#he will carry this shit to his grave if allowed

[khuzena]

This bitter life.

pairing: Blade x g/n!reader

Part 1, Part 2.

Summary: Life is not fair, that is the truth every being must accept. Yet, there’s a part in Blade’s mara-struck mind, that he cannot accept this type of ending, he will not allow it, but he has no right to deny fate itself.

In other words, you die and he’s miserable.

Cw. It’s very fluffy trust me, Reader is absolutely fucked, you die, unrequited requited love, not proofread, really slowburn, character development, terminally ill, ansgt only bcoz fluff is for the weak, life is unfair.

A/n: You already know what it means when I upload a fanfic. If you don’t, my only warning is, shit’s going down.

(wrote this bc bladie won the poll for my other fic of which character u guys want a fic for next 🥳)

For all of Blade’s life, life has always been and will always be truly and utterly miserable.

If he were asked to recount the many times he wished he just died, he would lose count. From a promising life with the high-cloud quintet, from being the renowned crafter of weapons, to being just Blade. His pain does not give him the liberty to dream of a future, he does not have the privilege to close his eyes and dream of his youth when he is only constantly plagued with the thousands of screams who scream his name.

For a man who does not have the right to love, the right to dream and wish for death, just this once, the Aeons were kind enough to give him you.

He met you in unforeseen circumstances, he was gravely injured after another fight with some soldiers on some planet. Blade knows that he won’t die now, but he feels like dying. His stomach slashed by a poison so advanced it eats him from inside out, but oh how kind of the gods to bless him you.

”Hey, stay awake!” It was the first time in his life he’s heard a desperate cry, not out of fear for your life, but for his.

You did not know him, neither did he know you but it was like second nature to protect him.

The destroyer of worlds, the monster from the Stellaron hunters, the exiled one, you only saw a dying man.

He felt a damp cloth pressing on his stomach, “Please hang on.” Just who were you to tell him what to do? You just had to be there at that exact moment. Through blurry eyes, he could not make out what your face looked like, not like he could ever remember.

Blade could remember your voice, it was loud yet soothing, then he felt bandages wrap around his torso as someone carried him. He lost consciousness that night.

His eyes flutter open, was he really that weak to fall under the influence of that poison?

“You’re awake.”

He groans and sits up, his spine hurts like hell. “Who the hell are you?”

”Hey buddy, no need for hostility, I’m the one who saved your life.” His eyes follow you when you roll your eyes at him, ignoring his shit and jotting down whatever on your clipboard.

He stays silent when you come closer to him, your face getting a little too close than his liking, “Can you say ahh?”

Blade hesitates but he obliges, for the first time in his life, to a stranger, something in him tells him to trust you. “Ahh…”

You turn on your penlight and point it at his throat before sliding it back into your pockets, “Good, good” Blade doesn’t know what you’re doing when you stare in his eyes for 2 minutes, must be you inspecting something.

”You’re all fine, I’m surprised that you heal fast. Anyone who takes in such poison and exceeds 4 doses would die in an instant.” He thinks you’re weird.

…

In just 3 days, Blade was out of the hospital, Kafka tracked down where he was and was relieved when she found out Blade was alright.

“You’re really reckless, Bladie.”

Blade only scoffs hearing her words, it may be the truth but who cares? Certainly not him.

Just as the two were leaving the hospital for good, you followed him.

”You…” He saw you panting and gripping your knees from the exhaustion of chasing him down, he left without even informing the nurses.

He doesn’t know why you followed him, “Can I atleast have your name?”

Kafka blinks in surprise before turning away, as if she wasn’t witnessing whatever bullshit was going down.

”Excuse me?”

”Your name.”

”Why do I have to tell you?”

”I saved your life for fucks sake!”

Blade rolls his eyes, narrowing his eyes at you but he just gives up, “Fine, Blade.”

”What?”

”Do I have to repeat myself?”

He’s really mean, but he doesn’t scare you, which surprises him. You don't flinch at his words, but whatever. He thinks that he won’t have to see you again. (You almost crack up a laugh, who the fuck name's their child Blade?)

You don’t push him any further and let him leave, you want to learn more about him.

So for the following days, you ask people if they knew who that ‘Blade’ was, where did he work at, what he truly was because which idiot would end up wounded in a ditch at a place that’s practically considered a warzone in your planet. Not only that, but you were also intrigued and curious about his ability to heal fast and resist the poison.

You don’t find any information regarding that strange man, but one thing’s for sure, he’s dangerous.

Like clockwork, Blade comes again to the planet “Clove-V” to exterminate some pests because some idiot decided to mess with the Stellearon hunters. Gut a soldier, gain information, leave– is what he’s supposed to do.

Blade stares at the bloodied sword of his, “This goddamn poison again.”

He feels weak, clutching his stomach and he needs to leave before anyone catches up on him again. So he leaves the building only to drop unconscious.

Again, he is back to that familiar hospital room where he was just a few weeks ago.

”You’re back.” You scrunch your nose again, the squeaky writing on the clipboard hurting his ears.

He’s too tired to say something snarky, but he sighs in annoyance.

”You look worse than last time,” his gaze never leaves you when you come closer to inspect his throat and eyes like last time, “How do you keep getting in situations like these?”

He stays quiet, but you keep persisting with him to give you an answer.

Was he an assassin? A murderer?! One of the IPC slaves– no, no, he looks different from them, a little too proper (but bloodied), maybe from the Xianzhou luofu? So when you heal his wounds, you can’t help but ask, “Are you a murderer?”

Must you really force an answer out of him?

”Do I not look like one?” Were you such a fool to ask such an obvious answer?

You sat back down on the comfort of the cushion chair, “I didn’t want to assume”

”Now you know.”

“Yeah.”

He’s curious, when you find out that he’s a murderer, you’re not afraid, you do not run away or distance yourself, “Why do you kill people?”

He stays silent again, you don’t know the specifics, but you know the answer.

“I’ll get going now,” clearing your throat, “Just use the call button if you need help, one of the nurses will attend to you.”

And again, for 2 days, he is out of the hospital.

“You really keep ending up in that hospital, don’t you?” Kafka laughs, throwing away the Blade’s admission.

As they left, he could see you staring at him from your office. It was embarrassing enough that he caught you watching him leave so intently, Blade saw the curtains immediately close.

Again and again, he keeps getting wound up in that same hospital, might as well be stuck there forever.

”I’m no longer surprised you’re here again Blade.” It’s weird, when his name slips out from your lips, it sounds less scary (people often associate his name with fear and murder, but you call him like he’s any other man)

8 visits to your clinic, you might as well be his personal doctor.

“I know you’re a murderer but do you constantly have to be injured every month? I’m starting to think you’re getting injured just to see me.”

“You’re getting ahead of yourself.” He scoffs.

”I was merely jesting.”

He cocks his head to the side, he sees you more often than he meets with Sam. You turn on your penlight again, unlike his first visit, he obliges without putting up a fight.

“Nothing unusual, you’re good to go.” You speak in between coughs, which surprises Blade. Lately, you were sicker than usual, pale and run-down.

”Are you okay?”

”Excuse me?”

”Nevermind.”

He should mind his own business, this is strictly a patient and doctor relationship. But he can’t help but wonder, if you looked that sick, shouldn’t you be on leave? You leave his hospital room without a word, he’s still curious.

He left, but this time, he didn’t see you looking out from your office window to watch where he was going.

Months pass by, by now he would’ve forgotten about you. But in the back of his head, he’s still wondering how are you? It isn’t for him to inquire about your personal life. He is still tempted to know more about you, so, he ends up wounded on that planet again (much to silverwolf’s dismay, he was supposed to be on a different mission)

He wakes up again in that hospital room, your coughs were loud enough to wake him up, “You keep coming back, I should just give you medicine so you don’t have to always end up here”

In truth, he just wanted to see you. It was unlike him to think about someone this much but he can’t help but be curious (worried, but he would never admit that.)

He felt the back of your palm press on his forehead, good thing he didn’t have a fever, “Your temperature’s okay.” He is worried, you speak in between coughs he could barely register your words. For a moment when you touched his skin, he felt his mara quelled, even for just a mere second.

“I want to ask, who are you really?” He’s taken by surprise by your question, something he expected but not one he expected now.

”I’m a stellaron hunter.” Oh.

A stellaron hunter, huh? “Why did you become one?”

He asks himself, why did he become one? Other than for when that day comes, he will be free, he will die. He can’t form a full answer, “I don’t know.” It’s better to give an answer, to lie, rather than be someone who cannot answer such a simple question.

“I see.” But you see through him, but you’re not close enough to him to question him about who he truly is. So you’ll know him through medicine, you’ll heal him to get to know who he is if he cannot give you a clear answer.

You gave him your name, because after 9 visits, he should know your name already. “What?”

”My name.”

He nods along, he’ll make sure to not forget it. You were sure he’s okay now, his vitals are back to normal, but before you leave, he calls out your name.

“You…” There was a look of confusion on your face, “Nevermind” He wanted to ask about your health, why were you still working? By seeing your current health, you’re close to death at this point. But he keeps his concerns to himself; after all, what does he know of you other than a doctor?

But even months pass by, he still wants to understand you. You do not look at him with contempt unlike his victims, and even if he had visited 12 times now, you did not seem annoyed; maybe even thrilled with the company.

He does not care for hobbies or games, he’s not like silverwolf whose life revolves around games and other things, he’s not like kafka who takes pleasure in playing with her food (her victims), he’s definitely not gentle and kind like Firefly.

So Blade does not understand why you’re fond of things like these, a monopoly board? Really? It’s stupid, very. But it’s the only way you two can understand each other, even if it means wasting time like this.

You rolled a 6 and landed on a community chest, “God damn it.”

He squints his eye when you got a card that said ‘Go to jail’, what the fuck was this game even about? “I don’t get this game”

He really doesn’t, but he rolls another and lands on some unclaimed property and buys it, “No shit, but you’re a lucky bastard.”

“I don’t get why we’re playing this stupid game, even checkers seem more appealing.” Finally getting out of jail, you rolled a 5 and landed on his property, going bankrupt. “You know what? Fuck this game.”

He doesn’t even understand how he won, he’d much prefer if you two read in silence or something. “That was a stupid game”

“You’re stupid.”

”Excuse me?”

Then you two go at it and fight again, but it was fun. The most fun he’s had in years (as if he ever knew what fun truly is)

But life is not kind, time is limited and you cannot trade gems or blood for 5 more minutes. He’s known that rule all his life, to never get attached ever again because he’ll be miserable, he’ll lose himself the way he lost who he truly was when he was still Yingxing. Yet, humans will always be humans; mortals, immortals, they are the same. And he is no exception.

After his 23rd visit for the past 2 years– going 3, he remembers small details about you. You studied at this university for a few extra years because you kept getting a failing grade, you like roping him up in stupid games (you tried to make him play twister once, it was you who got a twisted ankle), you like reading and everything else.

For all his cursed, miserable life, he slowly found reason, a part of him feels human again.

“You don’t look good.”

A stifled cough escaped you, “You think?”

You were on sick leave, he found out where you lived after asking forcing one of the nurses where you lived. Blade found you on the couch, sprawled with only a thin blanket covering you. He doesn’t care for anyone, just this once, though, just this once.

”Have you eaten yet?” It makes you laugh at how caring he is, the most unexpected side of him, after all.

You shook your head, “No.”

A cough seized you so suddenly, Blade’s worries did not go away. He doesn’t know how to cook, much less how to take care of a person.

”You have a fever,” he hands you a glass of water, but it was not enough to ease your pain.

You wish to close your eyes, but even the small contracting of your muscles ache, when you drink, it hurts, when you move, it hurts. It hurts to live at this point but you endure, “Why did you come?”

“I had to.”

”Why exactly?”

”Just shut up and let me take care of you.”

You could only faintly chuckle at his words when he gets a warm cloth to put it on your forehead, “What else do I do?”

Nighttime came but he has not left yet, he can’t leave just yet, “Tell me.”

There was no use, whatever he did would not help you get through with this illness of yours. “Just tell me.” You did not have the energy to argue or talk, but he did not get the hint so he continued to pester you for an answer.

”Can you please stop talking? I need to sleep.”

”Fine.”

Tomorrow came, only Blade was right beside you, staring intently at you; a part of him afraid you won’t wake up again.

”You’re awake.” Blade always had that nonchalant expression, but his eyes were heavy with worry. Were you dreaming or was he really right beside you and worried for your well being? A part of you wished you still were, having company is the best when you’re ill.

You coughed softly, “Yes.”

Why didn’t he leave? Was he worried? You must be insane to think that way, he is just your old patient who just so happened to always end up in the hospital under your care.

The man in front of you sat beside you and stared at you for a while, not knowing what to do, “What do I do next?”

Ah. He rarely shows emotion on his face but his pupils dilate for a split second, you can’t die but you were so close to dying, he’s no doctor, he has no expertise in taking care of anyone but for just this moment he wished he did.

“Just keep me company.” He nods.

Note: cries cries cries bc the full fic is so long i have to make it into 2 parts :((( im abt to post part 2 pls pls wait 😔😔😔

Written by @khuzena. Likes, reblogs and comments are always appreciated. ♡ 

#what have i done #honkai star rail #honkai star rail x reader #honkai star rail x you #hsr fluff #hsr x reader #honkai star rail angst #blade smut #blade x reader #blade x gender neutral reader #blade fluff #blade angst #honkai star rail fluff #hsr angst #hsr

[akumanoken]

Me writing Souij’s feelings about the twins like

#I say he crushes #but no #he loves them #so fucking much #and I hurt because even though he tells Nero to let Kyrie know everything #he will carry this shit to his grave if allowed #Material Girl;; (DMC Verse)

[pedantic-poison]

Delicious | LN4

pairing: fem sainz!reader x lando norris

genre: SMUTTTTT, 18+ MINORS DNI, p in v, fingering, light choking, use of pet names (darling, baby, sweetheart, good girl, etc), cream pie, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it y'all!!!!), language, hold the moan vibes, dirty talk, Lando being a hoe

requested: yes!

word count: 3.9k

author's note: i LOVE me some brother's best friend trope

When your older brother first joined McLaren, you were unbelievably proud of him, so, naturally, you moved heaven and earth to make it to his first race with the team. Meeting Lando, you finally understood why all of Carlos' stories from before the season started were about his new teammate, and how much he made him laugh. He was friendly to you, and kind, and had a knack for making sure you never felt out of place. He also made your chest go a little tight, but you chose to ignore that feeling. Best not to complicate things for your brother.

It's been years since you first met Lando, and you can't quite use that excuse to convince yourself you need to avoid Lando. You still try, certainly, but it doesn't really carry the weight it used to, not with Carlos at Ferrari now. Would it still be messy? Maybe. Would it be a complete shit show? ...Probably not, right?

That little tendril of doubt created just enough space for that weird feeling Lando elicited to bloom. And now, with the Summer break giving Carlos time off, he's invited Lando to your family's home, for an entire week.

"Morning," the sound of Lando's voice snapped you out of your thoughts. As if it wasn't already bad enough that he was staying in your house, now Lando had the audacity to show up in the kitchen, voice gravely from sleep, with a pair of gray sweatpants hanging low enough on his hips to show the V-line of his muscles there. Your eyes trailed up his torso, allowing yourself to indulge in his tan skin and taut muscles for just a moment, before your gaze met his. A knowing look danced across his face, eyes glinting with mischief, as he smirked at you over his mug of coffee.

"Oh, um, good morning," you coughed out, embarrassed at having been caught. "How'd you sleep?" you managed to force out.

Lando took his time, finishing his sip of coffee before answering, "Slept alright. Couldn't fall asleep for a while, for some reason, though." You couldn't quite decipher the look on his face while he said it, but he didn't give you enough time to overthink it. "You?"

Your face heated immediately at the reminder of what exactly you'd been doing last night, instead of sleeping. "F-fine, thanks." It had been four long days where Lando had made himself seemingly unavoidable. Even at night, when you could close your door to the rest of the house, and lock yourself away, your thoughts strayed back to Lando no matter what you did. Last night, the ache in your core had gotten so unbearable that you'd touched yourself to the thought of him. It seemed that even the walls of your room couldn't quite keep Lando out.

"What's got you thinking so hard over there, Sainz?"

You schooled your expression, refusing to let him throw you off balance again. "Wouldn't you like to know, Norris." The coffee mug in your hands hid your face rather well as you lifted it to take a sip, leveling him with a look that you hoped seemed like a challenge.

Pushing off the counter he'd been leaning against, Lando took a step closer to you. "I really, really would, actually."

You allowed yourself to lean in for just a moment, inhaling the smell of him, before pulling back. "Too bad." Chair legs scraping against the floor as you pushed away from the table, standing and taking your mug and book with you.

"Oh, come on! You're really gonna tease me like that?" he whined, shouting at your back as you headed up the stairs.

"Gotta make you work for it, Norris!" you called back, retreating into your room once again, giddier than you'd care to admit, and telling yourself that you'd only left because you had work to do. Certainly not because you weren't sure how much longer you'd be able to hold on with Lando under the same roof.

Just three more days.

The loud splashes and laughter from outside drew your attention away from your book, for what felt like the hundredth time in two minutes. Sighing exasperatedly, you rolled over on your bed, craning your neck up to look out of your window.

Carlos and Lando were in the pool in the backyard below you, squealing like little kids as they hit each other with water balloons. You rolled your eyes at the childish behavior, even as you fought (and failed) to keep a smile off of your lips. You heard your father's voice ring throughout the house, and Carlos and Lando must've heard it too, because they quickly dropped their makeshift weapons at the call that they needed to get cleaned up for dinner. Your parents weren't terribly strict, but even they preferred for everyone at their dinner table to be fully clothed and not dripping everywhere.

Just as you'd made your way out of your room to head downstairs, you froze, finding a sopping wet Lando Norris in the hallway. Even after you (accidentally) ogled him this morning, you couldn't manage to keep your eyes on his as you watched the way the droplets of water fell off the ridges of his chiseled chest and torso. You hadn't quite noticed how close you'd come to running into each other, barely a foot of space between you, that seemed to shrink more and more the longer you stared. And you weren't the only one. The sundress you wore hung off your body in a way that made Lando want to memorize every line and curve of it himself. Looking wasn't enough - he'd always been more of a hands-on learner, anyways. And the way the gentle breeze swirled the skirt of it around your hips and legs made him want to find out if you were wearing anything underneath it. Made him want to rip anything he found there off with his teeth.

"Hermanita! Lando! Dinner in twenty minutes!" Carlos shouted up, from the sound of it in the kitchen, most likely helping your parents like the doting son he was. Helping, unlike you. Standing in the hallway, now only inches from Lando, chest rising and falling erratically as you tried to convince yourself that you should not fuck your brother's friend and former teammate in your parents' house with your entire family downstairs.

"Twenty minutes," Lando breathed, barely above a whisper. He took a final step forward, mouth painfully close to touching yours as his spread into a mischievous grin. "I can work with that."

His lips crashed into yours, hands gripping your face delicately as he did so, moving only after yours landed in his hair. Lando finally, finally, got his hands on those hips that had been torturing him, tempting him, for years, squeezing as he pulled you into him. Your fingers raked through his curls, tugging gently as you pushed him backwards into your room. He went willingly, grinning into the kiss at your enthusiasm as you kicked the door shut behind you, letting you take charge for the time being and falling to the bed when the backs of his knees hit it, hands dragging down your thighs as he went. For a moment, you paused, taking in the way Lando was looking up at you. Adoring. Reverent. Hungry.

His hands on your thighs urged you forward to straddle him, sliding his grip up your back to pull your torso flush with his. "God, these fucking tits," he groaned, squeezing you harder into his chest before sliding his hands around to your front, cupping them harshly. Through lidded eyes, you watched his hands, large, nimble, and veiny, knead your breasts while he hummed appreciatively, unable to look away from your chest for even a moment. "Been waiting to get my hands on you for so long, sweetheart," he heaved, speaking into your skin as his lips trailed over your exposed chest, just under your collarbone, punctuating the statement with a final, firm squeeze of your tits.

Before you could finish the whine building in you at the loss of his hands, Lando had yanked down the flimsy straps of your sundress, allowing your tits to spill out over the neckline. Lando swears he could come from that sight alone. "You're so gorgeous," he muttered, more to himself than to you, before looking back into your eyes, "so fucking gorgeous." His lips found yours again, stealing your breath as one hand reached up to ghost over your nipple, already sensitive and hardening from the cool air in your room, while the other lowered to rest on your waist, gently urging you to rock your hips against him at your own pace. "So," his kisses now landed on your jaw, "so," your neck, "beautiful. I think it might actually kill me," gently nipping at your pulse point before soothing the tender skin with his tongue.

Your breath had grown shallow from the attention he paid to your neck and chest, hitching as he tweaked your nipple just right, almost harsh enough to be painful but light enough to make you crave more. But what caused your breath to quicken was the feeling of Lando under you. Those strong, muscled thighs, bracketed by your own, felt so firm you couldn't stop your mind from wondering how they would feel if you ground yourself against them. The way they tensed as he moved, or restrained himself from moving as he tried to let you set the pace, felt so delicious against your thighs and through layers of fabric, you can't imagine how they would feel flexing against your core. Delicious as those thoughts were, they would have to wait for another time, because nothing was more tempting than the press of his hard cock against you, straining at the material of his swim trunks, the remaining water of the pool dampening your already wet panties.

