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luveline · 10 months

Note

Steve zombie au with reader getting hurt at the new camp (like always) and Eddie offering support as a friend but Steve gets all jealous while trying to take care of HIS girl

for you my love ♡ steve zombie au —steve is riddled with guilty jealousy as you and eddie become friends. fem!reader 2k

It's a brave new world.

For starters, there are enough guns at camp and able bodied gunmen for fires in the daytime. There are warm meals eaten under the sun, songs sung quietly but nonetheless sung around the fire. There are happy children. There are books to be read to them, and batteries to power flashlights for story time under the stars.

Things aren't perfect, but after the tragedy of The College, things are good enough. Steve can bring himself to leave your side (though not for the first few days where he's bed bound, and not for a few more after that).

He can't lie, he hates that you like Eddie so much. His jealousy is a raging monster of stiff spines and dry eye twitches, insecurity that you've met someone new and that you trust them so quickly.

You were cagey at The College, scared of Steve's friends and petrified Steve was going to break up with you. He couldn't understand at the time how you would ever think such a thing, but now, with Eddie sitting by your knee and a piece of string between his fingers weaving a cat's cradle, your eyes alight with delight, Steve gets it. He totally gets it.

"It's not hard," Eddie promises you, letting the string fall from his fingers and into your lap.

"I don't have a complicated brain," you say.

"It's not rocket science. Even Steve can do it."

Steve picks an overcooked Lima bean up from his discarded dinner tray and aims to flick it between Eddie's eyes. You're gathered around the campfire in your cold weather coats, a procession of young (ish) adults knee to knee chatting away the worthless hours. When the Lima bean smacks Eddie in the cheek, Steve could pin it on any number of the people gathered. Christopher is a renowned professional when it comes to bothering people, and Jonathan has that older brother's penchant for being irksome, but Steve owns up to it.

"That's a touchdown."

Eddie gives him the finger as he instructs you, completely unbothered. "It's those two fingers– No– Yeah, you got it. And then push this finger under this, and this finger… Nice."

In another life, there's a Steve who doesn't care. He hasn't had to vy for your attention before besides sharing your friendship with Robin, and he's pathetically sorry about it —you should have friends. Steve thinks unabashed that you're the best person they ever made. All you want (all you've ever wanted) is to be loved and to give love back. He's known that about you for a very long time. And in his eyes you deserve what you want.

You deserve to have friends. He can share Robin, and you can have friends of your own, too. You can have everything.

Steve can't get a handle on how it's making him feel, is the issue. He's envious as a teenager with their first crush.

"You honestly just need to practise," Eddie assures you, laying back in the grass with his arms behind his head.

"You'll have to show me again."

You stay sitting and Eddie shows you the pattern again without sitting up. You aren't flirting with one another. Steve wonders if that would feel better, to be jealous of something substantial, but you're doing normal things. Eddie is treating you with exactly the kindness and friendship you deserve. Steve wishes he managed it himself when you first met, because you're his best love and his best friend.

Robin not included. (Robin is always included. Steve would die for her.)

Like she can sense his devotion, Robin puts a hand on his shoulder, pulling his weight gently to the left. "You'll burn a hole in his leather jacket."

"I hope he catches on fire."

"What are you so worried about? She had plenty of chances to leave you for somebody new. Jonathan's been nothing but sweet to her the entire time they've known one another and she barely notices."

Steve grimaces. "Jonathan likes her too?"

"He wants to be her friend, just like Eddie. I, on the other hand, want to marry her."

"Funny." Steve yanks grass up from its roots, the blades soft and cold between his fingers. There's an ice patch growing on his ass and thighs from the cold as the temperature drops. "It's fucking cold."

"You can move closer. I need to go and find Sarah for a bit. Don't burn your new kicks, Steve, they were a great trade."

Robin swapped a useless handgun for them to the resident portable blacksmith. Steve wriggles his toes in them gratefully.

Steve and the remaining group move closer to the fire slowly. When the sky is black and smooth as velvet dotted only by stars like pin holes, Will comes running with a miraculous bag of marshmallows, trailed by his ragtag group of friends; Dustin with his fraying hat, Lucas, and a teenaged boy named Peter.

