen. “What was that?” she inquired slyly, curious as to why Stephen had greeted you so familiarly. According to Cait’s knowledge, you and Stephen have never formally met, and you weren’t exactly the most accessible person to befriend. Casually greeting you was simply not done, unless it was a peer like Chuck.

Stephen had returned to his monitor, nervously tapping the pen against the desk surface as the gears in his head turned. “What? You mean the wave?” he affirmed with a smile tugging at his lips, about to tell her the truth of why he did it.

When you re-entered his mind, he idled, reminiscing on your outfit today. How your hips swayed in your smart pencil skirt, the lines of your stockings at the backs of your legs, the tasteful blouse and how it accentuated your exquisite outline. As a writer, Stephen admired your professional work. As an artist, he agonizingly wished he knew you— inside and out. When Caitlyn demanded an answer, Stephen looked up at her with a bashful snicker. “I mean… okay, alright,” He clasped his hands together, reminding himself how sweaty they were.

“Go on, Steph, I’m waiting,” Cait said in a playful tone, eager to hear the gossip she knew he would inevitably spill. Her favorite source of entertainment was Stephen: the human embodiment of the overflowing cup.

He longed to do just that, hanging his head briefly before feigning defeat. “We kissed.” he conceded as if it was reluctantly drawn from him rather than readily supplied as soon as it was conjured. He didn’t know why he said that, it just slipped out.

“Hey, Stephen,” Amy peeked her head in, seemingly oblivious of the nature of the conversation he and Caitlyn just shared, evidenced by Amy’s immediate interest in Cait’s gaping mouth, readjusting against the door frame. “Wait, wait, what did you say? What did I miss?”

Cait flashed a look at Stephen as if to ask permission to repeat what he’d just spread. Stephen merely smiled childishly, and pinched his fingers together at the corner of his mouth, running across his lips pretending to zip them. Caitlyn got the message, nodding, and mimicking him.

Amy sighed in playful annoyance, which only caused the other two to grin knowingly. “Whatever. Stephen, Chuck wants to see you in his office.”

One more quizzical look from Cait, and he reassured her, “It’s probably nothing,” He met Amy’s gaze, “Tell him I’ll be right there, Ames.”

We kissed. He’d said. We kissed. A lie he couldn’t stop pondering, and it snowballed into expansion. At first it was an innocent kiss, as virtuous as a young white flower. When it was received with such shock and entertainment, Stephen couldn’t help himself. A kiss became a heated make-out session at a company Christmas party he snuck into. A make-out became a regular occurrence when you just couldn’t stay away from him. A regular occurrence became seeing each other. Became experimental oral.

All until it became dirty fucking on the side using your power as an Editor over him. “What am I gonna do? Say ‘no’ to her? No,” Stephen shook his head and sipped his Colombian coffee from the slit in its lid. “No,” he swallowed, “not to an Editor-in-Chief.” His regaling earned him pats on the back and laughter from those taking it as a joke. No one thought he was in any real danger. It’s not like he worked underneath her— in an employment stance.

He couldn’t give it up. Cooking was one thing, but earning the respect of those around all because a woman made of ice was supposedly wrapped around his finger was another high entirely. One he couldn’t give up, no matter how immoral. He admired you— immeasurably— and still he let those words run out of his mouth faster than he could stuff them back in. Filthy secrets about what you’re like in bed, how rough you like it, what position is your favorite. It’s not like he could reveal those details without unveiling a little of himself and his fantasies as well.

He never expected that it’d turn out like this.

Never expected he’d be summoned to your office.

“Miss—“ Maddy’s clear voice rings in your ear, interrupting you during your process of scratching your notes into the margin of the text.

You sigh. “Madeline, if you’re here about Frank’s paternal leave again I’ll be forced to fire that baby myself.”

She stutters, caught off guard by your sour attitude and poorly-timed joke. “No, Miss, I’m here to announce Mr. Glass’s arrival. I made him wait a few minutes- like you asked.”

You peer up from your work at Maddy who’s in a straight-and-narrow posture by the door as you gesture incredulously with your hand. “Go ahead, send him in.” She nods, and hastily abides by your notion, fetching him.

This time you don’t redirect your eyes from your thick pile of papers as you annotate, the nervous footsteps of your anticipated company echoing through your cavernous office. He follows the rug across the long pathway to the chair in front of your desk, taking a seat, and the leather creaks against itself.

He takes notice of your strategic reticence. “Hi.” his wavering voice is a near whisper. Your script comes to a screeching halt.

“Mr. Glass,” you reply, “you are a man-in-demand, aren’t you?” You swipe a page to the left, noting at the top right to bookmark it.

Sheepish, Stephen stutters in his response, lips curled politely up, “I- I suppose so. I suppose I wouldn’t know.” To keep him nervous, you hum, and he shifts uncomfortably in his seat. Every movement, no matter how minute, creates the leather din that damn-near echoes in your resonate office-space. He waits for you to speak, and when it becomes unbearable he fills the silence. “Is this about your talk with Chuck– er, Charles Lane? Because- about that, if you just listen–”

At that, your eyes finally flicker up to meet his. “No, Mr. Glass, it is not.” He swallows. It’s becoming increasingly clear why you’re known as cold. It’s an unforgivable atmosphere, and a shiver runs up his spine powerful enough that he takes his hand to rub his own arm to generate warmth. You stand, and he presses his lips into a thin line, watching your every move as you gracefully close the script on your desk with a rare finesse. “You’ve brought a lot of attention to my door, you know that?” Strategically, Stephen remains silent as you leisurely round your desk. His hands begin to clam up again, and he rubs them on his thighs as he stares hard at his lap. A whole new level of intimidation has been reached being this close to you at the center of your focus. He’s unsure how to play this right now, and he finally registers your proximity when out of the corner of his eye he sees you sit on the edge of your desk adjacent to him. Your smooth legs are crossed within arm’s length of him. You fold your arms over your chest, your unwavering gaze making him feel smaller and smaller. Regardless of that, you can tell he’s not going to break. So you increase the pressure. “Have we met before?”