"Shh, sweetheart, we've got to be careful," Lando startles you, the hand that had been on your tits gently closing over your mouth, and only then did you realize just how much noise you'd been making. Your cheeks heated at the realization, feeling your breath catching in your throat, rapid and uneven, whimpers and whines and a whole host of other, embarrassing sounds trapped beneath the firm press of Lando's large hand. You were so worked up that even that thought, the sheer size of his palm against you, how those thick, nimble fingers would feel between your thighs, made you whine louder, hips speeding up as you sought some kind of friction. Lando's eyes darkened as you ground yourself onto him, harder, faster, hand tightening around your waist and thighs flexing underneath you. He was holding back, you could tell, his restraint hanging by a thread, and every move you made threatened to fray that thread to its breaking point.

You wanted to make him snap.

There would be another time to savor this, to take your time, to memorize every inch of him, later.

You raised one of your hands from his broad shoulders, gripping the hand that covered your mouth and tapping twice. Immediately, Lando removed his hand, eyes filling with concern that he'd done something wrong, but before he could ask you were already whining again.

"Please, Lan," you begged, hips pressing down as harshly as you could manage. "Need you so bad, please, please," your voice was thin and breathy, and if you weren't nearly delirious from finally having this, having him, within your grasp, you might've been embarrassed by it. "Don't tease me, I c - can't take it."

Lando's head fell back with a groan, making no effort to silence himself as he did with you. "Fuck, darling, you want me that much, huh?" You nodded eagerly, hips continuing their grind as you felt Lando's cock twitch beneath you. "Such a desperate little thing, aren't you?" he asked, latching his mouth on the flesh of your breast, sucking a harsh mark into the delicate skin. Low enough that your family wouldn't be able to see, you realized, but dark enough that you'd have a reminder of him on your skin for the next few days. The thought made you flush with heat. The sudden bite of Lando's teeth on your tit shocked you out of your haze. "I asked you a question, sweetheart."

You blinked down at him, bleary eyed, "W-what?"

His grin was wicked as he looked up at you, "Aw, poor baby's already going cock dumb and I haven't even fucked you yet." Your cheeks heated, and he didn't give you the time to gather yourself enough to formulate a comeback. "I asked if you were a desperate little thing for me? You desperate for me to fuck you stupid, darling?"

A whine escaped your lips, unbidden, at his words, and the look in his eyes told you he wouldn't let you deny its cause. "God, yes, Lan, yes I'm so desperate for you, want you to fuck me so bad, I - fuck -"

The sensation of his fingers sliding your thong to the side scrambled your brains again, scattering any thoughts you'd managed to gather. The rough, calloused pad of his thumb brushed over your clit, and your body rocked violently into his hold, chasing the pleasure. "Keep talking to me, sweetheart, tell me what you want. Tell me all the filthy things my pretty little girl wants me to do to her," he whispered into your ear, lips going back to attacking your neck.

"W-want - want you to - ah- fuck me with your fingers, think about those p-perfect hands all the - fuck - t-time, want your thick fingers in me before you fuck me, Lando," you moaned out, pushing through even though your whines threatened to interrupt you.

"Good girl," he purred, sliding his middle finger through your folds, moaning into your neck at the feel of you. "So fucking wet f'me, darling, fuck," his left hand tweaked your nipple, as his right slowly sank a finger into you. The sound he let out was almost animalistic as he felt you clenching around him, reacting to the stretch that even one of his fingers made you feel. "Holy shit, you're so tight, baby," he lifted his head to be level with yours, wanting to watch your face as he touched you. "How am I gonna fit my cock into this tight little pussy of yours if you can barely take one of my fingers?"

The only answer you could give him was a needy moan, one that had his left hand going back up, not to cover your mouth, but to rest on your throat. "Shh, remember, sweetheart, you don't want your parents to hear us, do you?"

You shook your head fiercely, but immediately lost your train of thought again as Lando began to pump his finger in and out of you, slowly to let you adjust. His thumb landed firmly back on your clit, and the way he curled his long, thick fingers had him reaching a spot inside of you you'd never managed to reach before.

"What else do you want me to do, darling? Don't tell me you've already gone brainless? I've barely gotten started with you."

"Want more, Lan, want you to stretch me with your fingers so you can fuck me, want to feel you - oh, god," you barely managed to catch yourself before you screamed at the feeling of Lando pushing another finger into you. Even though he was aided by your wetness, Lando slowed his pace as he let you adjust again, easing into you as gently as possible as he maintained his circles on your clit.

"Want to feel me what, sweetheart?" he encouraged, curling his fingers to that same spot, this time hitting it hit his index and middle fingers and making your brain short circuit.

"Want to - Lan - w-want, I, fuck," you babbled, head falling to the crook of Lando's shoulder as you struggled for words.

"Come on, now, darling, be a good girl and tell me what you want. You do want to be a good girl f'me, don't you?" He chuckled lightly at how quickly you nodded, head staying buried in his neck.

"I- I want t-to feel you in me, feel your cock in me, feel you stretch me out with it, f-feel you fill me up - stuff me full with you, with your cum, leave me dripping with it."

The hand on your throat tightened harshly, briefly, before both of Lando's hands were off you and working on his swim trunks. "Jesus christ, baby, you've got a dirty little mouth on you. Such a perfect fucking girl for me, darling, such a dirty little thing, god you're perfect," he mumbled the praises into your mouth, stopping every so often to kiss you tenderly, hungrily, as his hands made quick work of the tie on his swim trunks, pulling them down enough to let his cock spring free. Your eyes widened involuntarily at the sight of it slapping against his stomach, the hard muscles of his abs and the red, leaking tip of his cock mesmerizing you.

You lifted your hips, allowing Lando to yank you closer to him until you hovered just over his cock, both of your hands bracing against his shoulders as one of his went under your dress to guide his cock through your folds.

"You want me to fuck you, sweetheart?"

"Yes, please Lan, please, ple-"

You had to cover your mouth with your own hand this time, the stretch of his cock making your eyes water, tears springing from them. Lando stared straight into your eyes as he sank you down onto his cock, bottom lip trapped between his teeth in a feeble attempt to silence himself. Both of his hands landed on your hips, gripping harshly as he held himself back from fucking up into you right away.

"God, baby you're so tight, you have such a perfect little cunt," he panted, eyes fixed on yours, not wanting to miss a single expression on your face. Finally, he bottomed out, the slow glide of his cock in you heavenly, fingers flexing against you as he forced himself to be patient.

A weak whimper left you despite the hand over your mouth as you slowly rose up, dropping harshly back onto Lando's cock and digging in your fingers at the sensation.

"Fuuuuuuuck," Lando ground out, hips bucking slightly up into you as you sank back down on him again.

It didn't take long for your legs to begin to shake, pace faltering as you grew tired. "Lando," you breathed out, head nestled in the crook of his neck again.

"Yes, darling?" His voice was thin, reedy, telling you he was just as affected as you were, even if he was better at hiding it.

"Can't - can't," your own gasp interrupted you as the head of Lando's cock hit a particularly sensitive spot inside you. "Too tired, need you to - god."

Lando chuckled, chest rumbling underneath your forehead, "You need me to do it for you, baby? You already too fucked out to move?"

"Please," you whined, unable to muster any embarrassment at the desperation in your voice. He knew he did this to you. Why bother trying to hide it?

Something in your neediness got to him, hands sliding up to your waist and squeezing as he gave himself a better hold on you. "That's a good girl. Don't worry, sweetheart, I've got you."

He lifted you off his cock, before slamming you back down onto him, hips fucking up into you harshly. The feeling of him manhandling you with ease was nearly enough to make you come on its own, but that combined with the way he kept hitting that spot inside of you, over, and over, and over again? You were so close you felt like you were going to explode.

And Lando knew it, too. Could tell from the way your hands scrabbled for purchase on his muscular shoulders, the way your head went limp on his shoulder as you gave him complete control over your body, from the way you clenched around him, and when he dropped one of his hands to graze a thumb over your clit as he fucked up into you, you were helpless to do anything but collapse into his embrace as you rode out your high.

Lando continued to hold you up by your waist, limbs sluggish and heavy, as he chased his own high, spurred on by your whimpers of overstimulation. But what finally pushed him over the edge was the sound of your voice, wrecked and fucked out, whispering weakly in his ear, "Please, Lando, please fill me up."

He came with a groan that he tried to bury in your neck, nipping lightly at the skin as he came down, chest heaving and moving you with it since you still hadn't managed to regain control of your own body just yet. The feeling of him painting your walls made you whimper, unintentionally clenching around him again, which elicited a deep groan from him.

"You keep squeezing me like that, darling, and you're gonna get me hard again."

You giggled, which earned you a playful swat on the ass from Lando, chuckling along with you as he stroked your cheek tenderly, admiring you in your post-orgasm haze.

"Lan-"

"Dinner is ready! Hurry up and get down here, we're starving!" The sound of your brother's voice jolted both of you out of your stupor, matching looks of panic on your faces.

Before you could say anything else, Lando whispers, "We're talking about this later tonight, sweetheart." Placing a kiss on your cheek, Lando lifts you off of him, hissing at the feeling, and setting you on your bed next to him before getting up and running across the hall to his room.

After you managed to muster the strength to move, you quickly fixed your dress, trying to make sure that your face and hair weren't dead giveaways for just having had the best sex of your life. You rushed downstairs, blaming your breathlessness on having run to dispel your mother's concern, and sat down quickly, trying to avoid any questions about what had taken you so long.

A few seconds later, Lando joined you, sitting across from you, eyes burning into you in a way that made you shift in your seat. That turned out to be a huge mistake, because just as your brother passed you the salad, Lando's cum leaked out of you as you realized belatedly that not only had you not cleaned up, but you hadn't even put your panties back on. You froze, quickly shifting back and squeezing your thighs together in an effort to stop him from seeping out of you, and miraculously, none of your family seemed to notice.

But the way your eyes widened told Lando exactly what had happened.

When your parents asked how the dinner was, you stammered out some poor excuse of a response, not really knowing how to speak to your family with Lando's cum dripping out of you.

Lando shot you a wicked grin, winking quickly enough that no one else saw it, and stared right into your eyes as he answered.

"Delicious."

#lando norris x reader #lando norris #f1 smut #f1 #lando norris fanfic #lando norris imagine #lando norris smut #formula 1 x reader #formula 1 smut #formula one smut #formula 1 imagine #formula 1 fanfic #f1 x reader #f1 imagine #f1 fanfic #lando norris x you #lando norris x y/n #lando norris blurb #ln4 #formula 1 #formula one #lando norris f1 #mclaren f1 #lando norris x oc #formula 1 x you #formula 1 fic #formula 1 x y/n #formula 1 x female reader

[stararch4ngelqueen]

CUDDLES WITH JASON. HE HAD A NIGHTMARE AND READER CUDDLES HIM BACK TO THE SLEEP. SCRATCHES HIS SCALP AND SHIT. THIS MAN DESERVES SOFTNESS. Much Love💕

Thank you!!! I hope you enjoy this! ❤️

—

Time written - 5:53 p.m

—

You wouldn’t call yourself a heavy or light sleeper, but every time you heard a strange, crooked gasp in the dead of night, you knew Jason was awake.

It’s quick and brash, as if choking on air, followed by a short series of gasps and harsh, rapid panting.

Fresh, clean air fills his lungs, not the stuffy, stale oxygen of a silk lined coffin, putrid with the stench of wet dirt; fresh flowers, and slightest tinge of formaldehyde.

“Jay?” The sweet serenity of your voice alerts him of your existence, of the reality of him not buried six feet underground.

Long before they filled up fresh graves with concrete.

His head shifts, tired teal eyes blown wide open with unidentified levels of panic.

Despite the darkness, it’s not enough for him to cower and hide from the shame of your worried gaze on him.

The blankets pool over his lap once he abruptly sits up, running hand through his sleep tussled locks. His muscles tremble like he’d run a marathon, or crawled out of a grave with his own two hands. If the lights were on, he’d believe he still have patches of dirt and grass clinging underneath his broken fingernails.

Before you, he wouldn’t go back to sleep so easily. He’d go out for any sort of distraction; mainly consisting of on his gear for a rooftop ghost chase. Anything to distract him from the confines of his mental prison when his darkest fears erupted into his dreams.

That was, until soft fingers brush along his skin, your hand comfortably wrapping around his broad forearm. You lean yourself against his shoulder, bare skin plush as you comfort him with whispers of consolation.

“M’sorry. M’so sorry,” He pants out with his head hung low, voice involuntarily trembling as he struggles to comprehend your soft words.

Even in his distress, he apologized for what he believes were his mistakes. Disturbing you of your sleep, causing a scene.

He hated this vulnerability, wanting to chase it out of his mind by hundreds of distractions, but he couldn’t.

Jason didn’t want to leave you, even if you’d allow it. You’d wait for him, he didn’t want that.

Another set of fingers trail behind his neck, slipping up to cradle his head close. He has no action over his body now, trembling nerves complying with your gentle touch.

“Shh, it’s okay.” You whisper against his cheek, keeping your arms secure about him as best as you could. “You’re alright, Jason. Its just us, in our home. Our anniversary was four hours ago, remember?”

His head settles down on your shoulder, brows heavily furrowed in distress despite his faint smile at the comment. He always told you to never hold in your tears, but always felt guilty when it came to releasing his. It ached deep in his throat; molten hot and bright red, nearly as painful as being facially branded all those years ago.

It took months of patience for you to learn his story, his suffering, his trauma. Any of it could’ve been the source of his nightmares, but why seek through the aches of the past? No good could come of it, their was no need.

Gentle hands guide him back to lay down, some of his body settling over yours. His head rests along your chest after you tug the blankets back over your bare bodies, encasing you both in a warm bubble of comfort.

Your heartbeat eased his troubled thoughts into pure silence, soothing his headache in seconds. Supple skin pressed against his faintly stubbled cheek, carrying a hint of sweet fragrance from your lotion.

“You okay?” You question, keeping as calm as possible for his sake. You never minded coming to his aid, never minding being his shoulder to cry on, or his body to embrace when he felt alone.

“Mhm.” Came his weak reply.

Your fingers lightly scratch along his scalp shortly after such a limited response, leaving him in utter heaven from such intimate, soothing motions.

“You wanna talk about it?”

“No.” His sleep induce rasp permeated his tone, too comfortable to even maneuver the muscles in his mouth. Every nerve in his body melted, making him putty in your hands.

“Okay.” You didn’t pry, only resuming the Lord’s divine work of your fingers combing through Jason’s hair.

A small hum rumbles deeply from his throat, his hands shuffling under soft sheets to caress your body. Arms slipping underneath your back, he cradles you like a pillow, keeping himself secured to your smaller frame.

Soft, honeysuckle lips kiss along his forehead, solidifying the facts of his comfort, his safety. He was safe; he was alive, he was here, right where he needed to be.

If the moon shined her rays just a little brighter through the cracks of the curtains, you’d be blessed with the sight of dilated pupils swallowing up those pretty blue irises. Jason adoringly staring into the distance towards the bedroom wall, eyes slowly lulled closed behind thick lashes.

His only regret was falling asleep way too soon, wanting to experience this slice of heaven just a little bit longer.

#jason todd #jason todd x reader #jason todd x you #jason todd x fem!reader #dc jason todd #jason todd x y/n #jason todd x female!reader #jason todd dc #I love these domestic stuff

[mitsies]

reactions to you getting hurt ; jjk

how they react when you get hurt!

suguru geto, yuji itadori, megumi fushiguro, kento nanami, satoru gojo

; suguru geto -

‣ im gonna be real... geto wouldn't care too much!

‣ he helps you up if you fell, dusts off your coat, cracks a joke about you being clumsy and moves on!

‣ you need a band-aid or something? your leg isn't broken, you can grab one yourself

‣ in the case of a serious, life-threatening injury, though- he doesn't leave your side

‣ he's playing nurse, keeping you company and cooking your favorite dishes- whether you're able to appreciate it or not

‣ simultaneously encourages you to try everything yourself, is somehow convinced that independence = health

‣ he refuses to leave your side, he's seen too much death to risk it- he doesn't know what he would do with himself if you left him, too

; yuji itadori -

‣ yuji is, to say the least, dramatic

‣ you fell on the pavement? you are NOT allowed to walk

‣ treats it like you got hit by a truck and bounced off of a cement wall to land into the ground

‣ insists on carrying you everywhere he can, even if you hate it

‣ god forbid you have a cut that's bleeding just a little, because if you do you are getting rushed to the ER

‣ on the other hand- if it was a serious injury, yuji would blame himself, even if he had nothing to do with it

‣ he thinks he could've done more to protect you, and that he brought this upon you- as a result, he distances himself from you as best he can

; megumi fushiguro -

‣ megumi is concerned but acts like he doesn't care

‣ when you fall and cut your knee, he helps you up, and inspects your wound

‣ you insist it's nothing major but he insists right back that it should be cleaned up

‣ takes u to the nearest bathroom to do that & checks in on you every now and then <3

‣ if you got seriously injured, tho?

‣ he can't look at you. he can't stand to be around you. he throws himself into his work to try and forget because it just hurts so bad

‣ he doesn't know what would happen if he were to lose you, you mean the world to him

; kento nanami -

‣ nanami is the most normal out of all of them

‣ if you fall, he helps you up, asks if you're fine

‣ if you are, you keep on movin! if you're not, he helps further

‣ he trusts your capabilities as a human being, he knows you know how to take care of yourself

‣ should you get gravely wounded, nanami also diligently takes care of you

‣ you're his #1 priority always, and he waits on you. doesn't let you do difficult things, keeps you in bed if you're too tired, makes sure you sleep- he does it all

‣ i feel like he's less shattered than geto, though- he's hopeful you'll be better, he's gonna make sure of it

; satoru gojo -

‣ piece of shit.

‣ if you fall? he's got his phone on you, recording you for his stupid little social media

‣ "say a funny catchphrase so it goes viral!"

‣ if it's more severe, he helps u up, and if needed he takes you to the hospital

‣ (secretly very caring and concerned but hates feelings so he covers it with jokes and laughter)

‣ let's say you broke an arm or something: while you're getting treated, he's photoshopping a thumbnail for the video

‣ eventually releases a monstrosity titled ‘SECRET NINJA TRAINING GONE WRONG (3 AM) (HAUNTED????’

‣ the thumbnail is him gasping w hands on his cheeks and… u lying on the ground

‣ funny part is he photoshopped ur ass to look extra fuckinh fat. like

‣ it’s SWOLLEN like a dead whale. botched bbl era

‣ he says it was for the views. in reality, he was trying to get ur mind off the injury and make u laugh <3

‣ in the comments when someone asked ‘why did u photoshop their ass’ he says ‘??? i didnt’

‣ 'idk what photoshop is'

‣ 'is that greek???'

‣ 'omg wait i love ppl who can speak other languages'

‣ i hate u gojo satoru.

#jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen #gojo satoru x reader #geto suguru x reader #nanami kento x reader #itadori yuji x reader #fushiguro megumi x reader #megumi fushiguro x reader #itadori x reader #fushiguro x reader #megumi x reader #yuuji x reader #yuuji itadori #itadori yuuji #megumi fushiguro #fushiguro megumi #megumi fanfic #megumi imagine #megumi headcanons #fushiguro #suguru geto #jujutsu kaisen getou #jujutsu kaisen geto #getou suguru #getou #getou suguru x reader #gojou x reader #jujutsu kaisen gojou #satoru gojou

[wc-m0ch4]

Shadow the Hedgehog x gn! Reader Headcanons

I watched all the Sonic Prime episodes in one day LMAO I LOVE IT SO MUCH

Anyways,

PROLOGUE HCS

As most hcs with this mf starts, it took forever for him to finally trust you, let alone get into a relationship with you

I mean, can you blame him really? He's lost a lot, he's gone through a ton of shit, it's kinda to be expected

He talked to Rouge one day about how he felt more comfortable around you than others and she teased him relentlessly

"Shadoooow, you like them?"

"I prefer them over others, if that answers your question. Why are you making that face?"

Lowkey funny thing, when it finally hits him that he liked you he tries to figure out why he likes you.

At first he thinks maybe it's your looks so he stares at you a lot trying to pinpoint what part of you he likes, but he's got a rbf so it concerns you gravely

"Shadow are you angry at Y/n?"

"No, of course not. Why?"

"You're kinda... glaring... at them..."

"Oh."

Then he theorizes that it must be something from your personality. So he starts asking you a ton of questions randomly, but like, theoretical questions

'What would you do if two of your best friends were drowning and you only had enough strength to save one?' Type questions y'know

Then he tries to see if it's something you do, like if you're 'useful'. So he keeps a mental tally of how many times you do something for him or others. When you pay for yours and Amy's lunch, when you give Sonic the rest of your bag of chips, when you hold the door open for Rogue, etc.

Finally he realizes that it's not something in particular, he just likes you

He reveals this revelation to Rouge and she snorts lmao

She sets up a whole date-confession-thing without either of your knowledge to get Shadow to confess

REAL TIME HCS

He's very quiet with his affection

He'll pat you on the head or back, give you a small smile, make you lunch, help you with some work, small things y'know

If you're a human and a lot taller than him he uses this to his advantage and climbs you so he can see more

^Some of the few times he will allow you to carry him

He'll text you updates about what he's doing and when he'll be home and expects you do the same

If you forget he'll scold you like a toddler lmao

Don't forget the skin-care routine and ironing the sheets every night according to the Twitter takeover LMAO (it should have been me)

He's not one for going out on dates but he does enjoy going to the library or the park with you, somewhere quiet with not a lot of people

Shadow would enjoy theatre all the way (I don't say this cuz I'm a theatre kid nope def not)

Also not a fan of PDA but he'll hold your hand or have a hand on your shoulder

He gets jealous easily lol

Like if someone starts talking or, God forbid, flirting with you he'll be standing right behind you glaring at them

His pet names are demeaning LMAO

Like how he calls Sonic 'hedgehog' it's the same for you

He'll call you more typical terms of endearment if it's laced with sarcasm

"Well, dear, if you had done like I said earlier this wouldn't have happened."