Steve couldn't believe Lucas was alive at first. Eddie told the story to him when he was recovering in the shitty portable medbay. You'd been sleeping in the plastic chair by Steve's bed, your face pressed to his chest, a puddle of drool soaking into his t-shirt. He'd stroked your forehead for hours.

Eddie and a whole bunch of Hellfire members didn't quite manage the escape rendezvous orchestrated by Hopper at the start of the apocalypse. You and Steve must have just missed them when they set out in Eddie's van for safety. The story goes that Eddie's shit with directions, and while he managed to get to Michigan eventually, it was hard. They met up with a group of much older people who were able to take some of the weight off, eventually finding a group of military soldiers who'd been drafted to protect a politician's family. Their group kept growing and growing. While they never set up camp somewhere permanent, they've kept it together. If Eddie's group (or moving community) had managed to make it to The College, Steve thinks they might have survived the attack.

But you're together now. Hawkinites reunited, Hopper alive and well and nursing new plans.

"Hopper give those to you?" Christopher asks Will.

"How's that fair?" Eddie asks. "Family favouritism."

"I have to share them," Will says.

"Oh, well. Never mind. Accusation renounced."

The teens kidnap Eddie and run off to find sticks for marshmallow roasting. You turn to Steve with a smile that makes him feel worse rather than better, so subtly devoted.

"How's your arm?" you ask, leaning into his shoulder.

"Aches."

"Can I have a look?" you ask.

Steve offers his arm with no qualms. You fight to push back the sleeve of his coat and jacket. His wound is closed and healing nicely, but the infection must've been in his muscle or something because the ache won't go away. It feels as though he's done a hundred pull ups with one arm alone.

You don't touch anywhere near the site.

"I think it's looking better." You thumb over one of his little moles. "Pretty."

"You're pretty."

"You're prettier," you say, folding his sleeves down again with infinite care. He thinks you might be batting your lashes at him. That, or he's whipped to the point of delusion. "You feel okay, hm? You're mopey tonight. Do you want to go sleep?"

Steve shakes his head vehemently. "And miss marshmallows? No way."

You both notice that your question of mood went unanswered. Luckily for him, you dip down to rub your cheek against his sleeve. "Love you."

He loves you too. He says it under his breath, pressing his cheek to your head for as long as you're willing to stay there.

"Y/N-kins, Steven," Eddie says, returning with a handful of long branches covered in foliage. "I have a job for you."

You pull leaves off of the branches. It should be an easy job with the three of you sitting criss cross applesauce yanking the twigs naked excitedly, but you pull with too much enthusiasm and stab the meat of your thumb.

You hiss and look down. Your noise draws Eddie and Steve's attention in tandem, Eddie closest to the injured hand.

"Oh, shit," Eddie says, pulling his sleeve over his hand. He presses it to your skin as a surprisingly fat rivulet of blood springs and drips down to your wrist. "Here, don't get it on your clean coat."

Steve doesn't know why he does it. He isn't proud. But he thinks, That's my girl. Eddie's being friendly, and Steve knows that's all it is, but he can't stop himself from batting Eddie's hand away and moving in protectively.

"Cop a feel somewhere else, Munson," he bites.

"Steve!" you say, laughing.

Eddie rolls his eyes, sitting back in his spot with a laugh of his own. "Ridiculous. I wouldn't cop a feel ever 'cos I respect women–"

"Nice," you say.

"And if I were trying to flirt with her, Harrington, I'd definitely do it better. But as you both know my heart is promised to someone very important. I'm busy keeping the memory of metal alive, I don't have time for stealing girlfriends. Not that you're not worth stealing, Y/N."

Steve dabs your hand. You wink at Eddie playfully. "You keep her alive, Eddie. Are you gonna play some more rock songs for us tonight?"

"Duh."

"How do you manage to hurt yourself every single day?" Steve asks, distracted from the conversation by your cut. It can't be a quarter of an inch long but it's bleeding in a rush.

"See how it got faster when you came to save me?" you ask Steve. His heart drops, but you continue, "My heart gets faster when you're close. My blood pressure rises."

Steve tries not to show how pleased he feels at the compliment. You tap his elbow knowingly.