Big, innocent eyes peer up at you, hesitant to face you as he shakes his head marginally. The instinct to question if you’re mad at him dies in his throat. “No, ma’am.” The panic rises in his chest now that he’s denied having met you aloud, but you can’t possibly know about the lies he’s told, can’t prove he told them. Yet when he meets that piercing gaze, there’s a part of him that wants to come clean to you about everything if it means pleasing you. Though there is his job to think about, what would people say about a writer who lies about sexual encounters with the company’s competitor? It can’t be good.

“Is that a fact?” You raise your brows at him, and he nods slowly. “So, can you tell me why others have a different perception on that?”

He shakes his head.

“Mr. Glass, as frustrating as this all has become, you’re not here so I can berate you.” you concede, and at those words he visibly perks up. You reach over, plucking a folder from across your desk that stretches your body out in a specific way that rides your skirt up. Before he knows it, he’s sneaking a glance at the exposed skin of your thigh, how the flesh pushes together. The promiscuous rumors he’s spread about you and his own animal attraction to you has gone to his head because in that very moment he considers how warm and tepid your thighs must be against his ears. His salivating tongue rolls between his lips. He morphs into the posture of a goddamn saint as soon as you slam the folder onto the surface in front of him, he jolts right into it from the sudden noise, as if a chastising ruler had just struck his naughty hands. “I’m prepared to make you an offer.”

“What is this?” The shiny material of the folder falls open, and he inclines forward to read the cover of the thick stack of papers within it.

“An NDR.”

“An NDR? For what?” Stephen plays dumb, but you naturally would assume he’d know nothing about what this deal entails. You give him a silent moment to scan it. Uneasily, as if he’s reading it wrong, he relays the synopsis of one of the passages. “You want… you want to have…”

“Sex.” you reply casually. “You have heard of it?” you joke. “You paint our encounters so colorfully in your little stories, I assumed you were far from a virgin. Or at least well-versed in porn.”

Stephen can feel his throat closing up, shifting in his seat as he engages with you, his mouth in a permanent gaping position, looking for an opportunity to get a word in. “No, no.” He shakes his head, gesturing to himself at his chest. “You don’t understand, I don’t know what you’re talking about- honest!”

“Mr. Glass.” you chide with a playful curl to your lips. Your hands grip the edges of the wood, leaning towards him as if you’re exchanging coy secrets. “Don’t be modest, you’d make a killing in the fictional industry. Whatever are you doing at The New Republic?”

He rallies, sharply inhaling through his nose. “Let me just get out of your hair, and we can forget this whole thing happened—” he pleads, and in an effort to remove himself from the confrontation, he rises from his seat. Your hand gives him a firm push at his chest, planting his ass right back where it belongs.

“Mr. Glass, by all means I’m not keeping you here against your will, but need I remind you: I am not to be trifled with. Forgive me for being indelicate, but why not have the real thing?”

A second of silence passes, and Stephen gulps. You stand, and return to your chair behind your desk. “Think about it.” you tell him, and he takes it as his cue to leave, hastily gathering himself to stride towards the exit.

#indy: one shots #ch: stephen #stephen glass one shot #stephen glass x reader #stephen glass x fem reader #stephen glass x you #stephen glass x y/n #stephen glass imagine #stephen glass fic #stephen glass fanfic #stephen glass fanfiction #shattered glass x reader #reader insert #stephen glass #shattered glass #shattered glass 2003 #shattered glass stephen glass #hayden christensen

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delicatereader · 7 months

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I need you (stephen!hayden x reader)

• summary: Stephen is a little rusty in sex and needs some help

• warnings: well smut

• a/n: this is about hayden/stephen not the actual one. I didn't go deep with the smut bc I am just getting the hang of it so yea. enjoy! (btw I haven't proof read it so there are mistakes...

➽────────────────────────────❥

You've had an exhausting day at work, unfortunately you have to work overnight. All you want is a get away from this shit. There were only few others with you left. You peacefully working in your space, reading reports in your spinning chair when Stephen comes in.

He hastily grabs a chair and pulls it next to you to sit. You ignore him because you what was coming, he's gonna rant about how everyone thinks he's gay and no one likes him. You didn't think that way, you've had a cute crush on him for a while but didn't do anything because you worked with him and didn't have the time. You've always liked the way he talks and his glasses (you found them slutty and hot).

"What do you think of me?" he asks

"What do you mean?" you try to confirm, still reading the reports

"What do you think me?"

"You're kind, generous and hard-working!" you reply looking at him

"No like what do you think of me?" he repeats

You let out a harsh sigh annoyed.

"Like physically, do you find me attractive?" he blurts out

"What?" you respond in surprise

"Like am I attractive?" he asks again

"Yeah? why? did someone say anything to you?" you ask him concerned

"No..." he drags

"Spill" you demand

"Ok! It's been a while since you know..." he says

"What? I don't know"

"Since you know!" he looks at his pants and back up (twice)

"Sex?" you answer

"Shhhhh!" he silences you, making you giggle

"Someone will hear you! But yeah since I had sex" he continues

"So you want to start having sex again?" you ask

"Well yeah! It's been a long time" he admits

"How long?" you ask curiously

"Ummm...2 years?"

"What!? 2 years?! omg!" you yell whilst whispering

"I'm a bit rusty..." he says

You scoff as a response, "you will be"

"Oh shut up!" he responds

"Can't belive it! 2 years!" you laugh out loud

"Yep..." he says embarrassed, nodding his head

"Ok I won't laugh! I promise! you speak" you take a deep breath

"So everyone thinks I'm gay, I accidentally let people- no men stick their tongue down my throat and the girls I get run away when they hear the gay rumours" he explains his situation

"Well they just haven't seen your search history! trust me your straight!!" you confirm for him.