"I'm sorry, I should've known making toast was too difficult for you, darling."

Shadow has a phone and social media and the only reason is so you can send him memes you find funny to him

I like to imagine showing him a funny video and he just sits there staring at it for a bit before turning to you and going "This is hilarious."

If you're in college or work from home he'll help you with some of your work

Okay but imagine he's standing behind you helping you with homework and he leans over to grab a pencil or something and then you're pressed between him and the desk JAGFHEBAUWVDHJ– ANYWAYS

He likes keeping his space clean so if you're mentally ill like me (LMAOOO) or just messy in general he's willing to help you clean up

Just enough to keep him satisfied :)

Okay but imagine stay-at-home dates with him like:

Cooking dinner together

Laying your head on his lap while you two watch a movie

Playing games or doing puzzles

Speaking of games, game nights are a regular thing with the group and Rogue drags Shadow along so in turn he drags you along

I ask you to imagine a huge game of Uno between Sonic, Knuckles, Tails, Amy, Cream, Big, Team Chaotix, Rogue, Shadow, and you.

Yeah, fucking insanity.

If there's any game where you have to pair up Shadow immediately grabs you

Absolutely NO chance he's pairing with Sonic lol

Moving on, he likes playing with your hair

If you need help doing a complex or a protective hairstyle he's got you fr

If you wear makeup, whether it's natural or more bold, he will compliment it

He'd probably help you with your makeup too if you asked lol

On a more sad note, he has times where he gets upset about his past so just give him space or comfort, whatever he needs at the time

If he gets upset about Maria ask him about her. It helps talking about her in a positive light when she was alive than replaying her death on repeat

So if you have your own bouts of depression (*cough cough* me *cough*) he'll understand and try to help in any way he can

On a more happier note, he likes getting you gifts

Homie is a very gift giving/ acts of service type of lover fr fr

Btw dating Shadow means being friends with Rogue and Omega, no exceptions

Ugh sorry this took forever to make I'm really lazy lmao

Did you guys notice that Jacksepticeye voices a character in one of the later Sonic Prime episodes cuz I did and I almost SCREAMED–

Anyways, send in requests if you want :)

#fanfiction #sonic the hedgehog x reader #sonic x reader #sonic headcanons #sonic the hedgehog #shadow the hedgehog #shadow x reader #shadow the hedgehog x reader #shadow headcanons

[ineylesian]

NO LEAF CLOVER

─ SIMON “GHOST” RILEY X FEM! READER

PREFACE | this is continuation of another fic, “me, or him?”. it’s advised that you read that before this

AO3 | MASTERLIST | CODENAME: FANGS MASTERLIST

WORD COUNT | 8k

SUMMARY | you had made your choice, all you had to do was execute.

however, a small tinge of you knew that you could never be true to one side; and you would face the grim consequences of disloyalty in the vision of never resting nightmares and a smoking bullet.

WARNINGS | angst, smut, canon typical violence, vaginal fingering, a mix of rough and kinda soft sex, hard overstimulation, finger fucking, cum eating, make up sex if you could even consider it that, implied graves x reader (and a little action), biting, scratching, clothed sex, grinding, you make ghost cum in his pants, he does the same to you dw, unprotected p in v, cumming inside, thigh fucking, ghost literally fucks the shit out of you, but it’s angsty as hell, the mask stays on this time boys

AUTHOR’S NOTE | still can’t stand the people that say ghost is completely emotionless bro, like yeah he’s an edge lord BUT he cares about those closest to him and that’s how i portray him… my baby cakes fr fr

THIS WORK IS MEANT TO BE WRITTEN IN AN ADULT READER’S POINT OF VIEW. READER DISCRETION IS ADVISED.

11:07 PM.

FUERZAS ESPECIALES HQ // LAS ALMAS.

“Exterior squad 414, report, over.”

Click.

“All good here, sir.”

Radio waves fell shallow as the remaining patrols checked in, leaving only the soft rattle of metal against concrete to your ears. A few seconds passed before the canister popped, engulfing the narrow exterior you stood in with heavy smoke, soon giving way to an array of green lasers on the walls. You ducked under the first two, gloved hands sliding along cold stone to fall into a prone next, just barely shifting past the harsh buzz after a few slow movements.

A quiet hum responded to the force of your hand on fluorescent red, leaving the last section of the underground tunnels in Fuerzas completely unguarded.

You crouched down beside the first corner in the system, pulling a flare from your pocket, setting it alight, and stepping away. A single spark shot from the pyrotechnic before it was crushed by your foot, the bundle of ashes seeping from the short lived explosion allowing you to trace a check mark onto the wall with your foot.

“Exterior squad 182 to Commander Graves, permission to send traffic?”

Your eyes narrowed at the panic steadily climbing each word, prominent even through static.

“This is Graves actual, send traffic.”

“There’s a hostile bird inbound, sir. Approximately 2 clicks away and approaching fast.”

A distant curse carried over the comms, followed by a short bout of silence save a few shuffles.

“Copy that, 182. Lock down and stand by for further instruction.”

Creaking metal followed your return to the surface, sliding a pair of binoculars out of your pocket, and peaking out above the fortress walls. The violent whir of fan blades led your vision to the southeast tower, clicking down on an effective zoom before holding the lens up to your eyes, spotting Price behind a sharp glint of light. A brief wave was shared between you before he raised a hand to his comms, giving you the green light to move.

“Cobra to Graves, what’s your location?”

“Heading to the FE General, be careful on your way over.”

Your fingers fell from the comms button on your shoulder, turning your attention to the array of warehouses ahead. A minute of dodging your own soldiers and you were kneeling beside a sequence of panels on the 4th warehouse down, sliding a screwdriver into each bolt while lightly prying at the edge. Once the metal surface plate popped off, you unclipped a small canister from your vest, tugging the cover off with your teeth before dropping it into the filter and fastening it back to the wall.

You stood back up at the cue of a soft hiss from the depths of the ventilation system, tugging yourself away from the building before it spread outside.

Price had called your part in their covert operation “The Fixxa Uppa”, point and blank. You had held your tongue at the lack of empathy he held for your situation, giving strict orders to kill any Shadows on sight, and apprehend Graves.

Quiet footsteps and sand hidden tracks led you to the Fuerzas Especiales General building, still pristine in coating and flying the Los Voqueros flag. You sighed at the recollection of Graves’ refusal to tarnish what represented your old allies, scolding your soldiers about reputation and the idiocy of raising an American flag in Las Almas.

The lower region of your chest pulsed slowly at the thought of Shepherd, now exposed and helplessly losing thousands of soldiers by the minute. Yet, your mind also flicked to the flip side: Graves, frantically barking out orders over Shadow Company’s comms while providing as much support as he could give. And you? Perhaps the rapid shift of your pulse with each waking step proved that you really did feel bad, but you and everyone that knew you were well aware that you despised Shadow Company.

Yet, you had stayed, fiercely protecting and slaughtering the men under you all the same. Every action for the sake of the man who you were set out to betray.

A heavy series of explosions coaxed your steps swifter, knuckles raising to deliver three swift knocks on the conference room’s door. The familiar rap pattern led the door to swing open almost instantly, your wrist being seized in the process.

Your eyes parted as you were pressed against the door, eyelids clamping down to adjust to the loss of light. Reopening, you were welcomed the slim, familiar outline of Graves, light pants representing the life you couldn’t see.

You clicked the flashlight fastened to your vest on, illuminating his face in a soft white glow. His skin glistened with a light coat of sweat and blood, hair disheveled, belt almost bare, rifle hanging carelessly from his side. Your gaze slowly drifted to his face, taking in the sight of his teeth fastened to his upper lip, eyes drilling into your own in a tight squint.

Any upcoming words of concerns that had planned on parting your mouth were washed away just seconds later, in their place the flaming sensation of Graves’ lips sealing over yours, swiftly, aggressively, filled to the brim with indecipherable motive.

Graves never kissed you on missions.

Yet here you were, inhaling the scent of smoke and pine on his collar while his blood dribbled down your chin, coating your tongue with metal as he brought your faces closer together. One of your hands subconsciously reached for the back of his head, keeping his mouth firmly planted against your own while he feverishly sank his teeth into your bottom lip, drawing a harsh breath from your nose.

The sudden blast of a breach charge broke you apart, followed by the rise of gunfire on the first floor. You frantically reached down, fumbling with your belt before snatching a case of 5.56 mm cartridge from the side, fastening it to Graves’ waist.

“They’re after you.” Your words came out jumbled, too focused on turning him towards the emergency exit just one room over. “You have to get out of here.”

Your efforts fell to no avail, however, as Graves was quick to pull your wrists down, rooting the both of you in place.

“I’m not leaving you here, Fangs.” He retorted, swiftly coaxing you behind a desk before crouching down, softly running a hand over your arm before falling to his gun. “We live together, or we die together. Remember?”

Of course, how could you forget?

The phrase echoed in hand with choruses of flying bullets and screams as a small group of your soldiers barged into the room, narrowly avoiding incoming spurts of fire. You raised your gun to rest against the desk’s surface, peaking over the side to ensure you were firing in dead areas. After spending the entirety of your mag, you pulled your rifle back, silently hoping they had noticed you flick your gun’s muzzle flash on.

An aggressive sequence of beeps fell close to your ears as you slipped a new clip into your weapon, leading your eyes to widen in shock at the sight of a semtex laid to rest on the surface right above you.

You threw your gun to the side before kicking Graves as hard as you could, sending him staggering a safe distance away and heading in the opposite direction. Bullets chased every fraction of your explosion-illuminated movement, forcing you to slide down on the floor next to one of your men.

However, you were only welcomed to the sight of glistening knife harshly jutting into the chest of your cover, spurting a hefty coat of blood onto your cheek. Your eyes widened in shock as the solider grabbed hold of the arm that held the blade inside of him, twisting himself and the attacker back into you, pushing away to leave him falling straight into you.

Sweltering winds kissed the hairs plastered to your face as the force sent you flying backward, crashing through the window behind you, fraying your skin with minuscule shards of glass. Your waist was roughly seized by the man on top of you, swapping your bodies seconds before you smacked against the ground.

You cried out in air deprived silence, hearing a series of cracks erupt throughout your upper region as the impact rolled you to the side, melding the world a fleeting series of red and white before fading to black.

—-

ONE WEEK LATER.

beep.

…beep.

BEEP.

BEEP. BEEP. BEEP.

“Cobra… you hear me? Try opening your eyes.”

The words reigned similar to static in your head, each inhale pooling a deep ache in the front of your head. A jittered breath pressed it’s way out of you as your eyelids pried apart, leaving you to clear the atmosphere with a few blinks before looking to the side. On the side of your bed stood Price, sending an affirming nod your way while he set a change of clothes on the table beside you.

“Welcome back, soldier.”

You slowly shifted your way up against the pillows, wiping a hand along your eyes while the other detached the ventilator mask from your mouth.

“The mission.” You breathed out, eyes snapping to Price. “What happened?”

“Well, your accident was distracting enough to stop the mission before we could complete it.” He started, offering a bottle of water your way. “We had to drop everything to save you.”

He paused, gaze drifting to your watch, surface glass now split unevenly down the middle.

“I was hoping you could help us. Graves is completely off our radar, and we need to take care of him before moving in on Hassan.”

Your breath hitched, hand clamping down on the bottle of water resting above your lips.

“Our mission is kill on sight.” He continued, lips settling into a thin line. “But I’m willing to give him a choice before that. Join the Task Force, or die.”

You remained silent for some time, taking a swift glance at your watch before looking back over to Price.

“Alright.”

“Good.” He nodded, lightly patting your shoulder before standing up. “We’re meeting up at Flint’s in a bit. Join us if you’d like.”

Darkness enveloped your vision once his footsteps completely faded, hands growing clammy at the thought of even putting a hand on that watch. However, you’d agreed to it, and Price had certainly done you a favor by dropping the mission to save you.

Sighing, you leaned forward, legs kicking off the bed to stretch before you slid off of the sheets, wobbling slightly until your body adjusted to carrying your weight once more. Dim infirmary garments were swapped for one of your “civvy” outfit, leaving only the watch on the table as you slipped your right shoe on.

Cool metal snaked around your fingers, lightly securing hold around your wrist as you brought it down, following a soft click of worn silver and carbon fastened against your skin. You tapped on the messages app next, sliding down to Graves’ contact before placing your finger over it. Your teeth lightly rocked against each other at the blank canvas of screen before you, fingers hovering over the small keyboard as you thought. Ever so slowly, they began to move.

YOU

“Still alive?”

SENT. 5:48 PM.

Your watch sat idle as you pushed through the front doors of Flint’s, waving your hellos to Price, Gaz, and Soap before sliding into a booth nearby. Soft strums of an electric guitar fell to ring around your ears as a waitress walked up to you, setting a small glass of water in front of you with a smile.

A part of you hoped he didn’t answer. That this could all be over and you could leave Las Almas behind

But you knew it wasn’t that easy. It never was.

Minutes passed before a shadow passed across your table, the sudden halt of footsteps rousing your attention. Your eyes parted in surprise at the sight of the man now sitting directly across from you, setting a shot of whiskey on the table with a soft clink.

“Ghost?”

His eyes drifted up from the rim of his glass, locking you in his usual, hard gaze.

“Knew it’d take more than a fall to kill you.” His voice drifted out low, devoid of the gritted shout he adorned during missions. “Was worried you’d gone soft.”

Your eyes dragged along the upper region of his sweatshirt, stopping at a small strip of white that sat wrapped around his neck.

“You broke my fall.”

“Smart girl.” He leaned forward, lifting his mask up a fraction to take a sip of whiskey. “Antibacterial gauze works wonders.”

Your attention broke off at the rise of a buzz on your wrist, leading you to lift the device up while flicking it on.

2 NEW MSSGS.

Your heart rate picked up with each tap, fingers drumming noisily against the table as you waited for the screen to load.

GRAVES

Christ, Fangs, thought I’d lost you.

How are you doing? You safe?

“Cobra.”

YOU

Yeah, I’m okay. What about you?

“Cobra, hey, I’m talking to you.”

GRAVES

I’m good.

Still in Las Almas?

“Fucking Hell, [name].” You felt your wrist being snagged from across the table, pulling reality back to you in the form of an annoyed glint of narrowed eyes. “Stay on task. His location, that’s it.”

A lump pushed its way past your throat, following a shallow nod as you looked back down.

YOU

Yup.

Can we meet up?

You flashed the watch in Ghost’s direction, eyes knitted in irritation at the feeling of his eyes hounding every movement of your fingertips.

“Ghost.” You pushed through partially grit teeth. “I can feel you staring at me. Stop.”

A swift glance upward showed pure negligence of your request, his gaze seemingly burning a hotter trail into your skin than before, sinking uneasiness into the veins below.

GRAVES

Shadow Company has one stocked warehouse on the outskirts of Quilán. Tomorrow work for you?

Ghost leaned over to look at your outstretched arm, giving a curt nod at the message before standing up. You followed, fingers typing one last message before showing it to him and shutting the watch off.

YOU

6pm. I’ll be there.

—-

THE NEXT DAY.

5:52 PM. QUILÁN, LAS ALMAS.

Cool winds swirled around the barren expanse of the vast plain ahead, coating your hands in tiny fragments of sand. You stopped at the foot of a tree line, spotting two sizable warehouses peaking out of a fortress of barbed wire. The sight of shifting masses atop the towers flanking each side of the perimeter led you to place your fingers against your shoulder, tapping into 141’s comms.

“Be advised, multiple armed personnel spotted.”

One of your hands raised in a wave, earning the reaction of one guard before moving forward. You imposed a sickeningly faux smile at the entrance gate, earning a series of nods from the guards stationed there as they let you in.

“Good to see you, Lieutenant.” One spoke, motioning off to the larger of the warehouses. “Commander Graves wishes to see you as soon as possible.”

“Thank you, soldier.”

You broke away from prying eyes by rounding a corner, taking a glance around to ensure no one was watching before patching into comms once more.

“Larger warehouse in 2. Cobra out.”

The earpiece was shoved into your pocket, leaving you just one stretch away from the warehouse. Turning to face the front door captivated your spine in a frigid chill, rendering your blood cold in comparison to the blazing sand chipping into your skin. A sigh pooled from the depths of your nose as your gaze dropped down to the handle, hand reaching out to hover above it whilst you waited for visuals on your team.

Your watch flashed 18:00.

Soap poked his head out from the top of the warehouse, sending a thumbs up your way before ducking back down.

Okay.

A steady groan followed the drag of metal against the floor, illuminating the pitch black interior with marengo streaks of light. Your eyes traveled along the contents of the warehouse, eventually stopping to focus in on a large mass of crates and containers, and a thin shadow looming out of the side of them.

Through shifting shadows of grey and black, you saw Graves step away from an array of ammunition boxes, holding a finger up in wait as he fastened a few clips to his belt. However, his hand only dropped flat as he glanced over, taking in the sight of you with pleasantly widened eyes.

The last of your footsteps clicked against the vast space, rousing a shuffle instead as you stopped to look up.

You couldn’t bring yourself to smile at him. Hell, you couldn’t even speak, and he knew, arms stretching out to envelop your being, holding all of you against him like he’d die if he let go. Warm hands brought themselves up to grasp lightly at the back of your shoulders, allowing your arms to snake around his neck.

The two of you stayed there for some time, long enough to numb the soft movement of your arm running down his vest. Seconds passed before the safety of a gun clicked just feet away, shooting Graves’ head up as he let you go. The attempt of his body to turn around fell to no avail as one of your hands clamped around the pistol strapped against his vest, rooting him where he stood.

Price slowly made his way towards the both of you, gun pointing solely at Graves, allowing you to step away, tossing his gun under one of the nearby crates.

“You’re gettin’ two choices here, son. Only one of ‘em is gonna let you out alive.”

Graves’ mouth fell to rest in a flat line, hands leisurely moving to rest above his head. His gaze then traveled over to you, what was once a soft meld of blues hardened into something more practical. Then, he looked up, breathing out a quiet huff of amusement at the sight.

“Join TSF 141, or die.”

Price stepped closer, watching as Graves’ eyes lowered back down to you.

“Could’ve guessed you were playing me, Fangs.” He lightly shrugged, nodding up to the man crouching on the rails above you. “Big dog Ghost up there left a little something back at the warehouse, didn’t he?”

Your eyes narrowed. The knife.

“Make the right decision, Graves.”

“The right decision?” He scoffed, flicking a finger between you and Ghost. “I’ve been giving everything I have for you, only to figure out you’ve been fucking around with him? Now you want me to join you?”

“This isn’t about him, or any of them.” You snapped back, jabbing a finger against his chest. “You knew what Shepherd did to us, and you still chose to stay with him. How can you live with yourself?”

“You’ve got one last chance, son.” The gruff call of your captain rang out, feebly smothered against airborne tension. “What’s it gonna be?”

“Who was by my side the entire time?” Graves voice pushed out low, taking your finger and turning it to push against your vest. “Only you made that decision.”

A single, deep breath pushed its way from your mouth as you brought the same hand up, ripping Shadow Company’s insignia off of your chest, dropping it to the floor, and smothering it under your boot.

“It’s not too late to change.”

His head shook slowly, taking a step back from you before lowering his hands.

“Not for you, Fangs.”

The world before you sparked into a violent surge of smoke and fire as explosions broke out from above. Gunshots scraped against the ground near you as you ran, diving behind a nearby crate to cover yourself.

Only to realize the inside was fizzing.

You were sent flying backward as the middle of the warehouse erupted into flames, the sheer force of the chain linked explosions slamming your back into the wall. Air starved lungs desperately inhaled smoke, leaving your vision blurred and burning at the thickness of the atmosphere around you.

Your arms weakly pushed against the ground, pulling you far up enough to grab the side of a table, hoisting yourself to stand with a pained groan. A massive crash echoed from across the interior, shaking the ground below you and pulsing blistering waves of smoke against your face. Another followed shortly after, only leading you to assume the roof was collapsing, the shriek of stressing metal confirming your suspicions.

Raising a hand to your shoulder, you pressed on the your radio, using your spare hand to hold your earpiece to your ear as you ran.

“Price, Soap, Gaz-“ You paused, choking on a fresh inhale of fumes. “Does anyone copy?”

Silence.

You cursed under your breath, bringing a hand up to hover against your lower face whilst running amidst the shadows. Your foot kicked against a railing, leading you to blindly turn for the stairs, narrowly avoiding falling chunks of debris from the ceiling as you neared closer to it. The thin flooring shook under each of your footsteps, the section behind you breaking off with a sharp clang just after you’d cleared it.

Sucking in the ashen material of your arm, you broke into a sprint, heading for the first gleam of light visible. Your arms rose to cross over your face, shattering glass as you dived outside, stealing harsh breaths of fresh air from the sky on your fall.