Steve assesses your cut. It stops bleeding just as soon as he leaves it alone and the kids arrive with their marshmallows, putting an end to Steve's makeshift medbay.

Someone puts a couple more logs on the fire to get it roaring now that night is creeping in. Steve insists on roasting a marshmallow for you.

"I have one working hand left," you protest.

"And knowing your luck, you'll burn it."

"I'd never control you like that," Eddie says, deadpan.

Steve stabs Eddie with a stick that's lightly smouldering at the tip. You tell Steve off, but when he presents you with a roasted marshmallow for eating you give him the world's greatest thank you kiss. Another after you've eaten it, your lips sticky with sugar.

"Do you want mine?" Steve asks.

You wrap your arm around his waist for a lopsided hug. "No. Don't ask me again though, I might say yes."

"Do you want mine? Seriously, honey–"

"I'll have it," Eddie says with a shit-eating smile, eyes trained on the fire where he toasts his own marshmallow.

You wave your hand at him. "No, you won't." You lift your chin to kiss his cheek. "It's yours. Don't let it burn, handsome."

Alright, Steve might have jumped the gun on the whole jealousy thing.

#steve zombie!au #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington #steve harrington fic #steve harrington blurb #steve harrington drabble #stranger things x reader #stranger things fic #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington fanfiction #stranger things #stranger things 4

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vinvantae · 10 months

Text

Unmasked

Part 12/16

<<< previous part

Word count: 3.7k

*******

You sat in the cockpit for a moment longer than someone who just got a podium should have, but you got third. It had felt like a kick in the teeth because had your team given you a chance, you could have won. You would have. You had got the fastest lap and your pace was unmatched but the team had favoured Charles - better strategy paired with team orders meant he had got P2 to your P3, moving him even further ahead of you in the championship.

Part of you didn’t want to face Charles, he’d undoubtedly have your outburst thrown back at his face - telling him just how unreasonable you were, what a bad teammate he had. That you were too emotional. When in reality, if any other driver had been told to hold position when they had more pace - they’d be just as frustrated. You sighed and climbed out of the car, throwing the crowds a thumbs up before going over to be weighed. Charles was standing across parc ferme, nodding as he was being Maxsplained to, his back to you.

You took off your helmet and placed it on its stand before approaching your boyfriend, placing a hand on the small of his back to get his attention. As his green eyes fell to you, all of your guilt melted away - sure he didn’t know about your radio message but this was Charles, he wouldn’t care. He grinned and pulled you into a hug, squeezing you with all his might.

“I’m proud of you, Charles.” You whispered, nuzzling your face into his neck.

You felt his arms tighten around your middle, his voice low - his words were for your ears only. “I’m sorry, this should’ve been your win.”

You frowned and pulled back a little - just enough to lock eyes with him, his gaze was soft. “I… what do you mean?”

“My pace was shit come the end, my tires were gone, they told me you weren’t going to attack. You could’ve won this if they let you.” He pressed a chaste kiss to your forehead before stepping away to do his post race interview.

Your cheeks flushed dark, rubbing the back of your neck awkwardly as Max approached you to give you a congratulatory hug. “What a race, happy to be sharing the podium with you for real.”

“First ever post-race interview before then, wish me luck.” You couldn’t help but cringe as you slowly approached Charles, being handed a microphone ready to speak to the crowd for the very first time since your interview. You took a moment to collect yourself as the interviewer thanked your boyfriend - this was a big step, you’d never spoken to the masses like this before and before you knew it, your name was being called so you stepped up to face them.

As loud as cheers were, you couldn’t help but hear the boos hidden beneath - the dissonant harmony rang through your ears as you put on a smile and waved to the crowds, doing your best to ignore them. “Congratulations on your first podium as you, y/n! How does it feel?”

“Unlike anything else I’ve ever experienced.” You laughed, trying to put on your best brave face as you spoke. “Finally being able to put my name to my achievements is something I’ve always wanted to do and now I’m doing it.”

“Team orders meant you couldn’t race your teammate, you didn’t sound too pleased about it - any more to say now?”

You shook your head. “I understand why they gave the orders and we ended up with a double podium - Charles’ tires were vulnerable and if I had gotten past who knows who else might have.”