He leans back on the chair shocked

"How do you know my search history?"

"The other week you left early and forgot to log out. I did it for you" you smile at him proudly

"Anyways what am I supposed to do about this? I have some friends who might be interested..." you advise resting your head on you palms.

"No" he replies instantly

"Then?" you ask raising your eyebrows waiting for some details

"I need you" he mutters

"What?" you yell in shock

"You. I mean I don't know anyone else better. I'm close to you so it won't be that awkward!" he explains further

"What?! I can't!"

"Yes you can. Nat, Smith and Jade are leaving right now" he says placing a hand on your lap

"What?" as you respond you hear an elevator reach your floor seeing your colleagues leave

"It's just us! please!" he begs. You could see the desperation in his eyes.

"If I agree to this..." you drag

"I'll owe you a million" he offers

"Fine" you shrug even though you've wanted him for so long, you put on a act.

He instantly gets off the chair and kisses you

"Is that ok?" he asks

You nod in response

His kisses get more passionate and confident. His lips are awfully soft. His hands travel from your lap to your cheeks. He starts to kiss your neck, but whilst leaving a trail of kisses from behind your ear to you collarbone you get up and turn so he is in the chair. You're sat on his lap legs on both sides of him. He slips his around your waist and let's them travel your back and slip through your hair.

You pull his dark blonde curls, making him whimper. "You like that?"

The only response you got was a moan.

He starts to unbutton your shirt kissing your chest and around your bra. You follow his actions and pull his shirt off. He takes your bra off and kisses your breasts.

You slowly start to grind on him, making his head fall back in pleasure. "Fuck y/n!"

His breath starts to get heavier. He pulls his hand from your waist to tale off his glasses. Suddenly, you stop him.

"Whay are you doing?"

"Taking of my glasses?"

You lean against his mouth with a smirk

"The glasses stays on" you demand

"You have a thing for glasses?" He asks, locking his lips with a smile and carrying pire lust in his eyes.

"Shut up!" you say rolling your eyes at him whilst giggling

"We'll see who needs to shut up after this" he says with a mischievous smile leaning back in to kiss you

#hayden christensen #stephen glass #stephen glass hayden #shattered glass #hayden christensen smut #hayden x reader #anakin skywalker #fanfic #hayden christensen fanfic #aaron warner #smut #fanfiction

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ghostingaces · 1 year

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We Need To Talk About Glass | 141 x Reader/Oc

Synopsis; There’s something not right about the rookie

Warnings; vague horror themes and foul language

Notes; Glass is technically an oc but I don’t mention a name or physical description in this, even though she has one, is because this is kind of like a screen test for her. The only description so far is she's tall, Irish, and has plale eyes. This au is also inspired by this and this which I absolutely adore. This is my first piece of writing on this site so I hope you enjoy.

Its also only Price and Ghost for now. It’s a bit rough. Part Two here.

▄︻̷̿┻̿═━ 一

Most of the file before him was blacked out.

Rows upon rows of dark lines stared back at him as he flickered through the manilla folder, crime scene like photos of bloodshed tacked to pages after pages of mission reports. Occasionally the repetitive drivel would be interrupted by a disciplinary report, but those were drowned out with commendations.

“No picture?” Prime hummed as he flipped back to the first page.

“No Sir” The Irish Ranger in front of him answers. He's a tall man, bald with keen green eyes, and the rookies former CO. Lieutenant Byrne. A respectable and very capable man. A man who’s knuckles had been bone white on the file when he handed it over, green gaze refusing to flicker over the pictures he had probably seen dozens of times already. He had probably lived through several.

Price cast his gaze back down to the first page of the rookies file. Her name was simple and easy to remember, but distinct enough to suit her stature. He read it twice again just to make sure that it stuck though.

He rubbed his eyes as an uncomfortable itch overtook them.

“Infiltration, demolitions, interrogation, guerrilla warfare..., Jack of all trades aren't you...” He read over the callsign inscribed on the page “Glass”

The figure in the corner nodded. A scratchy voice echoed from behind the balaclava “Yes sir”

He had barley noticed the woman when she had walked into the briefing room behind Lieutenant Byrne. Draped in all black and of a similar stature to the man, she had seemed more of a shadow then person. By the time Price had realised she wasn't just an apparition, she had retreated into the dark like she belonged there.

“Before you're cleared for active duty you'll run some sims with the team” He explained. He settled his gaze on where he thought her eyes would be but could only see the shimmer of something staring back at him.

“Yes Sir”

“Even after that you won't be let out on the field for a while, not until you sim scores are perfect. Any objections?”

“No Sir”

“I expect perfection for my team, no room for mistakes.” Price stood from his desk and circled it slowly so he could sit closer to Glass (what was her name again?) and stare into the depths of the shadows that covered her “Understood”

There was what he perceived as a nod “Yes Sir”

“Good.” He grunted before reaching out to the other ranger for a grateful handshake “Lieutenant Byrne, thank you for the introduction but I can take it from here”

“Of course Sir” The irishman smiled aloofly has he shook the captains hand, grip firm, before stepping back closer to the woman “I’ll be out of you hair by the morning.”

Captain Price nodded with an amicable smile and watched as Byrne stepped closer to the woman who had moved to face him. They spoke in hushed voices, a flush of cold sweat gathering across the mans bald head, and what sounds like him snapping out a small ‘behave’ bounced around the room before he moved briskly to the door. It open with a scream of rusted hinges.

“Good luck Sir” Lieutenant Byrne smile tightly and shut the door behind him.

Good luck?