You landed in the midst of a large bush with a quiet thud, breaking into a coarse fit of coughs and retches in a desperate attempt to clear your system. Once the haze of CO2 had swept out of your lungs, you pulled yourself out of the mass of thick branches and leaves, staggering up to look at the warehouse before you.

“Cobra, do you copy?”

Your hands fumbled for the button on your shoulder, tapping into 141’s comms with a sigh of relief.

“Good here, Soap.” You responded, pacing away from the destroyed warehouse. “What’s going on with the others?”

“Don’t know, you’re the only one I could reach.”

“We need to find the others. I’ll take the second warehouse, you sweep the outside.”

“Got it.”

You let go of the comms with a hum, eyes moving up as you approached the smaller warehouse. The sudden rise of gunfire widened your eyes, clear that it came from the inside. Your boots fell hard against dry grass, kicking up heavy tracks before you jumped on top of one of the ac units hooked to the wall, using the slight leverage to pull yourself up to the hanging ladder halfway up.

A fury of dying lights sparked against the air as you peered down through the skylight, running towards the edge in sight of a vent. Gripping the ledge of the shingled roof, you slid in through the metal nailed to the wall, boots softly thudding against a metal walkway overlooking the inside. Thinly strung lights dimly lit the vast area below, only giving way to the continuous reign of bullets clanging against metal.

You dropped down to the next section, dodging weapon crates and supplies before breaking for the staircase. Frantic hands unhooked the Deagle on your belt as you grew closer to the ground floor, spurred on by the abrupt end of shots from all around. Your hands laid to rest against the nearest railing, watching with wide eyes as a lowly flashing streak of red shot past you face, and to the far side of the warehouse.

One of your arms instinctively raised against the mass detonation of the semtex fused with boxes of mines, lighting one side of the warehouse up in a raging sea of flames. Tugging the safety off of your pistol, you jumped down onto one of the crates below, kneeling against the edge in search of any signs of life against the weak light of fire. Eventually, a shadowed figure crossed not far off from where you perched, leading you to scale the line of containers in swift apprehension, keeping your movements light.

Your teeth grit firmly together at the rising waves of familiar heat brushing themselves against your skin, the waves in pursuit forcing you to climb up a layer to breathe. Eventually, your target led you to a small, void area of the warehouse, charred black, and holding a slumped body against the ash. Your eyes widened at the scarce patch of white on his face illuminated by edging embers, your breathing increasingly erratic by the second as the quiet click of a gun’s safety rang out from the shadows.

Before you could articulate a reasonable plan of action, your feet were sliding off of the containers overlooking the scene, landing just above the shadowed figure with a harsh thud. The reaction to the noise was not sufficient enough, as by the time the gun was pointed your way, you had blindly tackled them against the wall, hand moving to hold their gun up as you slid the Deagle against their chest.

A crude gunshot bounced off the walls, crawling into your ears in horrid sight of the body pinned against your leg. You stepped away from the mass of blood pooling onto the ground beneath, watching as the lifeless body of Graves slumped against the ground, his blood sickly warm on your hands. The warehouse grew silent in your wake, save the faint crackling of burning wood, ever softer the drops of red liquid falling to mix in with the rest.

“COBRA, GHOST?”

The words spoke muffled to your ears, fighting against the deafening drum of your heartbeat pounding against every crevice of your being. A hand took hold of your shoulder amongst the scorching ripples of heat, turning you to face Price, who gave you a light squeeze where his hand sat as he took your gun.

“Good work, kiddo. Let’s get you patched up.”

—-

ONE WEEK LATER.

CHICAGO, ILLINOIS.

2 NEW MSSGS.

SOAP

Hey, didn’t get the chance to see you after the mission.

I owe you one, big time. Let me know when you’re free?

YOU

Tomorrow okay?

The watch fell limp against your side, following the brush of a bag hitting the ground. A briefcase was placed against your coffee table, beside you an SR-25 waiting to be taken apart.

Not an ounce of pride swelled in your chest at the achievement of killing Hassan. The honorary medal that had been draped around your chest now sat idle on the floor, particles of dust beginning to settle over the bright coat of gloss over the surface. Deft hands worked in steady motions, pooling out breaths of focused air as you pulled the weapon apart.

Your mind had been elsewhere for some time, thoughts scrambled by dull static while you sat atop that building, sparking not even an ounce of a reaction out of you as you pulled the trigger. Instead of confirming your kill, you pulled the sniper back, silently disappearing as soon as you’d arrived.

The visions had been relentless. When you closed your eyes, you saw horrified faces and snow white bandages stained red, the scent of gore and death so evident, so real that you choked on your breath. And you saw yourself, watching Soap and Gaz carry him away, earning nothing but stale breathing from blood coated nostrils.

You’d been told he had a 15% chance of survival. That was, before you left to finish Hassan and the cartel. It was said that chance would rise to at least 70 with a blood transfusion. They advised against it, you were taking his job, steady aim was more important that everything else. Just a little missing blood could have thrown off your aim, let one of the world’s most notorious terrorists walking free after dropping a missile on the Pentagon.

You did it anyways, taking the gamble that the doctors wouldn’t tell Price. Guess it paid off well — well enough for the rest of the world, anyway.

A quiet clink shuffled against styrofoam as you placed the last part of the sniper rifle in the briefcase, smoothing over the scope with your hand before shutting it and flipping the locks closed.

It was one thing to be a hero.

And another to be a killer.

The vision of Ghost wasn’t the only nightmare that haunted you since it happened. Graves, the blood, his blood on your hands; the .50 round of your Deagle in his chest.

His funeral wasn’t special, at least from what you’d heard. Your failure to show resulted in a brief visit some few hours after, placing the Desert Eagle beside the small pile of tempered soil that covered him. Ironically enough, it had been more like a late return.. you’d almost forgotten the pistol was originally his.

The door to your temporary apartment clicked shut, leaving you to the garage, and a brand new Porsche, one of the many thanks of service from the military for your success in killing Hassan. If only they knew about Shepherd, the Shadows.. Makarov.

Almost 15 hours and 2 full tanks of gas later led you to the coast of New England, “Her lady Boston” as specifically named by Price. The TSF had a good majority of their American warehouses here, probably as close to the UK as they could get.

Your legs fell limp as you let off the brakes for the last time, shifting into park before leaning your head back against the headrest. A few stretches later and you were off to a small facility on the edge of the city, steadily welcome to the chirp of seagulls and scent of the Atlantic.

An automated door and a cool gust of wind welcomed you to the inside, nodding a greeting to the receptionist before heading for the lounge. Upon seeing Soap, Gaz, and Price, you waved, to which all stopped their conversation and turned your way.

“Aye, if it isn’t the infamous Cobra.” Soap snarked, ruffling your hair with a smile. “Welcome to New England.”

“There’s a whole lot to do here.” Gaz added, giving you a pat on the back. “Hope you’ll hang with us a little.”

Lastly, you glanced over to Price who had just finished putting out his cigar, nodding to you before pulling you into a quick side hug.

“Good to see you, kiddo.”

You breathed out a small sigh of acknowledgment before sliding into the seat beside him, setting your briefcase beside your foot.

“What have you guys been up to?”

Soap and Gaz glanced at each other, then to Price, who shrugged.

“We’ve just been laying low for now.” Soap answered, following a nod from Gaz. “Waiting for Laswell to dig up what she can on Makarov.”

“Shit, Makarov..” Your fingers drifted along the table, the image of Price’s face upon looking at the man’s picture popping into your head. “And Shepherd?”

“As much as I’d like to go after him, the bastard’s untouchable right now.”

You nodded, figuring going after Shepherd would be a waste of time in this state. You’d need a whole lot of evidence to even begin to prove his guilt, and right now, you had none.

“You should get goin’, it’s bad to keep a geezer like him waiting.” Price’s voice rose to your ears, motioning a finger to your briefcase. “Room 24.”

“Thanks.”

Wood steadily creaked under your shoes as you set off in the direction Price had pointed to, briefcase wrapped tightly around your fingers. The hairs on your neck rose with each step down the hallway, forcing you to look down while fiddling with the keys in your other hand. No one had seen him for days beside the doctors, and not even they had permission to say anything regarding his condition.

The sound of the key turning in the doorknob made you step away, running a hand against the clammy skin on your face before placing it on the door.

A hushed creak followed your first step into the room, streaks of harsh light from the hallway clashing against the dim world inside. Your eyes fell into a squint at the loss of light from shutting the door, kicking your shoes off before taking a few steps forward. Seeing as there was nowhere else to go but the kitchen and bathroom, you peaked around the corner to what you presumed was the bedroom, gaze landing on a partially shadowed figure sitting on the edge of the bed.

The sound of the briefcase hitting the floor roused his attention, bringing his features to the light as you flicked the nightstand lamp on.

Part of you wished you hadn’t. Maybe it would’ve been smarter to leave the briefcase and go.

You bit back a grimace at the sight. Your eyes shut momentarily, blinking a few times, unsure then if you even be sure you were looking at Ghost. Throughout all the injuries, all the years, this was the worst you had seen him, less harsh on the eyes, almost.. small. His gaze mirrored that of a sick child, taking in the pure look of visual disgust reflecting your irises.

You weren’t really disgusted, but it sure looked that way.

“Just came to drop off your rifle.”

The words came out in a simple, quick murmur. You turned to leave, biting back a hitch of your breath at the hand clasping around your wrist.

Damn, he was fast.

Silence was quick to latch onto the atmosphere, dripping an uncomfortable buzz into the hand that held you. Your eyes glanced upward, taking in the sight of defiantly cold irises stricken with something.. unusual, the very sight itself turning discomfort to panic.

“Why?”

You blinked up at him, confusion evidently spreading across your features. That question could’ve meant anything, especially now, you’d done a lot of questionable things in the past few weeks. Whatever it was had his eyes shot open, looking like he was seeing a reflection of himself in the mirror.

And maybe he was. Maybe you being here wasn’t good for him.

“Why aren’t you angry?” He grabbed your shoulders, voice hoarse despite the lack of words spoken. “Why did you save me?”

The pure silence of the world around you gave way to a sliver of a crack in his voice at the dying syllables.

“It’s my fault Graves is dead.”

“No.” Your hands grasped at his forearms, feeling them shake through his jacket. “It was my choice.”

Your choice. You said you’d chosen him, and you did.

You’d never anticipated a happy ending after getting closure, but this — this wasn’t what you’d been anticipating. You never expected him to say thank you for saving his life, but you couldn’t wrap your head around why he was looking at you like you killed him.

“I betrayed Graves, and I killed him.” You continued. “Wanna take a good guess why?

Denial flashed through the whites of his eyes, causing him to let go of you, rubbing his hands across his mask.

“Don’t-“

Too late. You roughly snatched his arms, tearing them away from his face before sticking one of your fingers to rest against his throat.

“I did it because I fell in i-“

Your sentence molded into a mere mumble as his right hand cupped over your mouth, his posture gradually folding with each waking second.

“Don’t say something you’ll regret.”

You could feel his hand jittering against your skin, giving away what his eyes tried desperately to hide. And you saw right through it, the anticipation stowed away deep beneath seas of lifeless umber, practically begging to break free. So you placed your hand over his, slowly prying your mouth free before folding your fingers against his.

“If that’s not what you want to hear, I won’t say it.”

When you break Ghost down, Simon Riley is an open book. Right now, his pages of vulnerability were on full display, allowing you to run a hand along his arm, stopping to squeeze at the shoulder. Upon hearing a quit hiss of pain push through his lips, you’d knew Simon Riley was fully yours.

“So, what do you want, Simon?”

A shuddered breath heeded your question, eyes screwing shut as you ran your fingers everywhere they’d go, stopping to rest at the hem of his sweatpants. When you shifted to move, his eyes shot open, grasping your arm to keep you there.

“You.” He breathed, drooping down to rest his forehead against yours. “Always wanted you, Cobra.”

Years of built up tension… insufferable hatred, snapped. Just like that.

Before you could continue to move, Simon broke out into a rather violent coughing fit, leading you to usher him to the edge of his bed. Your hand drifted down to his pants once more, lightly prodding at his clothed erection to alleviate the tension in his upper chest. Seeing as it worked, you pushed him further into the sheets before climbing up yourself, gently moving to straddle his thigh.

The groan he let out at the pressure almost roused a smirk from your end, yet you stuck to lightly dragging yourself against his leg. Your hand groped softly at his dick, watching as his gaze rose up to the ceiling.

“You like that, huh?”

A partially coherent “yes” made its way to your ears, the slight whimper in his tone causing you to bite back a moan. Your own arousal became evident in the partially damp feeling of your clit digging into the fabrics of his pants, the warmth of the skin under threatening to make you drool.

Short, quiet breaths filled the air as your hand worked on rubbing along the base of his clothed erection, earning a muffled noise of suppressed pleasure from him every time your fingers grazed over the right spot. You gnawed at your lips as one of his hands lifted up, loosely grasping your hair while you rocked back and forth on his thigh.

“You like this.”

He shrugged, spare hand moving to run along the hem of your pants, the press of his cool hands against your skin drawing a gasp from your lips.

“You do too.”

You watched as his eyes gradually darkened with each ministration, sweet moans melting into rough groans and curses. It was almost like a switch, how fast he could go from Simon Riley to Ghost. The pure sight of his now bored looking gaze instinctively made you dig your nails into his cock before the pleasure built up too much, eliciting a sharp breath from him in the process. At the same time, he twitched under your fingertips, hips subconsciously jutting into your hands, silently begging you to go faster.

And faster you went, scratching and squeezing coarse groans of pleasure from behind the mask. You got off at the same pace, letting out a low whine as your lower abdomen began to cloud with heat.

“That’s it, cum for me, lovie.” Ghost encouraged, lightly tugging on a handful of your hair. “I’ll be right after you.”

A gravely moan pushed its way out from the back of your throat as you came, completely soaking the fabric underneath you. True to his words, he was cumming just seconds later, a warm patch of seed turning the base of his crotch a deeper shade of grey.

You had no time to regain your breath, as Ghost was already pushing a hand into your pants, rudely shoving your underwear to the side before stroking his pointer finger down your folds. A deep inhale passed him at the feeling of your arousal coating his fingers, encouraging him to being an extra finger in to you with your clit.

“Soaking wet.”

Your eyes threatened to roll at the cocky gaze irises carried, clearly proud of the power he held over you. Yet, he clearly wasn’t over his own pleasure, as two of his fingers were quick to stuff themselves into your pussy, swirling around your walls as they began to pump into you.

“How does that feel?” He asked, dragging his fingers in and out of you, horribly, agonizingly slow. “Got something on your mind, don’t you?”

“Too slow.” You mumbled, fingers sinking into the cool fabric of his jacket at the complete stop of movement. “Don’t- tease me.”

A hum answered your commands, returning his fingers into your leaking pussy at a much faster pace. His fingers grew increasingly slick with each pump until he was practically nailing you, eyes glazing over with pleasure as your fingers delved under his hood, raking blazing lines over ice cold skin.

“Fuck-“ He groaned, head tilting to look up at you as his fingers relentlessly fucked your hole. “Cum again for me, dirty girl.”

Your legs clamped around his arms, crying out in pleasure as you gave into your second orgasm, coating his fingers in a generous amount of slick. Your teeth grit together as he swapped hands, pushing into you with his other set of fingers, raising the others up show you just how much you’d soaked him. Then, he beckoned your hand toward his mask, allowing you to expose his mouth as he slipped his fingers between his lips, tongue wrapping around the sickeningly sweet taste of you.

Those same fingers gently pushed into your mouth after he’d had his fill, making you lap up his saliva as his fingers swirled around the front of your throat. You bit down on your cheek as his fingers slipped out of your mouth and back into your pants, not bothering to hold your legs apart as he started to rub at your clit.

“Mmph, Ghost..” you sighed, hands running along the irritated expanse of his back. “You feel so good.”

“Taking my fingers so well.” He muttered, nipping at your neck through the mask. “Think you can take my cock?”

“You already know the answer to that- shit.”

Your eyes shut tight at the rush of another orgasm building up in you, waves of pleasure messily sloshing in their threats to spill again. Just as you’d thought you’d gotten used to it, Ghost roughly curled his fingers upward, snapping the dangerously thin thread sitting in your abdomen.

“FUCK!” You groaned, shuddering as Ghost fully pulled his fingers out of you, allowing yet another wave of your juices to pool against his pants.

The quiet drag of his sweatpants rustled in your ear, following your own pants being peeled off of your legs, and tossed behind on the floor. You watched as he dragged his boxers down, running a hand along his dick before taking hold of your shoulders and settling you against the pillows perched against the headboard.

And then he stopped. The flash of uncertainty in his eyes clear as the sunny skies of New England.

“Is this the last time I’ll see you?”

Your eyes parted at the sudden question, the burning desire of your answer present in his still, solid gaze. You glanced to the side, thinking about the mere handful of suitcases carrying your life’s worth sitting against your apartment door in Chicago, ready to go on your word. The decision was sure before you came here; leave the Task Force, rebuild your life brick by boring brick.

Yet, when you looked into the ever-longing window of vacance in Ghost — Simon Riley’s eyes, that thought went straight out the window.

However, there was no forgetting the terrors that seethed around him, igniting his very being in a fearful light. You knew it better than anyone else, and as long as you lived around him, you’d be plucking hopes off of a no leaf clover, trapped with the living, breathing nightmare that was Simon Riley.

“I don’t know.”

Maybe you liked the horror, the constant reminders of your failure to stay loyal settling in each crevice of your mind as you woke up covered in sweat, vocal chords arid from screaming.

And Ghost? Oh, he’d fallen deep into it with you now.

Some would’ve called it love.

Others called it getting by.

As much as he hated the uncertainty wavering in your answer, Ghost couldn’t bring himself to stop, stop touching you, stop looking at you. Each flutter of your sweat stained eyelashes made him want to scream, to cry and beg for you to stay with him until he was nothing but a forgotten pile of bones six feet under.

He buried those feelings deep inside your weeping pussy, bottoming out against your walls before dragging himself out, hissing at the way you sucked him in. Meanwhile, you were fighting back the tears that pricked at the corner of your eyes as he relentlessly stretched open your overly sensitive walls, crying out at each full piston of his cock.

This was the misery, a feeling worse than any torture you’d ever endured. The absence of light in your fall from grace, leaving you a shell of the strong soldier you once were, a barely living, coldly breathing shadow. That shadow had spread to every part of you, poisoning your mind with acidic waves of remorse as you continued to be reminded of how you failed to save the man you loved. It was horrible, killing him with your own hands to cover up your failure to change.

You were horrible. And so was he.

Your body screamed at the sloppy thrusts of his cock, in, and out. Tears had long since began dragging down your face, painting the world in a static haze as you threw your head back, crying out at the painfully pleasant drags of his dick, carelessly abusing your pussy.

Maybe horrible wasn’t so bad, anymore. As long as it came with the face of bone white splattered on aged black, and the cold, broken soul that stared at you from behind it.

What felt like your twentieth orgasm hit you with crippling force, starving the air from your lungs as you screamed in grim bliss. Ghost continued to hammer into your sweet spot, chasing his own high and coaxing you back into yours just as fast. What was once slightly ragged breathing had bred animalistic pants, following a bruising grip of his hands on your thighs to keep you steady.

“If you leave.” He spit out, groaning at the sudden clench of your walls around him. “Promise me something.”

You feverishly nodded, pitifully clawing at the abuses of your nails on his back as his pace picked up. A strangled moan spilled from his lips as he painted your insides white, soothing the scorching burn with thick ropes of his seed.

The pull out was gentle, leaving you devoid of him yet so full as he lifted a hand, brushing stray strands of hair away from your eyes.

“Promise you won’t forget me, sweetheart.”

The request pooled out soft, a mere rumble finding it’s way pushed out of strained vocal chords. You thought it was the most beautiful thing — his voice, his body, everything about him seemed like a gift from heaven itself in your infernal world. And even though most of his body was covered, your eyes still fell victim to the mesmerizing sight of the glistening smudges of aged paint, glazed over with a heavy coat of sweat.

He’d never looked so bewitching. The sight alone enough to hound each waking memory and follow you until your last breath. And as long as you breathed, you would hold it with you like a fleeting spark of bliss.

“Promise me.”

His voice rang out again, practically begging for you to say something, anything. You looked at his eyes, taking the barren, so lifeless yet lively plain of his gaze, reflecting the sight of a breezy, cloudless day.

“I promise.”

If crossing empty skies was all this pitiful life had left for you, you would do it over, and over again, and never look back.

#arqhms #arqhmsthirst #call of duty #call of duty modern warfare #cod mw22 #ghost mw2 #ghost x reader #simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley x reader #ghost smut #simon riley x reader #simon riley #simon riley smut #simon riley fanfic

[serverusslaype]

Shameless, pt. 3

snape x professor!reader fic

Shameless Masterpost

hey yall B) it's time for part 3.. i'm hoping i've done this chapter justice, though i am a little doubtful, only because this was sort of a filler chapter, it doesnt have muchhh plottt.... i just love the hateful/resentful relationship between the reader and snape at the moment, does that make me toxic lmao? :( </3

there is not much else to say, so i hope you enjoy this next part, honestly i have no idea how many parts there is going to be, i'm sort of writing it until i'm happy with what happens sort of thing.

anyway, it's lights out and away we goooo!! (if you get this reference i love u)

The chilly, biting air blew through you like a windstorm as you rushed to catch up with the strawberry-blonde author, the adrenaline that was pumping through you doing most of the work. Without a beat, you reached Lockhart, your hand colliding with his chest as you pushed him into a shadowed area; his back - once again - slamming against the wall with a thud.