“Thank you for your time, I hope to see a lot more of you.”

After one more thumbs up to the crowd you dipped into the cool down room to join Charles and Max who were seemingly engrossed in conversation - you placed your things on your pedestal and grabbed your third place cap, sitting it atop your head. Eyes flickering up to the screen as they replayed clips of the race and you couldn’t help but wince when your radio message popped up at the edge of the screen, ending the conversation in the room in a moment.

“...awkward.”

You narrowed your eyes at Max, not wanting to look at your boyfriend as you willed them to hurry up and take the comms off of the screen. It felt like an eternity before someone spoke again, and you felt Charles’ hand on your shoulder as he spoke. “We’re good, I already told you how I feel. Okay?”

The breath you didn’t know you were holding escaped your lips as you nodded, as you opened your mouth to apologise he simply smiled and shook his head - the three of you being summoned to the podium. This time around, Charles heard the crowd when you stepped out in front of them. After his interview he had gone pretty quickly into the cool down room but there was no denying the chorus of boos that were, despite being quieter, threatening to cover up the cheers. There was something about that horrible sound that seemed to overpower its counterpart.

He wanted to cover your ears, cheer louder than he ever had before to cover it up but once the champagne was in his hand - he opted to distract you by pouring the cold liquid down the neck of your race suit. “Fuck, that’s cold!”

Charles grinned as you laughed, returning the favour by spraying the contents of your bottle over him before taking a big swig. It took everything he had not to wrap you up in his arms and kiss you - but he knew the press of it would be too intense so instead for the podium photo, he pulled you tight into his side.

He was going to have your back, no matter what.

***

You chewed nervously at the skin around your thumb as you stood in the media pen with your PR manager, waiting for an interviewer to be free. This was your first time in the pen and you could see just why all of the other drivers hated it - you felt like you were in some weird petting zoo. Before you could quietly protest, saying they’ve never interviewed you before, why start now, you were ushered over towards a very excited looking lady - she was the first to get a post race interview with you. After a final deep breath you stepped up to the barricade and gave her a smile.

“Hi y/n, thank you for speaking with me. Great race today.”

“Thank you, it’s a really good result for the team and keeps us in the game for the WCC, we’re ahead right now and we’d like to keep it that way.” You said with confidence, hopefully trying to explain the team orders without shitting on the strategists - as much as you disagreed with it, you wanted to come across as the team player.

She scribbled something down in her notepad before glancing at you through her mascara coated lashes. “Reckon you would’ve won without those orders? You had better pace than Charles and you sounded irritated in your radio message.”

You shrugged a little. “Maybe but there’s no point speculating what could have been. I just need to focus on the next race and hopefully get back on that top step.”

“Thank you, good luck.”

From then on you were ushered from interviewer to interviewer - barely getting a second to breathe before you were asked again and again about the team orders. For the most part they were respectful and you could throw up your media trained answer but as you approached a woman, her carved brow raised and her painted lips curved into an almost evil smirk. You didn’t like where this was going, that was for sure.

“Afternoon, y/n, disappointed by the result?” She went straight in, offering the first jab - which you shook your head at.

“A double podium at this point in the season is key. I’m very proud of the team today.” You refused to break eye contact, the blues of her eyes were intense - like she could read every thought that crossed your mind.

She held up her voice recorder and pressed play - your radio message playing loud over the speaker before she popped it back into the small handbag tucked under her arm. “You didn’t sound too pleased during the race. Don’t you think that after Charles’ performances this season, he deserves to be prioritised by the team? That perhaps you were being a little ungrateful.”

You held your tongue for a moment, the burn of your PR manager’s eyes bore into the side of your head. “In the heat of the moment, I was frustrated, yes. But I understand and respect the team’s decision.”

“You’ve been beaten by Charles in practically every race so far this season - does this mean that you will be second driver from here on out? He is the best shot of winning the championship for the team.” You could almost taste the venom on her words as she taunted you - challenging you to break, so there was proof that you were just this emotional, bitchy woman.

“I will continue to try my hardest in this championship battle, it's not lost yet. We’re barely a third of the way into the season, there’s no telling what’s gonna happen. Thanks.”