Price watched him go, head turned towards the door, before looking back to Glass.

She was closer than before.

A lot closer.

He could make out the structure of sharp bones under the black balaclava, high cheeks and an almost roman nose, as well as tired pale eyes that seemed to look perpetually glassy. He looked away when the itch returned. John huffed, callused hands rubbing his eyes softly, and watched in his peripheral is Glass continued to stare.

When the ache subsided, he offered a hand to shake “Welcome to the 141″

The corners of her eye crinkled every so slightly and he caught what looked like a smile in her dead eyes “Happy to be here Sir”

He could feel the ice of her skin through her gloves when they shook hands. Something distinctly wrong settled in his chest as he stared into her almost fake looking eyes. (Iris too glass like, pupils to much like a void)

What was her name again?

▄︻̷̿┻̿═━ 一

There was something wrong with Glass.

Something almost artificial, something uneven in the way she walked. Something doll like in the way she turned her head.

Ghost, the paranoid man that he was, noticed it first.

Noticed the lights that flickered when she walked into the room, a figure that wasn't her appearing in the shadow, before the bulbs would return to their usual florescent glow. The woman didn't seem to notice (or she didn't care) and was content to to carry on with her day. Ghosts eyes would follow her though, catching her gaze in the mirror she walked past. (He knew for a fact all the mirrors in her room were covered)

Her reflection would linger a moment while her body walked on.

Every instance of wrongness was so quick.

Too quick, like she was teasing him.

Daring him to say something.

He never told anyone he saw it happen

She made attempts to be normal. Well versed on most topics, she held up conversation easily (if you could ignore you own voice echoing back at you occasionally) but her gaze seemed to pierce through you. Glassy. Fake. Eyes more lifeless than the taxidermy deer head his father hung above the mantle.

He’d watch her for the rest of the day.

He'd watch as she stalked from room to room, lingering in the back, ghoulishly pale eyes fixated on the people that milled about, as if waiting on one to walk off alone so she could follow. Stalking like a predator, like something hungry.

People had been going MIA recently

He’d never seen her eat, never drink, never seen a sliver of skin that wasn't the greasepaint covered flesh around her eyes. Hands constantly bound in leather gloves, tall body locked away in layers of black fabric and body armour. However, in spite of the heavy boots she wore, her steps were basically soundless. She moved like smoke.

“Keep sneaking up on me and I might shoot you” He had snapped one day, tone playful but a genuine threat thinly veiled in his words. He wasn't comfortable with her at his back, not with the knife always on her belt.

Glass has simply laughed, the sound as grating as nails on a chalk board, before she slinked off to to bother Soap or linger in Prices shadow, knife hilt glittering like polished gold.

A Celtic cross was carved into the handle.

A similar gold one hung from a thin chain around her neck, weathered with age and handling, but meticulously cared for.

Soap had asked is she believed in God when he first saw it dangling around her throat, polished gold blindingly vibrant against the blood and black of her tac vest. The chain was short which made the sigil sit right on her breastbone, right above rows of magazines waiting to be used.

Glass had chuckled hoarsely, like she thought having faith in something was more of a desperate joke more than anything else, before spinning a painful vague story about a grandmother and family heirlooms.

Ghost new many people in the service who believed in one god or another, he knew how important it was in a job like this to have something to hold onto to ground yourself when the bullets started flying and bodies dropped around you. Knew it was better to have anything than to let horror of the job eat you alive.

But Glass?

He knew no god could help that creature.

#call of duty fanfic #john price x reader #simon riley x reader #kyle garrick x reader #john mctavish x reader #ghost x reader #soap x reader #gaz x reader #141 x reader #call of duty original character #Cod oc; Glass #Glass tag #shattered tag #call of duty oc #cod oc

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2003bookstoread · 1 month

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A list of my favorite fictional book couples :) like if you agree

In no particular order

Jude/Carden

Aaron/Juliette (Ella)

Alice/Jasper

Finnick/Annie

Elain/Azriel

Aelin/Rowan

Dorian/Manon

Violet/Xaden

Kazi/Jase

Misery/Lowe

… that’s literally the only couples I can think of. I know some of them are a little niche but I wish I could find more fanfics of them. Recommendations are always welcome!

Who are your favorite couples??

(Also I didn’t include one shot romance couples but if I would have it would have to be the book couples from Love and Other Words and Meant To Be 🥹)

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crowbarbunni · 2 months

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“Star tears” this “Hanahaki Disease” that

Mf have you ever heard of the GLASS DELUSION??

Apparently back in the 15th-16th centuries there was a common delusion that a person thought they were made to shatter somehow. Whether it be through their “glass limbs” or “eating” something that was glass. People with this delusion were called “melancholy” since at the time “melancholy” was another word for madness except for the twist that the person was also sad.

If any romantic writers or fanfic writers are out there PLEASE DEAR GOD USE THIS!!

#writing prompt #writing #writers on tumblr #writers and poets #shattered glass #glass delusion #fanfic #fanfics #fanfic keeps me sane #fanfic discourse #fanfiction #original story #tumblr dashboard #poets on tumblr #artists on tumblr

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blueskyscribeupdates · 5 months

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I am once again pecking away at "Life in Glass Houses" like a songbird confronted with a pastry that is seemingly too large for it.

As a thanks to all my wonderful readers, I decided to share a scene from the next chapter. :) Truly, thank you all!

The wind whirled through deeply trenched streets and around the steel towers, pulling at the curtain domed over the balcony. Knockdown's hand kept it in place, gauze loosely gripped in his slender fingers as he gazed down at the city. His eyes moved from one familiar haunt to another: the park where he had learned to fly as a clumsy newspark, the creche where he had been taught his letters and had his wings measured twice weekly, the medical school where his destiny had been set for him, and the hospital where he had fulfilled it. There was the bar where the interns complained about the senior staff, and the cafe where the senior staff complained about the interns. Midways up a steel-strutted building was the first modest apartment that had been all his own, and many stories higher was the luxurious one that came later.