A look of shock and complete, utter fear was spread on the Gilderoy's face as you pointed your wand in his sorry face. "As I was saying before, Lockhart," you growled, prodding the tip of your wand into his chest, "If you ever pull that shit again, I will not hesitate to have you removed from this school." You huffed, clenching your jaw. Gods, you could kill him, honestly! "What in the ever sweet-loving hell were you thinking? A student could have been harmed!" You hissed at the man, who had now composed himself. Honestly, you were holding back from hexing him. "Actually, Longbottom almost was!" You added, fire in your eyes.

"I'm sorry, truly, I am." Lockhart said guardedly, watching you with cautious eyes as you stepped back to give him some space. "It wasn't my intention, I promise you-"

"Incompetence is not tolerated at Hogwarts, Lockhart, believe me." You warned him, allowing yourself to calm down a little bit. You might've gotten a little carried away.

"Understandably." Lockhart replied, his eyes flicking between yours and your wand

"I'm glad we have an understanding." You said coldly and gestured for him to leave. If you looked at him again, you were worried you might lose your cool. You'd never gotten so angry with someone before, but placing students in harms way because of a stupid mistake truly pisses you off. It's shameful.

The crunch of Lockhart's boots against the ground faded out into the cold, bitter air as he scurried away. You stood still for a moment to gather yourself and your thoughts, running a stressed hand through your long hair.

"Feel better?" A sudden deep, husky voice came from behind you. You almost jumped out of your skin as you spun around to find Snape, equipped with an amused smirk on his white face as he relished in your fright.

"Bloody hell, Snape!" You scoffed, throwing a hand against your chest. Where did he come from, didn't he leave earlier? Was he following me? You wondered to yourself, a suspicious frown landing on your face. That familiar burning sensation began to creep up onto your cheeks and neck as you looked at him.

"For a Hufflepuff, you're certainly… fiery." The corner of his lips quirked upwards as he clasped his hands behind his back. You swallowed thickly as he stepped towards you, your heart beginning to pound again once more. "Perhaps the sorting hat made a grave mistake all those years ago." He added, articulating each word perfectly, tilting his head at you. You rolled your eyes at him, standing your ground. You refused to let him intimidate you again. You were equals now, and you wanted him to treat you like one. Snape's face twisted into a taunting sneer. "After witnessing your reckless yet, dare I say, impressive outburst, you would have made a fine Slytherin student."

"Oh, what an honour." You groaned sarcastically. What a backhanded… compliment? You weren't sure. Despite your confident facade, you could feel the walls you'd built crumbling as Snape leaned forwards at you, his lips curling into a face of disgust at your reply. "I am not selfish, nor arrogant. I would rather put others before myself." A rush of anxiety washed through you, like you'd just missed a step on the stairs.

"Ah yes, the most obvious downfall of Hufflepuffs. Selflessness." Snape smirked at you. He was clearly enjoying how easy it was to get under your skin and irritate you. Gods, he was driving you crazy, and you honestly didn't want to know whether it was the good or bad way.

Most definitely the latter, let's be serious here. "Ah yes, truly sorry that we also value people other than ourselves." You mocked the Potions Master, secretly desiring a reaction from him. Though, he didn't say anything, he only kept the smug smirk on his lips, his eyes narrowing at you as he studied you. It's like he knew what you wanted and he refused to give it to you.

The silence was deafening, and it was making you squirm underneath his nose. You hated the way he could command a moment perfectly.

"A brave little thing, aren't you?" Snape said. Little thing? Who did he think he was?

"Why did you follow me, Snape?" You questioned him, ignoring his demeaning insult. You were curious as to why he followed you, surely there were better things to do than pursue the Herbology professor. "I was merely curious as to why you took off at such speed." He answered matter-of-factly.

"Hm," You clenched your jaw, "and were you satisfied with your findings?" You asked tauntingly. Your breath hitched as he stepped towards you again, making you step backwards until your back hit the wall. Your chest was quite obviously heaving at this point, and you were doubtful it was to do with your frustration.

The wizard stared at you for a beat, observing your movements. "It doesn't bode well for you to be found reprimanding your colleagues, Professor L/N." Snape simply said, disregarding your previous question

"I believe you would think different, had you seen what I did, Snape." You replied with a frown. "Pixies were flying freely in his class, causing utter chaos and torment to the students- I mean, they'd hung Longbottom by the hood of his cloak on the chandelier!"

"Lockhart will not last here, we both know that, L/N." Snape declared, leaning back slightly, as if to back off from you. The hostility in him was still present, though. "As for Longbottom, I'm not surprised. That boy is always finding himself in perilous situations." He added, glancing to the right momentarily with a look of disgust. He looked back at you, sending your heart into a rapid beat once more. "I suggest you keep your nose out of things that don't concern you."

"Lockhart came to me." You laughed dryly, offended that he'd assumed you were drawn to the drama. "He came to me for help."

"Poor choice, clearly." Snape sneered. You opened your mouth to bite back at him. "However, possibly a smart move. Choosing the faculty fledgling. Easy to use. Though, evidently, Lockhart did not possess the foresight to see that it would backfire on him. He clearly misjudged your… spunky character." He continued, making you snort. He cocked a questioning brow at the noise. "Do not mistake me, I did take pleasure in watching you admonish that blundering fool."

You were shocked to say the least, to actually hear something positive fall from Snape's lips. Did he really just say that? You stood there, dumbfounded, staring up at him.

"You look startled, Professor L/N," The Potions Master smirked down at you. Understandably, you were speechless. "Is it such a foreign concept for you to hear me speak well of you?"

"I'm astounded that you're surprised by that. It's a rare occasion that you dish out positive feedback, let alone compliments. I thought you were more self-aware than this, Snape." You said, feigning confusion. Snape's smugness was soon wiped clean as another more familiar facial expression of his took residence upon his features - a stone-cold glare

You couldn't help the tiny smile that tugged at the corners of your lips, an unusual warmth blooming in your stomach. Yes, you were truly taking pride in successfully insulting Severus Snape - at this point, who wouldn't?

"Touché." Snape glared at you. Another moment of silence passed through you and Snape as you stared each other down. It was weirdly intimate, again. The two of you seemed to be forming a habit of this.

Snape was the first to break. You gasped softly as the Potions Master swiftly swept away from you, his cloak billowing out behind him like a wave that refused to break. You've come to understand that goodbyes are not in Snape's vocabulary.

Watching him walk down the hallway, you presumed to his quarters, you let your head fall back against the wall behind you. A quiet sigh of relief fell from your lips. You weren't sure how long you could keep up this hateful mask to hide your blooming affection for him. It was easier to pretend that you hated him, even though he sometimes did nearly push you to that extreme.

A week or so went by without another close encounter with Snape, and you were surprisingly content with that fact. It gave you time to process everything and most importantly - settle into your new position as the Herbology professor. You'd partially seen him in the Great Hall for breakfast, lunch and dinner, or whilst walking in the hallways but you never evoked a conversation with him. You acknowledged him with a polite nod, but that was it.

After that unorthodox interaction with him in the hallway that night, the hostility had simmered down between you two. Sure, he was bound to say something tongue-in-cheek soon enough, but you'd avoided him because of that risk, and also to do with the fact that your crush on him was truly growing out of your control. You were just hoping he didn't notice.

Today was a Saturday, and it was around ten o'clock or so in the morning. Since you had no classes today, you thought you'd complete an inventory check, to replace and monitor the levels of herbs and other plant bits and bobs you had. You'd just finished four classes worth of grading after starting at eight o'clock, so you were craving something practical, really. The constant repetitiveness of reading the same thing over and over again almost sent you into an eternal slumber. No Wiggenweld or Wideye potion could have saved you.

As you dug through your cabinets in your greenhouse, you noticed some things were missing. "Huh." You muttered to yourself, sitting back on your haunches, observing the storage unit. You leaned forwards and rummaged through it again, assuming you'd miscounted.

No, you weren't wrong. Things were missing.

Billywig stings, Chinese chomping cabbage, dandelion roots, dittany… Your nose scrunched up in slight annoyance as your mind immediately thought of Snape. McGonagall did mention at the beginning of the year that he might snoop through your cabinets and take some ingredients for his Potions classes. You just didn't expect him to take this much.

Luckily for him, you were in a pleasant mood, so you weren't inclined to scold him for stealing from you, but rather just have a word. Not that he'd care if you did choose to berate him.

You sighed as you stood up from kneeling, your hands brushing off your now dusty skirt. Off you go, to the damp and dingy dungeons - not particularly one of your favourite places at Hogwarts. The weather had really changed over the past few days, it was now nearing the end of September, and so the rain and clouds had really started to take hold. As of right now, it was quite dark and dingy outside, the clouds almost black, like a warning to stay inside. You groaned at the depressing sight. Spring was your favourite season of the year, of course, being a Herbologist.

Quickly scurrying out of your greenhouse, across the outside courtyards and towards an entrance to the castle, your hand rose up to protect your head as a drizzle of rain started to fall. Reluctantly making your way to where Professor Snape resided, a rush of anxiety and butterflies stirred in your stomach. Was this a bad idea? Probably. Were you going to turn back? Possibly.

As you neared the spiral staircase down to the dungeons, a sick feeling gathered within you. Almost like a gut feeling. Perhaps this was a bad idea. You stopped in your tracks for a moment, torn between the desire of running away back to your greenhouse, pretending like you had no clue that Snape had been in your greenhouse and taken some things, and the desire of giving him a piece of your mind, respectfully, of course.

You shook your head to yourself, as if to rid your mind of your doubts, and so you carried on downwards, the smell of damp earth and what seemed to be decaying stone, interwoven with fresh moss. It wasn't too pleasant, but it was bearable, and it reeled you back to your time at Hogwarts when you used to travel down here for your Potions classes with none other than the brooding Professor Snape himself.

Your nose scrunched up as you thought back to the amount of times he had berated you in class for messing up such simple instructions, but you just weren't cut out to be a potioneer; Herbology was your calling.

You hesitated on the last step of the stairs, suddenly regretting your idea of paying the Bat a visit. Fuck it, you thought. You needed to establish some sort of boundaries.

A voice pulled you from your thoughts as you halted your body.

"Professor L/N," Snape's recognisable deep baritone rang out in the dark, gloomy hallway of the dungeons. His tone was almost questioning. It was a given, considering you were not a common passer-by in the dungeons. Thinking about it, this was probably your first time down here in a long time. His lips just uttering your name sent a chill down your spine. You cursed yourself for that. You had to squint slightly to spot his tall, broad and black figure in the shadows, partially illuminated by the torchlights hung against the walls.

"Professor Snape," You greeted back awkwardly. He stood straight, face adorned with his usual cold stare, one hand falling from the knob of his classroom door and moving to clasp his other behind his back. He was clearly waiting for you to explain your reasoning as to why you were down here, but you were sure he had inkling as to why. He wasn't stupid. "Erm." Your mind went blank. This was fucking embarrassing.

You glanced up at Snape, watching him tilt his head at you. He was silent. He was obviously enjoying your squirming as you tried to think of something to say to him.

"I've noticed some things missing from my cabinets." You finally said, trying to push aside the waves of embarrassment that were currently flooding your body. "I'm presuming it's you taking the ingredients?" You questioned quietly, avoiding the risk of conflict with Snape again. As much as it's fun to push his buttons, you did not have the energy this morning.

"Good observation." Snape said blankly, stalking towards you slowly. You felt your heart pick up in speed as another rush of anxiety ran through you.

"I appreciate the fact that you need them for your lessons, but I'd also appreciate the fact if you'd at least tell me." You said politely, desperate to keep the conversation calm and somewhat civil, watching nervously as he walked closer to you. You forgot how intimidating he could be when you weren't fueled by adrenaline and rage.

Snape cocked a brow at you, his eyes narrowing a tad as he studied your face. Your eyes were partially widened, lips parted to some degree. It was a very drastic change from the angry one he'd witnessed in the hallway.

"Would you like me to leave you a poem, and a cookie, too?" Snape teased you with a haughty look, purposefully provoking you. A quiet sigh slipped your lips as you rolled your eyes. That familiar mixture of irritation and lust rushed through your body.

"And here I thought we could have a civil conversation." You said bitterly, looking up into his dark, almost black eyes. Your cheeks burned hotter as you stared up at him. Snape was silent for a moment as he watched you. There was that rage again, bubbling inside you.

"How foolish of you." He simply said, that common amused smirk tugging at his lips. You felt your fists ball again, your nails digging painfully into your palms. This was a mistake for sure, you were in such a good mood today, and one visit to Snape had unravelled that. Gods, he was such an ass.

"Clearly." You bit back, venom sizzling in your voice. Snape's brow quirked at your tone, his eyes flicking between yours, as if trying to read your thoughts.

"If you have come to lecture me on my habits, Professor L/N, then you have come in vain." Snape said, looking down at you, observing your restless movements.

"Why? Too far up your own ass to accommodate other people's wishes?" You challenged him, though, you slightly regretted your choice of words almost immediately. Sometimes, you wondered how this man made you lose your temper and the leash on your tongue so easily.

"You are way out of your depth here, L/N." Snape warned you, his voice darkening.

Yeah, you were fully aware of that. Though, being the stubborn person you were, you refused to back down from Snape. This also seemed to be becoming a habit.

"Perhaps," you noted, quirking your lip, "or am I just making a good observation?" The rush of adrenaline pumped through you again, prompting your brave and daring words. You did not want to make an enemy out of Snape, but his rude and unnecessary comments were starting to grate against your patience. A beat of silence passed over the two of you before he spoke again.

"Will that be all, Professor L/N?" Snape glared at you, his patience wearing thin with you. The wizard's voice was harsh, almost biting. Maybe you really did piss him off this time. As much as you wanted to continue throwing insults at him to satisfy your own selfish needs, you should really take this moment to leave. Avoid making things worse, no?

"In truth, no," You shook your head at him, prompting a roll of his eyes. You clenched your jaw at his reaction. "I'd like it if you did actually leave a note or something along those lines to let me know what you've taken and used." You said calmly, trying to avoid another bout of conflict with Snape. The two of you seemed to butt heads constantly, probably due to your rather obvious differences.

"Yes, yes. I'll be sure to do that the next time I require your herbs or plants." Snape replied curtly, seemingly a little tired of this conversation.

Your face quickly twisted into a contortion of shock and confusion.

"…Okay… thank you?" You stumbled, frowning suspiciously at him. So, he just accepts your demand? Like that? Is this what it's like to be treated as an equal? Whatever you could get, you were going to take it. Just bite the bullet and leave, you thought. This was it.

Or was this some sort of mind-fuck?

"Do not thank me." Snape scoffed, his hands still clasped behind his back menacingly. Ah, no, there it was, you thought. 'Thank you' did not exist in his vocabulary either, then?

"So close, yet so far." You muttered amusedly, tilting your head at Snape curiously. You waited for another glare from him for being a smart-arse, but instead, Snape's lips quirked up into a smirk - an amused one at that.

It was a weird interaction. But with Snape, things were going to be weird; he wasn't a normal person. You'd be beating a dead horse if you wanted him to act like an average human being.

In secret, over the past few encounters with you, he'd grown respect to you - albeit a little - but it was enough. Satisfactory. In regards to the tongue-in-cheek, bordering offensive comments that fell from his lips, he only tended to push your buttons because you made it so easy for him, he found it rather entertaining to get under your skin and irritate you. In fact, it was highly amusing to him. For all his time at Hogwarts, it was refreshing to have someone that could keep up with his remarks and keep him on his toes, however annoying you may become. Although, he would never admit that to you… unless poisoned with Veritaserum.

"I have some grading to do." Snape announced, breaking the silence and your train of thought, continuing to stare down at you, inferring that he was indeed leaving now. You swallowed, nodding. The air surrounding you two was… weird, you couldn't put your finger on it. It wasn't uncomfortable, but it also wasn't comfortable.

"Likewise, Snape."

"Severus," he corrected you, narrowing his eyes, "you may call me Severus. We are, after all… colleagues now." Severus said, hesitating like he was almost inclined to say equals. You felt your heart leap into your mouth at the correction and you blinked quickly, a little taken aback at how he had suddenly changed. It was like you'd finally broken through his first defences and possibly earned some sort of respect. Perhaps he was testing you those past times, seeing how far you'd go, seeing if you'd break down and leave Hogwarts because of his relentless and cruel remarks. Nonetheless, you persevered through it and came out on top, despite the probable heightened blood pressure caused by the frustration and stress he gave you.

Still speechless from what he'd said, you stared up at him with big, wide eyes. "I suppose you may call me Y/N." You said quietly, your cheeks beginning to tint pink again from the intense gaze the two of you were holding. There it is, you inwardly groaned as your body betrayed you in front of Severus once again. At this point, there was more chance of you becoming the Minister of Magic than hiding your feelings. It was only going to get worse, you thought helplessly.

Severus tilted his head at you for a moment, observing you before swiftly turning around with a dramatic twirl of his cloak and floating into his office, the door shutting behind him with a heavy thud.

What a start to the year this has been…

ok so there's part 3, i'm not quite sure if i like how it ended, but i'll keep it for now. i do like the part where they exchange first names, sort of like the first bit of them tolerating each other B)

-> next on the agenda, the dueling club scene because that is just too good not to include omg. might change it up a bit tho.. we shall see!

this was lowkey an unintentional enemies to lovers fic i wont lie lmfao

once again thank you for reading, if you enjoyed it please let me know!! 🩷

part 4

taglist:

@a-laufeyson

@emilynissangtr

@livillain00

@meowskii

@nooneeveryonenoone

#pro severus snape #severus x reader #severus snape x reader #pro snape #pro severus #snape x reader #severus snape x professor!reader #professor severus snape x reader #professor snape #professor!reader #harry potter #hp fandom #hp #hp fanfic #severus snape #snape #snape fandom #severus snape fandom #snapedom

[apomaro-mellow]

By some miracle, Steve was able to carry Eddie's corpse through the gate. It was a great weight, not just physically but emotionally. Steve had never....he'd had brushes with death sure but never actually touched...it didn't matter. What did matter was that Eddie wasn't exactly dead as it turned out.

The forces that controlled the Upside Down were unexplainable and also had shit timing. Because sometime between Steve confirming that was no pulse and Eddie's funeral, a change had occurred.

Wayne made it open casket, which was pretty lucky because otherwise they wouldn't have caught it. When people were allowed the come up and view the body to say their final goodbyes, Steve went up with Dustin. Wayne looked on solemnly, knowing Dustin rather well but still being pretty much a stranger to Steve. Dustin was beside himself, tears streaming down for the entire service and blurring his vision.

It was always harder for Steve to make the tears come, no matter how distraught he was. But with his eyes clear, he was able to see just the tiniest movement of Eddie's eyes under his lids. And then the teeniest lift of a lid, as if trying to catch a peek.

Holy shit Eddie was alive.

Holy shit there was a room full of people who thought he was dead.

Holy shit there was a town outside this room who thought he was a devil worshipper.

Steve cleared his throat. "Can I have a moment alone with him?", he asked Wayne but Dustin was the one that responded in confusion.

"You?", he said through sniffles.

"I'm the one that....found him, remember? I just wanna apologize for not getting there in time."

Dustin was quick to say Steve wasn't at fault and that he should've been the quicker one but Steve hushed him, and gently pushed him away. Wayne still looked skeptical, wanting to protect his nephew even when physical harms were no danger to him anymore.

"Please?", Steve begged.

Only then did Wayne leave to sit back down. Now it was just Steve and Eddie. Steve leaned in closer, like he was whispering an apology to the deceased.

"I know you're not dead."

"Yeah, no shit", Eddie hissed in a raspy voice.

Steve had so many questions his head was spinning, least of all how Eddie got through the embalming process but the important part was figuring out how to get him out of here. And there didn't seem to be a perfect plan to put to action.

"How long can you hold your breath?"

"Not really a problem for me anymore", Eddie confessed.

"Great. See you in six hours."

Steve was sure if he could, Eddie would've launched out and reached for him not to go. So he had to mentally commend him on his restraint.

Nothing could be done in a room full of people, even if more than half of them knew of the crazy shit that went down. So the only course of action was to wait until nightfall and dig Eddie out. He could explain to the others while they were waiting for the time to pass.

----------------------------

True to his word, six hours later, Steve, Dustin, Jonathan, and Mike were out in the cemetary after hours, digging into Eddie's fresh grave. The moment the casket was free and popped open Eddie jolted from it like a livewire and latched onto the first person he saw, Steve.

"You came back for me", Eddie was panting despite not having a need for air anymore. "Twice."

Steve swallowed, having dropped his shovel to put his arms around Eddie. "Yeah. 'Course. Always." He felt Eddie's hand come up the back of his neck and felt his pulse race.

"Uhh, since when are you two this buddy-buddy?", Mike asked.

Steve rolled his eyes, moment, or whatever had been happening ruined. Eddie finally looked to the others but didn't immediately pull away from Steve.

"I see that you still have that stick up your ass Wheeler."

"HOLY SHIT!" Dustin screamed into the night before pouncing, nearly taking both grown men down in his exuberance. Steve was just barely able to pull away to let the other two embrace.

Dustin was holding onto Eddie like a life line. If it had been hard for Steve to carry Eddie's then-dead body, actually seeing the cause and cradling him as he died must've done terrible things for Dustin.