(The one he was standing in. A moment of doubt, of vertigo almost, rolled through his circuits, but after a moment the ripples smoothed out. To hang back, to watch himself from afar, what was so odd about that?)

Other familiar sights were tucked between the silvery bars of the skyscrapers and apartment towers. The plaza where open-air concerts played in the summer. The clinic in the Dredges, where he volunteered in the rainy season. Dancers from a dozen incongruous festivals paraded through the streets. Even from this height, he caught the thin echos of joyous shouts and familiar songs. The skies were filled with Seekers swooping and laughing.

Knockdown pulled back from the balcony's edge and let the curtain fall. He didn't turn around, but he was not startled when a hand settled on his shoulder, enormous and smelling of crude oil. A huge thumb rubbed over the flat of his wing. He closed his eyes and leaned into the touch.

"Whatcha looking at?"

"Nothing."

"Nothing?" The deep voice held a gentle reproach.

Knockdown opened his eyes. He half expected to see a smoke-wreathed battlefield or a small blue planet through a warship's window, but the view was the same: the city of Vos stretching exuberantly skyward, made misty by the curtain. A flock of young jets tore past playing a rowdy game of air-tag, followed by trines moving in deliberate patterns. Wingtip to wingtip, they arched and rolled in perfect synchronicity, the silky, wide ribbons behind them twining in loops and braids.

"What are they doing?"

"Courting. It's the Festival of Diamonds." Knockdown turned towards Brakeline, resting his cheek against his broad chest. It was as warm as he remembered. "You should go."

"Why?" The hands fit comfortably around his waist.

"Because that's what happens." Knockdown swallowed, waiting until he was sure his vocalizer wouldn't glitch. "Anyway, you don't belong here."

"And you do?" A huge hand cupped his chin, tilted it up.

This won't fix anything. It's not real.

Knockdown surged onto the tips of his pedes to meet Brakeline's kiss. His spark hammered. The ice within him cracked, melt, before the heat of his longing. Behind him the wind whipped the draperies and the trines roared in their flight.

"I love you," Brakeline said breathlessly when they broke apart. "I'll never leave you."

"No?" Knockdown sombered. He turned away, his hands catching the curtains, leaning into them for support. "And yet I'm alone."

"What do you mean? I'm right here."

"Only in my dreams."

For a moment Brakeline was silent. Then, quietly: "Do you miss me?"

The white gauze billowed around Knockdown's fist. His vision blurred; tears, perhaps, or a creeping frost. "You dare ask me that?"

No answer came.

"Brakeline?" Knockdown turned around to face the replica of his old apartment: just as he remembered it, perfect in every detail. And perfectly empty.

He woke up.

#Life in Glass Houses #fanfiction #fanfic #excerpt #preview #Shattered Glass #Transformers

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erosmutt · 2 months

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౨ৎ STEPHEN GLASS.

౨ৎ DRABBLES.

ᯓ★ thunderstorm

౨ৎ FICS.

౨ৎ BOTS.

#૮( ꩜ ㅅ ꩜)ა bnuuy loves stephen glass #stephen glass #stephen glass smut #stephen glass x reader #stephen glass x reader smut #stephen glass x you #stephen glass x y/n #stephen glass fanfic #stephen glass fanfiction #stephen glass drabble #stephen glass imagine #shattered glass #shattered glass smut

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snowcrack · 2 years

Photo

The second chapter of my ongoing Shattered Glass Transformers Animated Fan Fiction: Chapter 2 - Reflections

Sari and Optimus awake from their incident with the Space Bridge malfunction somewhere outside of Detroit, however the two quickly realise this might not be the Detroit they know as they’re attacked by a horde of spider-like robots.

Sari and Optimus are suddenly saved by two familiar looking bots that they thought they’d seen the last of when destroyed the Decepticons one and for all.

Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/33654304/chapters/85505023

Art by my pal @shenanisketches

#shenanisketches #my writing #fanfiction #fanfic #transformers #transformers animated #shattered glass #transformers animated shattered glass #transformers sg #shattered glass animated #sari sumdac #optimus prime #sg starscream #sg megatron #sg blackarachnia #sg blitzwing #maccadams

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mychlapci · 10 days

Note

https://archiveofourown.org/works/34499779 hey i think this is the fic with the eggpreg btwn jazz and prowl. Here u go!

WAIT

This is literally it. the first transformers fanfic i've ever read... the one that introduced me to transformers as a fandom. Oh lord. I thought it was familiar but it never clicked until i actually read it thoroughly. holy shit.

#if you wish to know my origins then this is it #i guess i didnt know it was a shattered glass fanfic... that wouldnt have meant anything to be back then #valveplug

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dazzlemma · 9 months

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Finally, my preview for the @tf-bigbang

What we have here folks, is a story of two sad, broken gay men being sad and broken and gay together. It is my interpretation of how an Overlord x Trepan relationship might form in the Shattered Glass universe. Not really a slow burn, but lots of comfort sought after past hurt. Like, tooth-rotting amounts of fluff in this one.

Lovely art for the fic has been done by @glasspunkart and I can’t wait for everyone to see the full thing!

#transformers #transformers shattered glass #fanfic preview #tf big bang #overpan #how many more tags should i throw on this bad boy #tf sg #shattered glass #tf shattered glass #overlord #transformers overlord #sg overlord #trepan #transformers trepan #sg trepan #hopefully that’s enough snsndnfnd #forgot the maccadam tag holy shit i’m bad at tumblr #maccadam

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dimorphodon-x · 2 years

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By all accounts, Starhawk should’ve been dead. If not by the shot he sustained to his spark, then by his masters’ blades for being such a disgrace.