Jonathan, ever the pragmatist, had already begun refilling the grave. "You know, we probably could've figured something out at the funeral if you let us in on this, Steve."

"And deny this drama queen the honor of literally rising from the grave? How could I?", Steve pointed out as he started to help Jonathan. "That's how you would've wanted it, right Eddie?"

Eddie was still soothing Dustin by rubbing his back as he spoke. "I definitely could've done without the sitting in tight, closed, darkness for hours but it gave me some time to come up with a killer album idea." And if that idea included being saved by a chivalrous white knight, well that could be kept close to the chest until he actualized it.

#apo writes #stranger things #fanfiction #steddie #dustin henderson #kas!eddie #steve harrington #eddie munson

[ravenna-reid]

"I Mean No Harm" "I Know."

Leon Kennedy x Ex-UmbrellaAgent!Reader

WARNINGS: violence, blood, swearing, bullying, but mostly fluff hehe

Whispers had circulated of the new agent that had been recruited. 

How could it have possibly been allowed? How was the academy so tempered about hiring her? Either way, it didn’t matter what anyone else thought. You were here now and the academy was eager to use someone as skilled, loyal, and reclusive as you.

Walking down the hallway in your compression shirt and tactical pants, you made your way towards one of the meeting rooms. As far as you were concerned, you were forced to work with Umbrella against your will. A situation you never wanted to be in again. But no one here would understand that, nor were you willing to share your story, the only person knowing the truth being the commander that saved you. So, rumours continued running rampant throughout the building. Were you a spy? A double agent? Of course, none of it was true. But you weren’t going to waste your time defending your image when it was clear no one wanted to listen.

Walking into one of the rooms, a group of agents were already seated before you. Taking a seat at one of the desks, you ignored the eyes that peered at you. But one person stood out. Dirty blonde hair and crystal blue eyes, a strong build and mysterious aura to him. 

You were aware that you weren’t the only one who seemed to carry a reputation. You had heard whispers too of the rookie police officer turned skilled agent. He was ‘one of the best.’ A man of few words and a spine made of steel. Leon S Kennedy. 

And you were surprised to find he seemed to be falling for all of the lies the agents were spreading about you too, given he was staring at you like you were a jigsaw puzzle. 

The meeting was thorough and quick. A general explained that agents were going to be selected for a group that is going to investigate small branches of Umbrella hiding in various parts of the country. Of course, you were vital given you knew how they operated. However, in order to choose who would be best for this elite group, a set of skill tests will take place and everyone will be assessed. The blonde agent that had been sitting at the front, with his melancholic eyes and grave expression, was already a part of the group and would help choose the rest of its members.  

Once the meeting had finished, you were one of the first people out of the room, eager to leave the watchful eyes and agents that seemed to act like immature school students. But you didn’t get far though. 

“Hey, double agent.” Someone called out, poison lacing his voice. 

An unimpressed expression falling across your face, you turned to look over your shoulder and were met with a tall, brute man. Hair the colour of autumn leaves and eyes the colour of the sky. A sly smirk spread across his lips. 

“Do you think they’ll actually choose you for the mission? I mean, come on. It’s obvious you’re just here to screw us over.” He spat.

“I didn’t realise you were keeping tabs on me.” You responded coolly.

“Oh, you bet. And don’t worry,” He said, inches from your face. “I know what your intentions are. And I’ll be making sure you don’t get into this group.”

Your narrowed eyes followed him as he walked off, and you were surprised to see that standing behind him was the blonde agent. Leon glared at the man that had confronted you before his eyes met yours. But before he could say anything, you hastily walked off.

Leon wanted to say something to you. Wish he had. It must have been horrible having everyone look at you as though you were an alien just because of your past. Your first day here and already they all acted as though you were some sort of villain eager to take them down. You kept your composure though. Long, silky hair pulled back into a braid cascading down your back, Leon watched as you turned the corner. 

For the rest of the week, that boy had given you shit every time he saw you. You snapped back but it only seemed to amuse him. And this didn’t slip past Leon. Whenever he saw it, he made sure to make himself known so that the boy would step down and go away. Most days Leon would threaten the boy’s �� Jared’s – position in the academy, given he was known for being the academy’s bully. But given Jared’s expertise in weaponry and his strength, the academy wasn’t getting rid of him any time soon. Much to both Leon’s and your dismay. 

The next day, Leon eagerly waited on the field for you to show up to your first assessment. Hand-to-hand combat. Eventually, you showed up. Your hair in the same braid and a stoic look plastered across your face. It seemed you had made a friend; a chipper girl with platinum blonde hair spoke with you as you gathered around Leon and two other commanders. The first commander, an older man with scars painted across his weathered face, was brutal and stern as he explained how the assessment was going to work. Each of you would go up against each other in a fight, and whoever was left standing would go on to the next round. Given your training at your old academy, you weren’t too nervous. Swiftly, you got through the first three rounds, only sustaining a few bruises and red marks here and there. But now you were a finalist, and there was only one last person standing in your way.

The boy with red hair and jarring, bright blue eyes glared back at you with a malicious smile. Something churned in your stomach, more so from anger than fear. Leon’s stomach flipped too as he watched how Jared stared you down. 

“y/l/n. Kingston. Take your places.”

Jared spat a few insults at you to throw you off, but you paid no attention. Once the whistle blew, you were at each other’s necks. He was playing dirty though, and you guessed the commanders wanted to see how you would handle it, because no one said anything or stopped him. He was large and surprisingly fast, his whole demeanour threatening. You had to be quick on your feet and quick with your hands. You swiftly sent roundhouse kicks and elbow strikes his way, only connecting with his jaw once. Once that had happened he crouched down onto the floor, and much to your dismay, dug dirt out with his hands and threw it in your face. Taking his chance, Jared stormed over to you, and grabbing you by the shoulders pulled you down and slammed his knee straight up into your diaphragm. 

The pain was intense. But not as intense as the feeling of not being able to breathe. Stepping back with a gasp you quickly clutched onto your stomach and doubled down, fearful he had broken a rib or two. It took everything in Leon not to step forward and help. Muscles tensing, all he could do was stand back and watch. 

A laugh left Jared’s lips as he circled you like you were prey. 

“Come on. I thought you were tougher than that.” He shoved you back, almost sending you to the floor. The thrumming in your stomach was intense and air still seemed like a luxury you couldn’t afford. He shoved you again before tripping you over. 

“You dumb bitch. Get up so I can beat you some more.”

Leon was close to grabbing Jared himself and breaking his jaw. 

As he stepped forward to kick you, you manoeuvred to trip him in a blink of an eye. Hitting the ground hard, you quickly crawled over and grabbed hold of his shoulders, applying all of your weight onto him to pin him down. It wouldn’t last long, so you had to be quick.  Leaning your head back, your body moved with you as you fiercely swung it forward, cracking the crown of your head down hard onto his nose. A guttural yell and array of curse words left him as you quickly moved away from him. That was it though, you had won all of the rounds. But at what cost? Did you just prove to everyone that you really were some kind of monster? It seemed that way by how they all looked at you now as blood trickled down your forehead.

As you got to your feet, you tried to regain your balance but swayed to the left. Before you had the chance to stumble though, a strong arm encircled your waist and held you up. 

“You did good, y/l/n. Are you alright?” He said, his voice close to your ear. 

Your head snapped over to see the blonde agent holding you up.

“You’re all dismissed. Jared, come with me.” The first commander barked as the second followed.

Ignoring the others, Leon sheepishly let go of you but his eyes remained focused on yours and the blood you began wiping from your head with your sleeve. 

“Yeah, I’m alright.” You replied with a sigh. 

Leon gave a nod, but wasn’t convinced. 

“Come with me, we’ll get you cleaned up.” He said gently. 

As you both walked towards one of the first aid bays, you subtly took him in. His sharp cheekbones and sunken cheeks lent him a serious, almost stoic look, but you couldn’t help but notice the undeniable boyishness to him. From the tousled hair falling into his eyes to the way his body language was almost shy. 

Sitting down on one of the foam beds, you grabbed the kit yourself and unclipped it. Leon watched you, wanting so desperately to help you. Talk to you at least. But you were both two reclusive agents that kept to themselves. He was still willing to try. 

“I’m sorry about that asshole.” He began, leaning against the door frame beside you. 

“Yes, he does seem to have a real problem with me, doesn’t he.” You grabbed the antiseptic and began tipping the liquid onto a cotton ball. “I just wonder if it’s going to get worse now –”

“It won’t.” Leon responded too quickly. Clearing his throat, you looked up at him. His statement almost sounded like a threat. A promise. A smile fell across your lips, prompting a small smile from Leon himself. As you held up the cotton ball to your forehead, Leon realised you were applying it onto the wrong spot.

“Here…let me,” He offered reluctantly. 

It was unlike you to let people help with your injuries, especially strangers, but with the comforting presence he had and the warmth in your chest, you handed the cotton ball to him. 

“Thanks.” You said. 

Sitting down beside you, Leon moved his gloved hand to your face. Resting his finger below your chin, he tilted his head to the side and asked, “Is this ok?”

You nodded in response and he prayed a blush hadn’t crept upon his face. Moving his other hand up to the cut on your forehead, he gingerly dabbed the antiseptic onto the laceration. 

The smell of heady spices and musk filled your nose. Avoiding eye contact, your eyes fell down, and you found yourself looking at his sculpted arms, lines carving out his muscles. He did the same, focusing on the cut rather than on your eyes or else he would lose all train of thought. But it seemed that being this close to you was affecting him anyway.

“You know, I’ve seen you before.” He said, his soft eyes focused on cleaning your cut. 

Your brows furrowed. 

“What do you mean? Where?”

“Back in Raccoon City.” He responded, a glint of pain in his eyes as his mind dragged him back to that horrid night. Raccoon City. It was probably the worst night of your life. 

“You were one of the guards at the Umbrella facility. You weren’t supposed to let anyone in, but you let me in.”

Your mind scurried for that memory, thinking desperately of what he was talking about. Then it dawned on you.

“That was you?” You ask in surprise. 

The young police officer. With his big eyes and soft, hopeful face. Now replaced with a hardened look and eyes that looked like they’d seen too much. 

“Yes,” Leon responded, carefully placing two steristrips across your cut. “I really appreciate what you did that night.”

Something warm spread through your chest, before guilt quickly came.

“I didn’t want to work with them. I promise. They had…something they were using against me.” 

Leon felt your pain and understood. 

"I mean no harm." You finished.

He just wanted to grab your hand.

“I know," Leon said, "and I just want you to know that I don’t see you as a threat.” 

That night, Jared went out to the bar, the alcohol mounting onto his hate he had towards you. Taking a wrong drunken turn down an alleyway, he began cussing you out under his breath for the bandage that sat across his nose. Little did he know that in the dim lighting of the alley way stood the blonde agent, watching him and getting ready to teach him a lesson.

Part 2 -

#resident evil #leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy x you #leon kennedy #imagine #fluff #female reader #x reader #books #angst #part 1 #leon kennedy imagine #resident evil 4 #re4 remake #y/n #agent #leon scott kennedy #re4 leon #leon kennedy fanfic

[princess-of-thebes-1995]

Clumsy Brat part 2

Your beautiful doe eyes were bigger than usual as you stared down at the wounded soldier in shock. Tears of self loathing leaked out of your orbs and your breaths were ragged. 

You killed someone!

Desperately, you pressed your ear against his muscular chest and was happy to hear his strong heart beats.

There was still hope for him. You used all your strength to try to at least drag him to the nearest emergency room. But damn! He was like a war machine. Made of steel. He didn't even bulge. 

You can't scream for help. You might get into trouble. But, you cannot just leave him here!

You turned him to the side so he would not choke on his own blood still pouring from his nostril holes. 

The poor man. You were always getting into trouble especially when alone. Now you have done it. 

You were so lazy to clean the cabinets properly that you were throwing the items in to the trash bin by tossing them over your shoulder. 

You felt like throwing up. You luckily saw it. The fire alarm. You pulled it down and immediately, the alarm went off and the sprinklers started. 

Then you immediately went inside the labs to hide from the commotion. The Staff came out scared and they saw him on the floor. Screams and yells were heard as few men carried the injured one to the emergency room.

You sighed in relief. Then use the secret doors of the lab to walk to your room.

Without hesitation, you stripped out of your wet clothes and burned them when you saw the blood stains.

Most likely the injured man is taken care of and no one will suspect a thing. 

You managed to grab the jar of chutney and washed the blood before throwing it away in the trash in your room. 

No evidence. You think.

It was hard to sleep those nights. Guilt was eating you. 

From what you heard. The man was alive and had to get nose surgery. That was a relief. 

To your horror. He was not an ordinary Marine. He was the Head of Security! 

You never saw him but heard of Colonel Quaritch. 

Holy shit. 

Of all people you not only injured but almost killed. 

His job was to protect the staff on the base. 

He couldn't even protect himself from you. 

Damn you and your clumsiness. 

“There is an investigation going.” Your friend Doctor Augustine said. She mentioned how the Colonel was found in the hallways of the science department. And the suspect who attacked him was one of them. 

If no one steps in then the whole department will be shut down and all the members will be fired and sent back to Earth. 

Grace noticed you. Before she could ask. You stood up. 

It's not right to jeopardize the career of your friends and the peace between the Navi and RDA. 

Gulping you walked down the hallways. You asked Trudy where the office of the Colonel was. She gave you a weird look and led you. 

Luckily, she was not nosy and didn't ask. 

People were staring as you followed your pilot friend. Science majors and soldiers hated one another. Why would you come to their territory?

You were just outside the door of the Colonel's office. You gently knocked on the door. You heard a weird response. You guess you were allowed to come. 

You slowly opened the door. There sat the Muscular blonde man you saw in the hallways. His nose looked as if nothing happened. You assumed he healed quickly. 

No matter. He looked up from his paperwork and blinked In surprise when he saw you. 

Before he could say anything you blurted out. “I am the one who almost killed you the other night. I am sorry.”

The handsome blonde just stared at you without saying anything then snickered in amusement. He never expected in a million years you would make the first move and your blunt confession to be the first thing you said to him. 

Life is mysterious and unexpecting. 

You were cute. Socially awkward. 

Shaking his head he continued his mocking grin. 

“How nice of you to admit your grave mistake.” He stood up from his office chair. You gulped. 

“It was an accident. Please forgive me.”

He stood In Front of you. His tall height looking over you. 

 

Nodding, he studied your lovely face. You grabbed your chin to make you look up at him. You flinched. 

He found that amusing and cute. “How come you are apologizing to me now and not before?”

You were confused. You told him about the investigation. 

He raised a brow and his lips curled up. He let go of your chin. “How nice of you to fall for that rumor.”

Your eyes widened. You cursed yourself. Damn it. You turned yourself in for nothing. You could have got away with it. You and your stupidity!

The Colonel watched you and kept his cold look. Inside, he was laughing. He knew you regretted your admission.

He snapped his fingers and gestured to make you sit on the chair In Front of his desk. 

 

Obediently you did. 

Now what?

The Military leader sat back down and titled his head at you. Drinking you in. “You know…” He mused as he gestured to his badges of honor as a soldier that decorated the walls. “Before I went to the damn bootcamp I was in military school.”

You kindly listened. 

“I was always first place or tied with another professional in kickboxing, Track and if I had extra time, Greco Roman wrestling.” Quaritch smiled at the thought of his childhood. 

“No one ever hurt me like you did.” His expression hardened. Uh oh. You now felt scared

 Your chest heaved and his beautiful blue eyes noticed your perky breasts.

He kept his head in the game. Not to be swayed by your cute face. Your looks won't get you out of punishment. Again. 

“I would have preferred a strong man or a group to attack me.” He hissed in annoyance. “A fuckin' science puke scrawny and pathetic not only damaged me but single handedly almost ended my life.”

You felt tears come out. You are in big trouble. You missed dad even more. 

“You shamed me. I have always hated those scientists and you didn't even try to knock me out.” The Colonel was breathing like a dragon. 

He slammed his fist on the table causing you to flinch. “What must I do with you? If I did die, the lives of the staff would have also been gone if I weren't around to protect them. You should be held responsible for them too.”

You clutched your face. He was right. If you did kill the head of security, his men would have no leader and you almost single handedly destroyed the system of the base. 

“I am sorry, Colonel.” You squeaked. “It was an accident. I didn't mean to.”

A vein was visible on his tanned face. “Don't fuckin' remind me!” He snarled. You accidentally killed him. His ego as a man was destroyed. He was jealous of you. You disgraced him. Many enemies tried to kill him. It would have been an honorable death. 

A fuckin' jar of chutney almost killed him. He would rather die by a thanator or a blue monkey. 

You told him about your trillionaire father and politician uncle back on Earth. You told him to name his price. You even offered that you will resign and go back to Earth. 

The Colonel leaned in. “I know your family. I knew all about you before we met today. I have more money already. I don't know what to do with it.”

He smiled sweetly to your surprise. “I should thank you. Now I know what to spend my money on.” He stood up and kneeled In Front of you. He thumbed your bottom lip. 

Oh, shit. You had a bad feeling what he wanted in mind …

“I don't want you to leave for Earth.” He whispered in your ear.

He grabbed your shoulder. Your breath became more loud. “Be my pretty girl. I will drop all charges.” 

“I don't even know you like that.”

Wrong move. The Colonel's eyes changed from love to anger. He slapped you across the face hard. You clutched your wounded cheek. But the Colonel grabbed your chin to make you look at him.

“You're mocking your superior again!?”

You looked confused. What have you done to insult him?

“I tried to get your attention since I saw you eight months and twelve days ago. You never even knew I  existed! The day we finally met. And you embarrassed me by ruining my reputation to the base. You don't know me but I have been knowing you. Don't rub it in.”

You asked him to give you time to think. This was life changing.

The Colonel clenched his jaw. "You didn't give me time to think when you threw that heavy jar against my nose. You owe me your life since you almost took mine."

You lowered your face and quietly sobbed. 

The Colonel sighed pity. He was harsh on you and shouldn't be so mean. He admitted it wasn't really your fault. You were well mannered. Your father raised you right. He can tell you were unlucky by your clumsiness and naivety.

He ran his fingers through your long soft hair. “I am sorry, kitten. Just stick with me. Then I'll forgive and forget what happened.”

You looked up at him with glossy eyes. Then nodded in submission. 

Quaritch smiled. He called you a good girl. He kissed the back of your delicate and soft hand. 

The Corporal used his phone to give orders to some female soldiers to go to your room and carry your items to his room.

You are to sleep in a stranger's room.

As expected, the Colonel “touched” you the first night you moved into your now new room you shared with him. 

Fuck. Your body ached and burned. You woke up pained. The Colonel was wearing a bath towel as he came out of the shower when you finally opened your lovely eyes. 

He smiled and bid you a good morning then called you his kitten. 

 You saw something strange on your piano finger of your left hand. 

“What's this?”

He raised a brow. “It's what it looks like, stupid.” 

An antique gold ring with amethyst stone and what appeared to be either opal or emerald. Maybe both. Worth at least nine thousand dollars.

“I don't understand.” You breathed. 

He smirked wickedly. “I told you are to be mine inside and outside the bedroom.”

No.

Quaritch licked his lips. “You're stuck with me forever, doll. I am a man of my word.”

You didn't care if you were being rude. You hid your face and cried. Engaged to a man you just met. Many things were happening all at once. You almost murdered someone, you had sex and lost your virginity and now was to be his wife. 

You regretted coming to Pandora and away from your father's protection. 

The Colonel seems to have read your mind. “tell me what kind of dowry I should buy to impress my father in law?"

He wasn't teasing. His seriousness made it much worse for you.

Who will save you now?

"Princess, what's wrong?" He held you to his muscular chest as he sat next to you. You told him you wanted your father.

"Are you blind? I'm right here."

#humor #avatar 2009 #avatar #yandere miles quaritch x reader #yandere miles quaritch #miles quaritch #miles quaritch x reader #dark miles quaritch

[writingcold]

Why hello there!  

I was looking over @hearts-hunger writing prompts for her Halloween Event and I thought to myself that I’ve never, ever tried to write spooky.  I doubted that I would ever — wait.  What was this?  #18 Visiting a Graveyard?  Oh really…  I started to sketch out this just to play with it and let me tell you - shit happened.  My brain would not stop.  My hair may have caught fire.  Wow.

So, in this process, the story that I thought would be a quick one, has possessed me and has turned into a much longer, multi-chapter fiction.  And you know that I’m not a big fan of posting while still in the writing process - but!  I really want to share this opening chapter of this very gothic, paranormal romance that somehow went from exploring a graveyard to a cursed love that will span across five lifetimes, and over 300 years.  Yeah.  You know it, I’ve been at the research again.  Lol I say that like it’s an addiction.  You might want to check in with @jakekiszkasbuttsweat as I’ve been torturing her with all of this mess and some pretty out there ideas.  Thank you, my friend!  I so appreciate you. And a big thank you to @allieisacrybaby for putting together the amazing Jake collage together for me! It's so pretty.

I’ll shut up now, but I hope you enjoy this first chapter.  I’m hoping to begin posting this as soon as the story is completed.  Be sure to check out all the other stories that are attached to this project.  They are by some of the best writers and brains.  You can find the masterlist here!

Contents Warning: None.  Just gothic overtones and a smidge of blood.