Yet here he was, spark still spinning and fuel pump pumping. But he wasn’t back on his feet yet.

The young jet grimaced, his jaw clenching as a wave of pain washed over him. He cautiously squinted one eye open and stared up at the bright overhead light. He could hear medical instruments beeping, see the glow of their screens at his peripheral. Wires and cords seemed to be connected to various parts of his frame, though he was unable to lift his head to see for certain.

“Stay still,” the gruff voice of his medic growled at him. The green and beige mech soon came into view. His front and arms were coated in blue energon, both old and fresh, all of it possibly Hawk’s, “I’ve put enough work into keeping you alive, I don’t need you damaging anything.”

Starhawk opened his mouth to speak, but words weren’t coming to him. Slingarm shushed him again.

“No talking either. You won’t be up long, I promise,” it was then that Hawk realized that his own chassis was still wide open as the doctor shoved his hands back into his exposed gears. His mouth opened in a silent scream and he dug his claws into the medical berth.

“So dramatic,” Slingarm grunted as something snapped in his hands. The pain almost made the flier’s eyes water, “just a minute….”

Hawk’s fangs made an audible clack as he snapped his jaws shut. At least Slingarm kept his promise, as he passed out a minute later.

He wasn’t sure how much time had passed when his systems onlined again, starting with his vision. Now his berth had been tilted so that he was upright. There was no blinding light in his face and he wasn’t hooked up to whatever medical equipment, and there were no green greasy fingers pulling at his innards.

He spotted Slingarm’s cat resting on his desk and shot the old mecha-feline a glare, “your master is honestly the worst medic.”

Gigus just tucked his paws under his chest and relaxed his green eyes. Stupid vermin…

Deciding he’d had enough standing around (and honestly wanting nothing more to do with the medic), Starhawk stepped forward, though his legs felt weak. The rest of his systems burst to life and he collapsed onto his knees. Something was wrong. Very wrong.

He gasped and arched his back, his crest almost touching the floor. It was like there was something inside of him, twisting, writhing, struggling to drill its way out of his frame. The horrid sensation made him want to purge his tanks.

“So dramatic…” Slingarm tsked. Had he always been standing there? He hadn’t noticed him in the room at all.

“What-did you-hrrk! Do to me?!” Starhawk dry heaved again, nothing coming up despite how hard his tanks tried to empty themselves. It was as if they were already empty.

“I just saved your life!” He held his hands up innocently, but his wicked smile widened, “and I’ve taken the liberty of making a few… improvements…”

The twisting sensation finally relieved itself as Hawk’s t-cog whirled unnaturally and his frame jerked. He gagged, feeling extensions of himself bursting from his back and sides, writhing around him like worms. His armor felt both so hollow and too tight.

He wanted to scream. Scraping at the floor, he pictured tearing into Slingarm’s chest, ripping his wires out and splitting his spark chamber open. Drool dripped from his fangs at the image in his struggling mind.

It was then that he realized just how hungry he was…

#my art #fanfic #transformers #transformers oc #shattered glass #starhawk #slingarm #gigus maximus #when your doctor only ever sees his patients as Guinea pigs to experiment on #sg!Slingarm always repairs his patients but also seeks to ‘improve’ them

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sokkas-first-fangirl · 1 year

Link

I’ll go back one day, Vee always told herself. One day, she’d return to the Boiling Isles. One day, she’d feel safe enough, brave enough, to return. Even if it was just for a day.

It was a goal to aim for, something to keep in mind. She wanted to visit her friends, instead of them always having to come to the Human Realm to see her. She wanted to see The Owl House. She wanted to take up Luz’s offer of a tour around Hexside.

She’d told herself, for months now, that she’d return when she was ready.

Vee had always imagined returning to the Boiling Isles under fairly mundane circumstances. One day, she’d wake up and decide today’s the day. She’d walk through the portal with a smile on her face, ready to surprise her friends, arm in arm with her siblings.

She hadn’t expected Luz to burst into the house, gasping for breath, tears in her eyes as she screamed for Camila.

The kids have found the Golden Guard graveyard. The Noceda family tries to pick up the pieces in the aftermath.

Or: Vee faces her demons. Luz ponders vengeance. Hunter spirals and Camila tries to keep her kids safe. All the while, the ghosts of Belos and the Golden Guards hang over their heads.

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ghostingaces · 1 year

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The Night Is Dark And Full Of Terrors | 141 x Reader/OC

Synopsis; There’s blood in her mouth

Warnings; violence, gore, death, foul language, smoking and vague horror themes

Notes; Part Two to this piece here and is centred around Gaz and Soap this time. Also this is a secondary account so I can't reply in the comments but I see them and thanks for the support. This will be a series and I’ll probably write some for a normal human Glass as well.

▄︻̷̿┻̿═━ 一

Her back was to Soap when he stumbled out the door and into the dark.

The bar behind him was bursting with life and noise, the small establishment packed to the brim with rowdy soldiers celebrating the latest win against an arms and human trafficking ring that had dragged them across the globe in what had felt like a wild goose chase. Almost a full year of travel and bullets had built up frustrations and a desire to simply let loose. A desire which had culminated in now drunk and rowdy soldiers.

Soap loved them all, he did, but he needed moment to breath before he dove back into the fray and truly indulged himself in the liquor that had been flowing as free as a waterfall.

It seemed Glass had the same idea.

She sat a few meters deep into the gravelled car park, perched on a low brick wall near an old black Impala with clouds of thick grey smoke hanging in the night around her. She sat just out of reach of the lamp posts golden ring of light, body lingering in the shadow, while the tips of her black boots shimmered when the glow glanced off them. Her back was to him but even from here he could see the dull red of a cigarettes ember.

“Alright Soap?” His own voice called from the dark.

He jumped, the sensation of cold fingers crawling down his spine, but forced a smile and braved onward. Each step was heavy, the gravel crunching under his boot, while the air got more frigid every inch he got closer. By the time he reacher her, his breath was misting with ever exhale. Frost crept towards him from under her soles.

“All good, just needed a breather” He admitted with a forced chuckle, feet rooted firmly in the light “You?”

The cigarette bud glowed as she inhaled and something cat like shimmered where her eyes would be “Needed to clear my head before the pool tournament started”

A real chuckle slipped past his lips this time before they lapsed into a frigid silence that was only broken by the occasional passing car. Strobes of headlights shimmered by, flashes of bright white bouncing off the Impala and frozen puddles. The shadows around the woman remained as solid as obsidian. Glass seemed content, puffing on the cigarette which burned dangerously low against her gloves, while Soap leaned against the frost covered lamp post.

He hated the silence that hung around them, heavy in the air like the tobacco smoke. He was usually unbothered if someone didn't feel like chatting, comfortable to fill in the silence himself, but he found it hard to breathe next to her; let alone talk. Every inhale was sharp while each exhale felt like a fist had been lodged in his throat. A shiver racked down his spine as he blew onto his clasped hands, desperate for some semblance of warmth.

“Was a good win” Glass spoke suddenly. This time, the voice was her own. Low and raspy with a lilting accent that sent a more pleasant shiver up Soaps back. Cautiously, he relaxed back against the still freezing pole.

“You can say that again, just wish we got ‘em sooner.” His skin prickled with the touch of the cool metal and the feel of her unseen eyes piercing through him “Finally done with those fuckers though and I'm desperate for a drink at this point”

Glass chuckled lowly, stubbing her cigarette out before almost instantly lighting a new one “Then go inside before Gaz comes looking for ya, looks like you're freezing anyway”

Her hand reached out from the darkness, smoke cartoon in hand. A temptation to join her in sin. A temptation of self destruction.

Fingers itching in want, he waved her off with a tight smile “And leave you here all lone without a single drop of alcohol in ya? Couldn't call me a good teammate if I did that”

She laughed this time. It was a deceptively human sound. Through the thick smog of nighttime, he could see her lithe silhouette lean back, broad shoulders shaking slightly. His eyes followed the path of the cigarette bud as she lifted it to where her mouth would be.

“Trying to get me drunk Soap?” Her voice was still full of mirth.

Confidence boosted by the surprisingly easy conversation, Soap dared to joke as he cast a glance back to the pub door “More like trying to catch peek of that mug of yours, might even get lucky with L.T too”

“You could just ask me”

The rumble of a passing car was the only sound that echoed through the lot as a feeling of wrongness settled in the Scots gut. A hand, frigid and skeletal, had wrapped itself around his heart while the fist had lodged itself in his throat again.

Do it

He watched Glass from the corner of his eye. She stood slowly, bones cracking, and turned on the balls of her feet to face him. Gravel crunched under her boot. Slowly, she stepped into the light.

Her balaclava was firmly in place, dark green fabric stretched taught over sharp bones. Two black pits, void like and bottomless, had infested the space of her eyes and Soap only watched as she exhaled a thick plume of tobacco. Grey wisps broke through from the fabric over her mouth while more slithered up and out the eye sockets. Something pulsated in the blackness.

Soap blinked.

Ghoulishly pale eyes stared back.

“Something wrong” A new voice warbled from Glass's mouth “ya look pale”

The cold hands returned, tracing patterns over his neck.

“I’m good” He coughed out, ribs shaking as he breathed “Just..., just gonna slip back inside”

He moved slowly, Glass locked in his peripheral. Each step was calculated and slow as if to not startle her into movement, likening her to a feral creature wanting to pounce on something it wanted to devour. Gradually, the further he got away from the woman, his steps quickened until he was jogging across the the gravel towards the glow that crept out from under the pubs back door.

The door shrieked when Soap pushed it open but before he entered, something tugged at the back of his mind. A stray thought had lodged itself into his skull.

‘one last look’

Do it

Hesitantly, bathed in the safe and warm glow of the now open door, Soap forced himself to turn back to the carpark. Lingering under the now colder light of the lamp, Glass continued to smoke her cigarette as a plume of tobacco smoke curled out of where her mouth would be and through the thick fabric of her mask. Through that smoke, Soap could make out the moonlit glow of her eyes fixed on him.

Like nothing was wrong, Glass waved.

Soap shut the door behind him tight.

▄︻̷̿┻̿═━ 一

Gunfire rained down like thunder while the stench of blood was thick and fresh.

The vicious crimson liquid clung to every crease in the skin of his hands, staining them and everything he touched. More of it, older and a flaking brown, stained the from of his tac vest from where a mans head had been blown open standing to close. It was so thick that the embroidered Union Jack was lost under brain matter and skull fragments.

“Fuck!” Gaz hissed. Uselessly, he tried to swipe excess blood off his face but only smeared more across his cheeks.

“Gaz? Report!” The captains voice growled over the radio and broke through the barrage of mortar shells. The night around him was alive with firework like muzzle flashes.

“It's gone to shit, Sir!” The young sergeant yelled into the receiver “Informant was a rat and walked us into an ambush, fuckers were watching as we scoped out the drop point!”

“Informant?”

“Dead”

“Me and the boys are on our way to your position. Hold fast”

“Yes Sir”

“Where’s Glass?” The Lieutenants voice, low and dangerous, floated over the comms. Gaz jumped and the harsh sound before shuttering at the mention of the creature woman that had all but mauled the informant when he had tried to run. Like it was instinct, she had gone straight for the eyes.