Word Count: approx. 3300

The Dead, Part 1: The Entity in the Graveyard

     It was a season of newness.  Rebirth.  He had slumbered for a spell.  Of that he was certain.  His vision started out blurred, but sharpened as the human days passed, allowing him to grow in form.  He sat, perched like a gargoyle on his headstone when the sight of the church across the road came into focus.  Ah.  The familiar white boards were still full of peeling, toxic paint and were cupping from years of weathering and neglect.  The stained glass still caught the morning sun to reflect out onto the unkempt blades of grass and weeds, albeit was not as vibrant as it once had been.  The bell still clanged its ghostly chime if the wind screamed from the north or south.

     He could feel the air did not welcome his presence.  Why had he stirred?  He should have slept through the years until the time of the Thinning.  He stood straight up on his stone, face trained to the muted colors of the night sky.  He watched the music of the cosmos twist and twirl amongst the stars.  His senses had finally begun to stretch across the graveyard, assessing his, for lack of a better word, kingdom.  He was, after all, the oldest resident of the grounds.  There were no new ghosts to speak of but there was a scent upon the air that he could not place.  It was close to his stone and carried the heaviness of iron.  It carried the rapacity of cells.  It carried life.  He began to move, seeking out the source of that life.  Surely no one of the living had visited the grounds, aside from him - the caretaker.  It had been years since anyone new had been planted into their grave, and all of the families of the rotted in the ground were long, long gone.  So why would…

      He paused when he drew upon the edge of the rock bordered path.  Iron.  Cells.  Life.  He moved down against a particularly sharp stone, his spectral fingers drifting across the surface as wonder touched his thoughts.  Life.  Actual life that had fueled a living human was spilled across the smattering of rocks.  He moved his face in close to feel the faint vibration that was still carried in the blood.  It is a joy to feel this.  A joy to know that a life had passed across the grass and taken in the space of his graveyard.  The corners of his mouth curled and stretched as he retreated back to his headstone.  There had been life present.  Was that why he had been roused?  He felt his essence tremble over the possibility.  Instead of resuming his slumber, he decided to wait; watch; contemplate the oddity.

      His hand pushed through the headstone that had anchored him nearly every day of the human year, save the thin times when the fabric would fail and allow those of the living to confuse those of the dead as one of their own.  His index finger traced the deep cut ‘J’ in the polished stormy granite that marked the first letter of his name.  The letters no longer truly held meaning.  No one was left to mourn him.  No one was left for him to remember through faded fondness and cooled over warm memories.

      It was an odd feeling whenever it struck.  No one was left to remember him.  How many ancient cultures believed that if the soul was remember by those of the living, then in fact the one who was dead lived on?  And wasn’t it also believed if the one who was dead, and not remembered, the soul would cease to exist?  And yet, he was there, chained to the stone his melted corpse resided beneath.  Chained to the grounds that only the dead could dare to know on such an intimate level.

      He was by no means alone.  Although many had disappeared, embracing the light or welcoming the fire when the solitude gripped too tightly for too long, or perhaps when their patch of ground grew too putrid and obnoxious that either joy or damnation would be accepted readily.  Not him, though.  The radiance was never offered, while the hellfire never beckoned like a lover either.  He truly was part of the in-between.  Not that it bothered him.  The Thinning time was his glory, even though it was rare and erratic.

      Each Thinning, she would appear.  She was neither of the living nor of the dead.   He wondered if she was a goddess - eternal like time, ethereal like nature.  Perhaps she was a forgotten entity, purged to make way for man and his foolish and mostly stupid beliefs that he was any better, any smarter, any stronger.  If there was one thing he understood from his centuries of life and death was that man was nothing but juvenile.  Juvenile in their handling of life.  Juvenile in their handling of grief.  A woman on her own understood life, understood grief.  She could survive alone just fine.

     Time flowed beyond his attention.  The grass began to push through the patches of stubborn snow that clung to the hope that the cold would remain.  There was a brightness that curled and sweetened the sky with a life’s breath that only the dead and those of the in-between could appreciate enough to see.  The vibrant peach and lavender of the sun’s trail caught his eyes long enough to push wildflowers from the earth to bring forth the swarming of the crickets and bugs of the early summer.

     ‘A’.  The letter had a chink in the cross where the stone cutter botched it up.  He dragged his finger across the flaw for human hours at a time, grimacing over the tortured frame of what it meant to be the letter ‘A’.  The fog was growing thicker as the supposed witching hour of the night drew forth.  He often wondered over the purpose of such an hour.  Time never affected the dead or those of the in-between.  The so-called witches that the time was meant for never were concerned to wait for the practice of their sacred rituals.  Perhaps it was used for those who were of the veil but not of his own likeness.  He smiled as his sight passed over those who were his incognizant companions in the graveyard.  They never acknowledged his presence, nor that of each other for that matter.  It was a point of contention when he first discovered himself in the cemetery.  Why would there be such division beyond the veil of the living?  Was it the casting of purgatory to punish those who were arrested in the frozen state of death before the larger powers to claim their own dead beings?  Baffling.

     He lazed before his stone; his thoughts stretched out beyond the land he was bound to, images of lives he had lived projecting out of him like a film, though he scarcely could remember what he could only identify as vague memories.  How could he have sailed the Great Lakes and trod across virgin land, and travel the earth in search of great knowledge and culture, and stain his hands in a vineyard as a farmer and strummed his fingers against the frets of a guitar for the enjoyment of many?  Surely not just in one lifetime.  There were overwhelming moments of fragility, pain, love and… ugliness.

     Frustrated over the toil of his thoughts, he moved across the fractured landscape to the wrought iron gates.  The chain of his headstone gave him a gentle tug with each inch that he passed along.  He could feel the air of the living billowing on the other side, dancing in the sunlight of the day.  Wasn’t it just night?  He glanced back to find indeed the sun had risen and passed overhead.  A wanton expression passed over his otherwise unmoving lips.

     He drifted north, following the chinks and twists and flaws of the neglected fence as if he could ever leave the boundary of his world.  He paused at the edge and forced his vision to dim to nothing so that he might feel nothing.  It would be easy enough as only fields of early crops and a singular road stretched out before him in an endless roll of land.  But…

     A light beckoned.  It sparkled on the very horizon like a star, but cooled as it drew closer until it faded into a human form.  A human-shaped woman in all her fragility and vigor was walking along the broken asphalt of the road.  Dressed in a flowing fabric drenched in light, she demanded his attention through her silence.  He trailed behind her until finally, he stopped, face to face with her, discovering her reaching for the cemetery gate as if reaching out for him.  Her skin, smooth and without the tarnish of age, shimmered with a perfume that he is sure is beautiful like apple blossoms, or perhaps delicate lilacs.  Her graceful gait makes her appear to be floating over the hidden rock and fissures of the ground.  He was compelled in his interest by the creature as the corners of her eyes began to fade and signs of aging began to whisper across the skin of her hands and throat.  Her hair began to thin and lose its luster.  He had never come across such a human as to grow old before him.  Perhaps she was wraith, untethered and unseeing of his being.

     He followed her step for step through the graveyard.  Her body grew small and bent by gravity.  Her face becomes ancient and heavily marred by time.  Her eyes cloud over as is always the case of the elderly, as if they can take in more of the world around them.  And yet - she is beautiful.  Delicate.  Alluring.  He was drawn to her like a lighthouse calling him to shore.

     “What are you?”  he whispered into her scraggle of hair that had loosened from its tether.

     She appears to nearly tumble across the stone path and he is in awe that she comes to a stop before his headstone.  Her body is ancient.  Her clouded eyes blur and close as her breath labors to enter and leave her body.  A badly twisted hand snaked out from the woman’s shroud and landed against his name.  He watched silently as she lowered herself to her knees, resting her forehead to the granite before her.  Her breath became shallow…  unmeasured.

      “Are you dying?”  he asked, his eyes wide as he came to rest beside her.

      She stretched out onto the hardness of the ground, cheek resting upon her arm.  He lays beside her like a forgotten lover.  He longs to touch her.  To ease her pain as a mumbled sting of ache bubbles from her mouth.  For a span of minutes, there is nothing.  No breath.  No sound.  No… life.  He watches her in utter fascination, finding himself unable to do anything other than lay beside her.  

     “Are you…”  

     His words fail in a crackled mess as a note stirred within him.  A note of bitter familiarity that clawed and scratched at his mind like it was trying to force him to remember something that refused to be revealed.  The creature gasped and sputtered and choked, startling him.  One gnarled hand, followed by the other, began to push against the earth.  He rose up over her, stunned as in painfully slow fashion, she gathered her knees beneath her once more.  Her noises are guttural and deep as she uses his headstone to make her way back to standing.  He moved around to the back of the stone as she paused to capture her breath once more.  He looked into her face and a pang of awareness crashed upon him like a wave.  The knowledge of this person was a blackened spot to him, but there was a sense of familiarity that he could not place.  She began to turn away, the brittleness of her bones crinkled and popped against his ears.

     Achingly slow, she began her journey back towards the gate.  He drifted around her, looping his mist through her fingers and against the exposed skin of her cheek.  The breeze tickled shades of blush and orange against her hair and he noticed the age that had tugged and blurred and swirled against her to bend her was reversing.  Her back became straighter with each of her steps.  The deep lines of wisdom and life were fading.  The full curve of her lip and striking beauty of her skin bloomed before him and fully returned by the time her hand pushed open the heavy gate.

     For the briefest of moments, he stood before her.  Her eyes appeared to be locked upon only him.  Had she known of his presence all along?  He wondered if she could see him as he had been - wisps of chestnut strands that floated across his shoulders and the hair that curled around its tie that fell between his shoulder blades.  The coy ghost of a smile that always seemed to be present upon his mouth.  Did she see the dark swirl of earth tones in his eyes and the caramel tint of his skin?

     Her eyes shimmered as he dared to reach his spectral hand out to brush against the heated flesh of her cheek.  He pretended to press the palm against the plump flesh and smooth the pad of his thumb across the ridge of her cheekbone.  For a fraction of a second, she even seemed to lean into his hand like a welcomed lover.  And then…

.

.

.

     She walked away from him, dragging a light that grew brighter the further away she moved.  He watched the light, beaming like a star until it disappeared beyond the horizon.

     The ‘C’ of his name was the most elaborate, but most shallow of the cuts into the stone.  It scrolled with a flourish that left him to wonder if it was created to remind him of a flamboyant moment that he had once lived.  Or perhaps the stone cutter thought he was being funny, perhaps cryptic with such a deliberate act.  Regardless, it could keep him enthralled for days, tracing the intricate loops and noticing how quickly the craftsmanship faded over the years.

     There was not much of his human self he remembered.  Perhaps he was rather insignificant and there was nothing of notoriety to remember.  He could not recount the number of spirits who cried over their being, only to wail as their loved ones drifted through the tall grass and treacherously uneven grounds to mourn their passing.  He wondered if time had given him so much distance from his human self to no longer realize that simple magic of the world and thus, released his mortal memory to allow the wonderment of the dead in.

      The days were stretched to the limit, gobbling up each extra second like a greedy tick.  He felt the air shimmering fat around him with a heat and kiss of life that he seldom took the chance to relish.  His fingers pressed into the center swirl of the ‘C’ as his thoughts bent to the creature.  She was not present on the mortal daily, but her appearance had become fixture - stretching from the horizon, her light bellowed in like a tidal wave.  He could not help but to follow as she tread through her aging process to stoop and drop a lily.  He tried to grab her attention.  He tried to test to see if she could see him.  Each time, he would be left to wonder.  Her reaction was always the same, one that could be construed as the human tilt of her head, a longing look to join him, maybe.  There was no definitive proof that she offered in her visits.

      ‘O’.  Never ending.  No beginning.  No ending.  Maybe the ‘O’ was like himself in that manner.  How a blink of his eye could find him removed and forwarded by whole earthly seasons.  The air had turned.  It no longer held the breath of warmth and sunshine of summer.  Instead, it held the darkening, faded breath of life.  The line between those of the living and those of the dead was thinning.  He could feel it against where his skin once resided.  If he were amongst the living, he would inhale this air until his lungs could hold no more.  To the point of it burning and almost painful but the perfume too beautiful to not relish in such a manner.  Alas, his body required no lungs, no skin.

      The creature’s visits were growing more sporadic.  He watched from up close and from afar.  He tried to touch and tried to ignore.  It did not matter.  Her tread was always the same.  Her return to the horizon was unfettered by whatever antics he would attempt.  To say that it was maddening would admit to feeling something of his residual humanness.  Was it impatience?  Curiosity, perhaps.  Whatever it was, he did not like being centered around this being that could come and go, taking his attention and thoughts with it.

     ‘B’.  His final letter allowed him to return and finish his own name.  The letter resides just as deep as the ‘J’, but the flag at the top bends backwards in a trail that weaves through the loop of the ‘O’ and tangles with the flair of the ‘C’, like a tree branch.  It skews the ‘A’ and hovers over the ‘J’, providing a fancy little cap to the name he had known as his own for all his time.  Jacob.

      It was not the first incarnation of his name.  There were older forms of the name that he had known.  All meaning the same thing - the surplanter.  He wondered if he had been a good man.  Had he been evil in a good world?  The fuzziness of his memories were mere echoes of what could have been but never concrete.  Never accurate.   

      The brittle leaves of the poplars and birch rattled like an old, sick man’s breath and were yellowed like his teeth.  He tilted his chin upwards, looking into the gray sky beyond the dense canopy above and caught sight of the swirl of the cosmos that only those beyond the veil were privy to.  The stars were dancing and singing, though no human could ever hear the beauty that was always wrapped around them in their ignorance.  And yet, he tapped his toe and hummed along like a human would to their most favorite tune.  The crinkles at the corners of his eyes deepened over the idiocy of the moment, but then, who was he not to enjoy a little morsel of what it was like to be the human he once was?  Music stirred deep within him like nothing else.  It saddened him, maddened him, and filled him with the feeling that he once had been real, although he was unsure of how long he had indeed been dead.

      Days were shortening.  They were becoming like a careworn silk belt on a robe.  He enjoyed sitting on his headstone, watching the wind play against the grass.  Humans couldn’t see the colors that are pushed around flying like dandelion fluff, carrying the fallen leaves and bits of life too dry to survive upon its host.  Perhaps it was one of those things that were put forth to mesmerize the eye of the dead to distract from the living.  He didn’t care.  If the colors of the world and the cosmos of the sky were placed there to keep him from terrorizing the grander scale of the world, so be it.

Divider by @cafekitsune

I hope you liked this intro chapter.  If you would like to be added to my taglist, let me know - reply or send an ask.  The Dead will probably not be ready fully for posting until after the first of the new year.  I really have a lot of work to do on it.  In the meantime, I do have a new fiction starting soon that is rather angsty.  See you again soon!

@lvnterninthenight @doodle417 @luverleaver @jakesgrapejuice @fictional-duchess @milkgemini @positivegvfthings @songbirds-sweet @streamingcolors-gvf @gretavanbitches @samsurfgreenbass @gardensgatedaisy @babyhoneygvfarchive @myownparadise96 @josh-iamyour-mama @starcatchercarol @loveisonaroll @jakesstarlight @reesetrippingthelight @builtby-gvf @ignite-my-fire @ohgodthefeeling-gvf @wetkleenex-gvf @gold-mines-melting @starsasone @mysticalstarcatcher @montenegroisr @takenbythemadness @way-to-go-lad @cal-a-bungaa @lightmylove-gvf @thewritingbeforesunrise @leftjudgeempathsuitcase @brokenbells11 @imborrowedshesblue @vanfleeter @sammysvanfeet @jakekiszkasbuttsweat @jaketlove @redsierra1960 @gvfmarge @becinabubblegvf @wildbluesorbit @sinarainbows

#jake gvf #jake kiszka #greta van fleet #gvf #jake kiszka x reader #jake kiszka fan fiction #greta van fleet fan fiction #greta van fleet fic #greta van fleet au #the dead: gvf fan fic #gvf fan fic #gvf fan fic au #gvfhalloweenfics

[tbgkaru-woh]

Please, I am begging you on my knees, I need to know all your headcanons for the 4 fierce corpses under Nie Huaisang's control. Please, do share if you feel like it, I would love to know all your thoughts concerning that incredible piece of art!

aah, thank you for the compliment :') alrighty let's see, strap in! It's only half-way thought out but if i gave it one more minute i'm sure i could polish some details (mostly regarding jzx and sl). NIE MINGJUE

after learning about Wen Ning, Nie Huaisang's goals for ressurecting WWX weren't just out of friendship justice or revenge for his brother- he needed him back. It's what he made WWX know that WWX owed him after they find the pieces of NMJ and stitched him back together, whether WWX wanted nothing to do with demonic cultivation anymore or not. WWX obliged but NMJ's resentful energy was too strong to properly control, but his presence was too important to NHS and so he kept him chained head to toe, right by his hall's throne. Everything was easier with him there and NHS's delusion, he dressed him, styled his hair, talked to him and only tssk-ed when the feral corpse tried to bite back.

WEN NING

WWX also passed his demonic cultivation knowledge onto NHS, as NHS was always curious about it since Gusu days (donghua), and also left Wen Ning with him when he himself left with LWJ. NHS wasn't the kindest to him, as one tends to with whoever carries the name "Wen", and mostly treated WN as the main "guard dog" of the place, as he didn't want to risk NMJ for anything.

JIN ZIXUAN

there were few background moments in the show where NHS bowed to JZX who ignored him or when NHS gave a smile to JZX and i just imagined the solidarity these two noble lonely dudes could have had were they to ever interact after jzx got his shit together (or before Gusu days). I could see NHS adore JZX in a way, see him as a peer, see him as deserving of second chance at their potential friendship. JZX's fierce corpse would be EXTREMELY timid, incomplete, no need for chains, but also he was too weak as he was transformed late (was he NHS's first attempt before he decided he needed WWX to make sure NMJ comes out "proper"?) so he's literally just kept as an ornament, for the company. NHS would have gossp-y "sleepovers" with him, do his hair, perfume him, draw him, live the life that was good before everything went to shit.

SONG LAN

Let's pretend Song Lan still stayed a fierce corpse (CQL) and NHS found him kneeling by XXC's grave unmoving. NHS had no ill-will towards SL, if anything, he knew him as someone to be respected and adored, even found all pathetic like this. Song Lan would be mostly timid, with agressive bursts that required some amount of chains for its unpredictability. Song Lan was mostly used as servus around the Nie residency, mostly to stroke NHS's ego to have someone once so great work for him now.

altogether, this NHS took the petty psycho route further than in the story and lives in delusion where he gets to be the "old" self he lost thanks to everyone around him. All 4 corpses are found by his side whenever someone -who's allowed in- visits.

#mdzs #nie huaisang #nie mingjue #song lan #jin zixuan #wen ning #hcs

[jackoshadows]

GRRM sometimes throws in these nuggets that highlights the unfairness and irony embedded in the world of ASoIaF with characters like Jon Snow and Joffrey Baratheon.

Jon Snow and Arya Stark, separately as characters and their relationship are, for example, clearly written as foils to Joffrey and Sansa as characters and their relationship with each other. One relationship is deep and unconditional, the other is shallow and superficial.

In Arya I, AGoT,  Arya disparages Joffrey and defends Jon while Sansa defends Joffrey by disparaging Jon Snow.

She looked at Arya. “What did you think of Prince Joff, sister? He’s very gallant, don’t you think?”

“Jon says he looks like a girl,” Arya said. Sansa sighed as she stitched. “Poor Jon,” she said. “He gets jealous because he’s a bastard.”

“He’s our brother,” Arya said, much too loudly. Her voice cut through the afternoon quiet of the tower room.

“Our half brother,” Sansa corrected, soft and precise. - Arya, AGoT

In the same chapter, GRRM then drives this point further in for readers with prince Joffrey in the practice yard being ‘truly a little shit’ while the bastard Jon and Arya watch and discuss the unfairness of classism and sexism.

“Why aren’t you down in the yard?” Arya asked him. He gave her a half smile.

“Bastards are not allowed to damage young princes,” he said. “Any bruises they take in the practice yard must come from trueborn swords.” “Oh.” Arya felt abashed. She should have realized. For the second time today, Arya reflected that life was not fair. (---)

“The Lannisters are proud,” Jon observed. “You’d think the royal sigil would be sufficient, but no. He makes his mother’s House equal in honor to the king’s.”

“The woman is important too!” Arya protested. (---)

Jon shrugged. “Girls get the arms but not the swords. Bastards get the swords but not the arms. I did not make the rules, little sister.” - Arya, AGoT

The irony of course being that Joffrey is a bastard and Jon is possibly not one as Rhaegar and Lyanna’s son. Even if Jon is a bastard, the irony is that he is a far better person than the prince despite high society deeming it otherwise. This is then extended to when Robert decides to engage Sansa and Joffrey to get an alliance that was supposed to happen with Lyanna and Robert himself.  

We were meant to rule together. If Lyanna had lived, we should have been brothers, bound by blood as well as affection. Well, it is not too late. I have a son. You have a daughter. My Joff and your Sansa shall join our houses, as Lyanna and I might once have done.” - Eddard, AGoT

As we start the story, without knowing anything about these characters, Sansa and Joffrey is presented to the readers as righting a past wrong.   Meanwhile Rhaegar’s son Jon Snow has the closest, most loving bond with Arya Stark, who resembles Lyanna and has her personality.

“Needle wouldn’t break,” Arya said defiantly, but her voice betrayed her words.

“It has a name, does it?” Her father sighed. “Ah, Arya. You have a wildness in you, child. ‘The wolf blood,’ my father used to call it. Lyanna had a touch of it, and my brother Brandon more than a touch. It brought them both to an early grave.”

Arya heard sadness in his voice; he did not often speak of his father, or of the brother and sister who had died before she was born.

“Lyanna might have carried a sword, if my lord father had allowed it. You remind me of her sometimes. You even look like her.”

“Lyanna was beautiful,” Arya said, startled. Everybody said so. It was not a thing that was ever said of Arya.

“She was,” Eddard Stark agreed, “beautiful, and willful, and dead before her time.” He lifted the sword, held it out between them. - Arya, AGoT

These similarities are first mentioned by Ned when he and Arya discuss Needle, the sword that Lyanna’s son Jon secretly gifts her.  Ned recollects the painful past with Lyanna and Rhaegar around Needle, a symbol of the bond between Jon and Arya.

We see Jon/Arya and Sansa/Joffrey as foils when Arya’s love for Jon is such that she refuses to betray him even to their father. While Sansa’s love for Joffrey is so great she sides with him against Arya and betrays her father to Cersei.

Lord Eddard Stark sighed. “My nine-year-old daughter is being armed from my own forge, and I know nothing of it. The Hand of the King is expected to rule the Seven Kingdoms, yet it seems I cannot even rule my own household. How is it that you come to own a sword, Arya? Where did you get this?”

Arya chewed her lip and said nothing. She would not betray Jon, not even to their father. - Arya, AGoT

“He prob’ly stole it.”

“I did not!” she shouted. Jon Snow had given her Needle. Maybe she had to let them call her Lumpyhead, but she wasn’t going to let them call Jon a thief. - Arya, ACoK

After they had gone, Sansa went to Prince Joffrey. His eyes were closed in pain, his breath ragged. Sansa knelt beside him. “Joffrey,” she sobbed. “Oh, look what they did, look what they did. My poor prince. Don’t be afraid. I’ll ride to the holdfast and bring help for you.” Tenderly she reached out and brushed back his soft blond hair. - Sansa, AGoT

Arya screwed up her face in a scowl. “Jaime Lannister murdered Jory and Heward and Wyl, and the Hound murdered Mycah. Somebody should have beheaded them.”

“It’s not the same,” Sansa said. “The Hound is Joffrey’s sworn shield. Your butcher’s boy attacked the prince.” - Arya, AGoT

“Littlefinger made the arrangements. We needed Slynt’s gold cloaks. Eddard Stark was plotting with Renly and he’d written to Lord Stannis, offering him the throne. We might have lost all. Even so, it was a close thing. If Sansa hadn’t come to me and told me all her father’s plans . . .”

Tyrion was surprised. “Truly? His own daughter?” Sansa had always seemed such a sweet child, tender and courteous.

“The girl was wet with love. She would have done anything for Joffrey, until he cut off her father’s head and called it mercy. That put an end to that.” -Tyrion, ACoK

“Did you see the boy attack Prince Joffrey?” Lord Beric Dondarrion asked the Hound.  

“I heard it from the royal lips. It’s not my place to question princes.” Clegane jerked his hands toward Arya. “This one’s own sister told the same tale when she stood before your precious Robert.”  - Arya, ASoS

The same holds true for the way Sansa has a low opinion of characters like Jon and Tyrion by nature of their birth and looks while holding high stock in the  knights and high born lords and princes of the songs she loves, like Joffrey because he’s so beautiful and handsome.

Frog-faced Lord Slynt sat at the end of the council table wearing a black velvet doublet and a shiny cloth-of-gold cape, nodding with approval every time the king pronounced a sentence. Sansa stared hard at his ugly face, remembering how he had thrown down her father for Ser Ilyn to behead, wishing she could hurt him, wishing that some hero would throw him down and cut off his head. But a voice inside her whispered, There are no heroes, and she remembered what Lord Petyr had said to her, here in this very hall. “ - Sansa, AGoT

Sansa thinks that there are no heroes since Joffrey, whom she blindly loved because he was a beautiful highborn prince (soon to be king), turned out to be a ‘little shit’. The people she idealized and loved ended up failing and disappointing her. And yet she fails to look beyond those ideals.

It’s Tyrion who strips Janos Slynt of his power and sends him to the Wall for his betrayal of Ned. It’s Jon who executes Slynt for failing to obey orders and exacts revenge for what was done to Ned. And yet Sansa would never consider them heroes because they don’t fit her ideals and standards of what it means to be a hero.

Meanwhile Arya continues to think of Jon as a mentor and protector who would want her even if her own mother and brother refuse to pay a ransom for her. Her faith in him is steadfast, no matter what.

Alone, she slid through the shadow of the Tower of Ghosts. She walked fast, to keep ahead of her fear, and it felt as though Syrio Forel walked beside her, and Yoren, and Jaqen H’ghar, and Jon Snow. - Arya, ACoK

When at last she slept, she dreamed of home. The kingsroad wound its way past Winterfell on its way to the Wall, and Yoren had promised he’d leave her there with no one any wiser about who she’d been. She yearned to see her mother again, and Robb and Bran and Rickon . . . but it was Jon Snow she thought of most. She wished somehow they could come to the Wall before Winterfell, so Jon might muss up her hair and call her “little sister.” She’d tell him, “I missed you,” and he’d say it too at the very same moment, the way they always used to say things together. She would have liked that. She would have liked that better than anything. - Jon, ACoK

“He’s with the Night’s Watch on the Wall.” Maybe I should go to the Wall instead of Riverrun. Jon wouldn’t care who I killed or whether I brushed my hair . . . “Jon looks like me, even though he’s bastard-born. He used to muss my hair and call me ‘little sister.’” Arya missed Jon most of all. Just saying his name made her sad - Arya, ASoS

“I know where we could go,” Arya said. She still had one brother left. Jon will want me, even if no one else does. He’ll call me “little sister” and muss my hair. It was a long way, though, and she didn’t think she could get there by herself. She hadn’t even been able to reach Riverrun. “We could go to the Wall.”  - Arya, ASoS

Jon/Arya and Joffrey/Sansa act as further foils and the contrast is heightened as we get to ADwD. Sansa becomes the target of Joffrey’s sadistic abuse while she is in KL and Jon Snow breaks his sworn oaths, chooses love over duty and decides to attack the Warden of the North for Arya Stark.

Jon/Arya get the Bael the Bard parallels with Rhaegar/Lyanna as Jon sends ‘Abel the bard’ to steal a Stark Maiden from Winterfell and get her ‘home’ to Jon Snow. This and Jon’s decision to call for war leads to the breaking of 8000 year old oaths of neutrality, mutiny and assassination. In contrast the Stark/Baratheon marriage and alliance never ends up happening, ever. It failed with Lyanna and Robert. It fails with Sansa and Joffrey. While Rhaegar and Lyanna’s son thrives and rises to be Lord Commander of the NW.

Arya looking beyond mere looks and birth, fosters a relationship with Jon Snow and she is rewarded with a love, admiration and loyalty that leads to the Lord Commander of the NW sending two Kings to help her and breaking his sworn oaths. It’s clear that GRRM intended for Jon/Arya to be a stark contrast and a clear foil to Joffrey/Sansa, as a more pure love based on understanding each other for who they are as people, rather on looks and titles.

#Jon Snow #Arya Stark #Needleheart

[baiabay]

No Role Modelz (ATSV Black Cat Variant! Reader Insert)

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2(Current Chapter): Cat & Spider

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

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^^links 2 chapters!! this story is also on ao3, wattpad, and quotev under the same name &lt;;33

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Miles sighed, his eyes falling on his sketchbook. Vibrant colours littered the pages, memories drawn in hues of pink, blue, and yellow. He missed them dearly - Aaron, Peter…Gwen. Flipping through the parchment, Miles is reminded of how free he felt when he was with that group. Being Spider-Man hasn’t been the same without them.

Sighing once more, Miles flipped forward a few pages, landing randomly on a sketch of The Black Cat.

His drawing of the notorious thief stretched in a dynamic pose filled the page - form bending a way he’d always thought was comically feline. Sketchbook now in hand, Miles took a closer look at the portrait, focusing on the fur detailing on The Cats’ costume that ended right below that grin.

That signature smile.

Sinister, playful, devious, a myriad of emotions could be interpreted behind it - but the one that was the most clear to Miles… was freedom.

Despite the criminal status of The Black Cat, Miles couldn’t help but feel envious of the thief's display of cockiness. The confidence carried, the lightheartedness - to Miles, all of it just screamed free.

Miles’ daydreaming was rudely interrupted by a nagging tingle down his spine - an alert, signaling danger nearby.

The streets of Brooklyn were calm today, as calm as they could be, a stark contrast to the ever-brightening warning signs that flashed behind Miles’ eyes.

Confused, and slightly panicked, Miles pulled down his mask, swinging out his window, only to be met with… nothing.

Until,

Until that comically feline form zipped right past his face, Cheshire grin painted on.

Speak of the devil.

“Hey!” —————————————

You usually didn’t conduct any…business during the day, and if you did, you usually would swing straight back home through paths hidden in shadows, away from any eyes that may draw attention to your presence. Today, however, was different. You were on a high.

Grappling hook in hand, you weaved your way between buildings, flipping, giggling, and twirling your way through the main roads.

‘What business exactly did you complete in order for you to feel so boastful?’ You might ask?

Well,

Recently, your favourite local feline rehabilitation shelter has been going through some heavy financial trouble, so grave to the point where the owners had to either completely shut down, or sell the company to another organization to make a bit of cash instead.

To the struggling owners, the latter option seemed much more favourable, and even more so, attainable, given that they had already been contacted by an interested buyer.

Millionaire Hernandez Stillwell , owner of Stillwell Pound Co, known for their terrible breeding environments and kill shelters, had been looking to expand his company to Brooklyn Heights, and had offered a few hundred thousand to the poor owners, in exchange for their shelter, and every cat inside.

Long story short, an anonymous donation of a measly 1.3 million dollars may or may not had happened to land into the hands of the feline shelter owners(that may or may not have been attained by illegally selling a stolen diamond necklace), allowing them to carry on with their business without having to sell out to kill shelter scum.

Sporting a Cheshire grin, you proudly took your victory lap through the main roads, passing civilians, cars, Spider-man…

Ah,shit-

“Hey!”

It only took half a second for your heart rate to spike at the sound of the boys’ voice. Swinging yourself faster in hopes of losing the hero, you flipped around now with more purpose. Breath quickened, you wracked your brain wondering why, in the middle of the day, would he be out here?

As if reading your mind, the hero yelled out, also swinging faster in hopes of reaching you, “Why are you out here in the middle of the day?”

You scoffed, “None of your business, Spider-” You quipped back at him, flipping your body to face him in the process. With you now unfocused on your swinging, Miles took this opportunity to sling a line of webbing towards your own hook line - wildly throwing off your center of gravity.

You thrashed around in the air as a few more ropes of web thwipped in your direction, and you suddenly found yourself in a painfully similar position that mimicked your first encounter with the Spider. Rotating slowly, arms glued to your sides, knees pressed together, bundled up in a humiliating cocoon hanging before the young hero.

Contrary to the Spider, you bore no sort of power that aided you to sense the hostility of an enemy. However, even in your dizzy, upside-down state, you were extremely aware of the different energy he was emitting. There were no traces of defensiveness, no jerky adrenaline-fueled movements, no sense of danger, like there was that night you fought. There was only…curiosity?

You sighed before speaking, the dizzy feeling dying down to a low buzz behind your eyes.

“This time I swear, Spider, I’m not up to anything heist-y. You have to believe me. I was just about to head home whe-”

“Are you… okay?”

You blinked. He wasn’t here to turn you in? Make you empty your satchel? Force you to return anything? Your brows furrowed and your lips parted, but no sound escaped you. The hero cleared his throat, his voice suddenly in a much lower octave.

“I saw you with Spot, er- you and The Spot that night.”

At the mention of the villain's name your throat dried up. All of a sudden you were flooded with memories from your unsuccessful heist that night. His hand, hard and cold on your wrist, the pure hate that bled from his voice, the lack of air in your lungs when engulfed by the void-

So caught up in your thoughts, you hadn’t realized the way your body started to shake, the way your breathing quickened.

Miles wasn’t ready for you to react like this. Honestly, he had no idea how you would react at all. Part of him expected for you to throw back some snarky remark, or attempt to distract him to escape your webbed-up position. But there you were, the cocky, always-gets-away-with-it thief, The Black Cat, shaking like a leaf before him. Miles found his hands moving on their own. Removing the webbing and hesitantly wrapping around your form.

Miles parted his lips to fill the silence, replace it with something, anything to get you to calm down. Before he could however, your voice broke the quiet.

“That has never- I’ve never…seen, or-or felt anything like that. It was like - you know me, Spider, you know how these things go and it’s never violent, ever. He was just so strong, and - and it was hard to breathe, and-”

You were rambling now, and Miles listened to every word. He understood exactly what you were talking about, having experienced the strength of The Spot already.

“ -get away with all the time! And yeah, sure, maybe I was a bit too ambitious trying to go for this gem and everything, but had he not gotten it, I could’ve paid for so much, Spider!”

By now your breath had slowed down to normal. Your heart was at a regular rate and the trembling had ceased. You were now sitting, rambling about random heists (which with him as the one that's supposed to catch you, he laughed way too much at some of the *criminal* stories you recalled), smiling softly under your mask and leaned slightly against his side. Sighing gently, you spoke once again.

“Sometimes I just wish things were different, yknow?”

Miles tilted his head in your direction. “Different how?”

“Different like, for me. Sometimes I think, ‘what if it was me that was bitten by that spider?’ or ‘what if I never started stealing altogether?’ Out of all the millions of different outcomes, of different… realities that are out there, I landed in this one. Yknow what I mean?”

If there was anyone who knew what you meant, it was him. There wasn’t a day that passed where he didn’t think about his friends. All of them in different universes than him. Ever since the collider incident, there was still a lonely part of his body that wished he was a part of those different universes.

“I know…exactly what you mean. But there’s a first time for everything, right? You always have time to change for the better, Cat. You don’t have to be the bad guy in this story.”

You removed yourself from his side, brows now furrowed.

“No - no, Spider. I can’t just ‘change’.” You stood, arms crossed.

“But you can-”

“But I can’t. This is me”. You gestured to yourself before repeating the action in his direction. “Just like how that is you. The Cat and The Spider. The thief and the hero. We can’t truly change who or where we are. No matter…how much we want to.”

“Wai-”

Miles couldn’t get a word in before you leaped off the building, grappling away with a tensed expression. He sat there for a minute or two, watching your form shrink as you flipped away. He sighed before standing up, and thwipping his way back to his place. He snuck in quietly through his window, given that he’s technically still grounded, changed out of his costume, and proceeded to once again, pick up his sketchbook.

He opened to his drawing of The Black Cat, squinting at the fierce expression he had etched on. Flipping to a blank page, he started another sketch. This one still captured the thief’s likeness, but in a much more gentle light. Miles drew the gentle expression you had on when you spoke, even with minimal features showing through your mask, he still remembered vividly the softness in your face. When finished, he silently deemed the sketch one of the most beautiful in the sketchbook. Setting it down, he threw on his headphones and proceeded to lay on his bed.

Miles closed his eyes, losing himself in the music. Before he could drift off to sleep he was interrupted by a voice he hadn’t heard in what felt like a lifetime.

“Miles!” —----------------------------------------------------------------------------

A/N: sorry for the lack of updates. went through a loss in the family. as always your messages and interaction keep me going! as an apology ill be uploading chapters tomorrow and the day after as well :) Thanks again for all your support and I am forever grateful for those who continue to read my writing despite my inconsistent updates <33

- baia :)

#miles morales x reader #atsv x you #atsv #reader insert #atsv x reader #atsv reader insert #spider-man: across the spider-verse #across the spiderverse #across the spiderverse x reader #black cat! reader #hobie brown x reader #gwen stacy x reader #pavitr prabhakar x reader #miguel ohara

[lovely--lover]

Coughing Fits

Wayne takes care of a sick Eddie 🥺 @waynemunson-main​​ I saw you mentioned wanting a Wayne pushing up Eddies bangs fic on my last Wayne and Eddie post and I was inspired so thank you!!

The night was warm and the sky was dark. Wayne stared up admiring the few stars twinkling in the night, inhaling the last of his cigarette until there was nothing left. Tossing the burnt end to the ground and stomping it out as he blew out the remaining smoke. He took note of Eddies van parked out front before approaching the door.

Stepping inside he was met with the smell of home and darkness. Silence filled the trailer, it was quiet, too quiet. Even at the late hour, when Wayne got home, Eddie would be awake. Usually blaring his music or watching TV while eating junk food offering some to Wayne as he stepped through the door. Worry began to grow within him as he flipped the switch a dull light taking over the room.

“God damn! Eddie, what are ya doin? You scared the shit outta me!” 

Eddie was sprawled out on the couch. He looked pale except for his reddened cheeks. His bangs were clinging to his skin along with a few stray hairs. He laid in silence, staring up at the ceiling, his eyes glanced forward taking sight of Wayne before glancing back up. The sight of Eddie crashed on the couch wasn't concerning. But his feeble appearance and lack of a smart ass remark was. Wayne quietly shut the door before slowly approaching Eddie “Are you alright boy?”

Eddie opened his mouth to respond but all that came was a cough from deep within his chest. Again and again each one growing raspier. His entire body shaking as he went into a violent coughing fit. Wayne knelt down by his side only capable of watching unable to help. Finally Eddie was able to settle and catch his breath before croaking out, “I don't feel too good old man.”

Wayne wiped the grease and remnants of work from his palms onto his jeans before reaching up and tucking the stray hairs adorning Eddies face behind his ears. Gently pushing away his sweaty bangs replacing them with the back of his hand allowing it to rest there. Wayne let out a sigh as his hand slipped down to caress Eddies cheek, “You’re burnin up kid.”

Wayne slipped one arm beneath his back and one beneath his knees, taking in a deep breath, before lifting and carrying Eddie towards the comfort of his bed. Placing him down gently Wayne pulled the blanket over his form tucking the soft fabric under his body. Encompassing Eddie in a soft warm before he went to walk away. Eddie used his weakened strength to grip the hem of his jacket “Where do you think you’re going?” Wayne grabbed his hand, laying it back by his side, “I’ll be back kid”

Wayne opened and closed the cabinets searching until he finally found it. An old box of tea that he always makes when Eddie is sick. Glancing over the various mugs lining the wall Wayne smiled to himself, finding the perfect one. 

While the water was heating up in the microwave he went off to gather a cold rag and pain medicine. Finding himself back in the kitchen just as the timer went off. There was steam blowing away from the liquid as he added generous amount of honey to mug. Wayne blew away the heat until the tea was just warm before returning to Eddie. 

“Sorry for taking so long” he placed the warm mug into Eddies grasp. “Oh you gotta be fucking kidding me” Eddie’s voice was gravely and quite but playful as his brows raised at the Garfield mug resting between his hands. A laugh escaped Wayne's chest “ I thought the little guy might cheer you up….and watch your language boy” a smile still playing at his lips.

Eddie rolled his eyes while taking a sizeable sip of the liquid before setting the mug down, “I feel worse.” As if to prove a point a low cough came from his chest as Wayne worriedly sat beside him. “It’s okay..it’ll be okay.”

Eddie reluctantly took the medicine Wayne presented and was now relaxed against the pillows. He peered down at Eddies red and clammy cheeks before pushing up the sweaty bangs clinging to his skin. Taking a moment to admire Eddie’s face, his boy was all grown up, his cheeks still red but less chubby. He smiled down at his son before gently placing the cold rag on his burning forehead.

The night swept by as Wayne sat at Eddie’s bed-side reading Lord of the Rings, the worn out book fit perfectly in his hands, just like it did years before. The sounds of Wayne's voice and Eddie’s raspy breathing echoed through the trailer.

 “C’mon old man! Do the voices” Wayne peered over the book at Eddie “What are you 9 again?” Eddie gave him a small pout while letting out an obviously fake cough. He rolled his eyes and let out a laugh. Eddie was his soft spot and he knew it, “Only because you’re sick kid. Don’t expect it again. I don't even understand half of what’s going on in this book. I just know you like it.” Wayne continued to read using less than enthusiastic voices during the dialogue all while Eddie let out breathless laughs teasing the old man. And Wayne would occasionally peer over the pages to make sure Eddie was okay, he was still there, still safe.

“The shire is burning…” he peered over once again and Eddies eyes were closed. His face resting deep in his pillow. The medicine, cold rag, and sound of Wayne's voice having provided enough comfort for him to drift to sleep. Wayne looked down at his watch taking note of the time, 5 AM, before marking the book and placing it down. He sat a while longer admiring the peaceful and slumbering Eddie before pulling the blanket back onto him.

Eddie’s brown eyes opened for a moment still in a sleepy daze as his quiet and raspy voice spoke out “Thanks for worrying about me..dad” Wayne stopped his movements and peered down at Eddie his eyes closed once again. He removed the rag from his forehead and placed a kiss on the damp skin before smoothing his bangs back down. “I’ll always worry about you son”

Masterlist

I hope everyone enjoyed it!! I feel like its kind of short but hopefully it’s still sweet 🥰 thank you for reading!

#eddie munson #eddie munson stranger things #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson imagine #stranger things 4 #stranger things imagine #stranger things #stranger things x reader #wayne munson #wayne muson imagine #wayne munson x reader #joe quinn #joe quinn x reader #joe quinn imagine #joseph quinn #joseph quinn x reader #joseph quinn imagine