“Gone, Sir. Lost sight of her when they opened fire” Gaz admitted as he ducked behind a burnt out car, long strides carrying him across open ground quickly. Most of the gunfire had stopped by now and was focused to randomised burst after they had lost sight of him in the dark. Occasionally, there'd be movement in a widow but they were more shadow than people and it was hard go tell if it wasn't a trick of the eye.

“Shit...” Ghost growled.

“She's not answering the comms, unit must be shot” Price grunted out.

“Or she's ignoring us”

“She wouldn't-”Gaz tried to defend the woman from the Lieutenant but a window shattering drew his attention. He watched, almost in slow motion, as a body rag dolled through the third story window of the warehouse and plummeted onto a a car. The windows shattered, glass singing like a wind chime as it fell, before the metal frame screamed as it twisted around the corpse.

Glass stood and watched through the window.

Quickly, before she disappeared again, Gaz raised his rifle to peer through his scope at her. Thermal scope locked onto her, it took a moment to register that she was colder than everything around her. Lithe figure bathed in purples and blues, she lingered like a phantom in the window before stalking off and disappearing back into the depth of the building.

He scrambled for his comm “Captain, I just had a visual on her but I lost her again but I know she's in the building, third floor moving to the west side.”

“Fuck..,” the radio crackled “Gaz, I want you to pursue her and get her back on comms.”

The young sergeant hesitated for a second, the mission objective rising to the forefront of his mind “The target, sir?”

“Probably already gone, just grab Glass and regroup” Price growled “We’ll be on sight soon, eta twenty minutes”

“Roger that”

“Engage only if necessary”

“Yes sir”

“Good, see you soon. Over.”

The line went dead.

The night was deceptively quiet now, gunfire and mortars completely silenced. The only sound was his own ragged breathing and the crackle of the fires left behind from the explosions. Hesitantly, Gaz crept forward. With his rifle raised, he stalked past the man folded into the car roof and desperately tried to ignore what was left of his face. No eyes, throat mauled open

Inside was just as quiet.

Dust and cobwebs littered every surface, bullet casings more common than pebbles filling the ground. It smelt like wet mould, wood rot, and that familiar copper tang of fresh blood. A lot of fresh blood.

Slowly, body trained to perfection, Gaz stalked through and cleared the first floor. Empty room after empty room greeted him. Blood stains marred the walls, smears and pools and spattered of it, but he couldn't find a single corpse besides the withered remains of rats and crushed bugs. The second floor was much the same. Desolate and quiet, gun posts just completely abandoned like the people had just dissolved into the ground.

Coming loser to the entrance of the third floor, that irony tang of blood somehow got stronger.

A red pool of it oozed around the corner that Gaz was approaching, chunks of brain matter floating in the liquid like a demented and deformed lily pad.

He turned the corner slowly, gun raised.

The body was poised at the top of a small set of stairs, crumpled like a doll on its side with the top of its skull blown open. Thick viscous rivulets of blood oozed from the skull cavity and down the stairs. Carefully, Gaz took the stairs two at a time as he dodged past the dark puddles before he dropped to his knees beside the corpse.

It was a familiar looking man and with half his face missing, it took Gaz a couple moments to fully recognise him as the target.

Head blown open, jaw and throat ripped out, Gaz was left to stare into frozen blue eyes he had seen dozens of times in a photo pinned up in a briefing room. The man had had a sneering and nasty look in his eyes in the photo but now they're frozen over in what looks like terror, seeing something that had savaged him almost beyond recognition.

Hand shaking, Gaz reaches for his radio to call it in.

“What ya doing Gaz?”

His own voice came from behind him.

He spins so fast something in his back pops and his foot looses traction in a puddle of blood ,sending him back to his knees when he tried to stand. Pain rocketed up the joint, blood seeping into the thick fabric of his tactical pants, but he gets his feet under him quick enough and steadies his aim at where the voice had come from.

Glass stood at the bottom of the stairs.

Her black tac gear glistened under the flickering florescent lights overhead, the harsh white beams making the blood soaked into her gear shimmer like oil, while a steady stream of it dripped from her empty fingers. She stood directly in the puddle that had gathered at the bottom of the stairs, boots submerged in a way that made her look like she had simply emerged from the dark pool. Slowly, Gaz let his eyes trails up from her boots to her face.

Even more blood clung to the corded fabric of her balaclava.

Where her mouth should be was nothing but a mess of viscera and blood that dripped from her chin in a steady flow that caught on her tactical vest and further darkened the fabric. The once army green fabric was stained such a deep glossy black it looked more like a void.

“That's a lot of blood” Gaz pointed out, dodging her question while simultaneously holding his rifle steady.

“I know.” She panted, eyes crinkling in what could be perceived as a smile, more blood oozing through the fabric as it was released from behind her teeth “Its not mine”

“I know”

They continued to watch each other.

Gaz was coiled tightly in trepidation, waiting for her empty hands to reach for the steyr AUG hanging around her shoulder or for her to start moving up the stairs towards him. He swallowed shallowly, sweat beading down his throat.

Glass simply watched him like one would watch a rat in a maze, curious of what it would do, which way it would turn. Curious if he'd squeeze the trigger or put the gun down. Watching as he shifted the grip on the rifle, muzzled aimed at the tricolour on her chest, hazy eyes tracking the bob of his throat as he swallowed.

“We should get going.” Glasss said before making a noncommittal gesture to the carcass by Gazs feet “I got everything we needed from him”

Gaz shifted his grip and used the muzzle of his rifle to point “You go ahead”

Something shimmered in her eyes “Scared I’ll shoot you in the back?”

He was more scared she’d go for his throat.

#simon riley x reader #Cod oc; Glass #cod oc #john mctavish x reader #john price x reader #simon riley #john price #John McTavish #kyle garrick #kyle garrick x reader #gaz x reader #shattered tag #glass tag #141 x reader #call of duty original character #call of duty fanfic #call of duty oc #ghost x reader

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