You stepped away from her before it got ugly, you knew no matter how calm you were - people were still going to find ways to tear you down. You hadn’t won. You’d complained about Charles. The people who didn’t like you never would - it was hard to accept, especially when they were so damn loud. You felt trapped in your head, their cruel words caging you in as you walked back to the ferrari motorhome for the end of the day.

And as soon as you were alone, you did the worst thing you could have possibly done… and went online.

Charles had already seen some of the responses to your radio message and post-race interviews, for the most part people were on your side but he just knew that for the hundreds of nice comments - there were 10 negative ones that would catch your eye. He got caught up in the media pen longer than he would’ve liked, protecting you from the snark reporters were tossing in your direction, trying to get him to bite back at you. But he was frustrated for you. You were right in your message, you could’ve beat Max and as much as he wanted to win the championship, he didn’t want to do it at your expense.

He lightly rapped his knuckles on the door of your driver’s room, hearing a soft shuffling from inside before the lock unclicked and you peered around. “Hey, been waiting for you… come on in.”

“My interviews dragged on a little more than I would have liked. How are you doing?” Your teammate hummed, stepping into the room - allowing you to lock the door behind him. He crossed over to the couch, draping his arm across the back as you sat beside him.

“...They really don’t like me, Charles.” You mumbled, leaning into his side. “I feel like no matter what I do they’re going to criticise me.”

“Baby, they criticise all of-”

You narrowed your eyes at him, shrugging his arm off of your shoulder - and standing. “Don’t you dare compare criticisms you get to how they talk about me. You don’t get it. You’ll never get it.”

“Then talk to me, y/n!” Charles finally snapped. “How am I supposed to be there for you if you won’t tell me what’s going on in your head! You’re shutting me out. I’m your boyfriend, your teammate… if you can’t talk to me then who can you talk to?”

“I don’t know! Okay?! None of you get it. Lewis maybe but none of you have never and will never be a woman in this community. And I get why now. It’s not because we’re not talented enough because there’s some girls out there with more talent than half this grid in their pinkies but because no one will ever see us the way they see you.” You really didn’t mean to take all of this out on Charles, you knew his intentions were good but he’d opened the can of worms and now he was dealing with the mess. “It doesn’t even matter if I had won the race today, they would’ve accused me of stealing it from you.”

Your teammate stood up and approached you, taking your shoulders in his hands. “I know I won’t ever understand… I’m very aware of how privileged I am. But, I am your number one supporter y/n. I know it’s hard to ignore but we’ll get through this… you’ll get through this. You’re bigger and brighter than they’ll ever be.”

He watched as a tear rolled down your cheek. “I’m… I’m just not sure if I will get through this. I knew there’d be backlash but this? Physical violence… boos everytime I get in front of a crowd? It hurts so much.”

Charles wished he had the right words to say at that moment but instead he wrapped you up in his arms, burying his face into your neck and just holding you close. He felt your arms rest against him weakly, your chin hooking over his shoulder. It was hard for him, you were right - he’d never get what you were being put through. All he could do was defend you, but he was scared it wasn’t enough as you extracted yourself from his hold and started gathering up your things to head home for the day. The spark of hope you had about being revealed had been fully extinguished and he wasn’t sure what to do.

But he knew he had to do something.

***

“So what’s this all about?”

Charles stood in front of the grid, Lewis and Sebastian either side of him, Seb had somehow managed to pull everyone together for a briefing without you finding out and now 16 pairs of eyes were staring him down.

“It’s about y/n.” He said, fiddling with the edge of the table he was perched against. “All of this criticism is getting too much and we need to back her.”

“All of us get criticism, I don’t see why you need to waste our time with a meeting about this.” Fernando rose from his chair. “I’m sorry, but I am not interested in whatever you have planned… she needs to learn to deal with it herself.”

He shook his head and left the room, muttering to himself in Spanish. Charles stood there quietly for a moment, waiting to see if anyone would follow the driver out of the room but thankfully the rest remained in their seats - he wasn’t sure if it was Lewis and Seb's gazes from behind him keeping them in their seats or if they genuinely wanted to help.

“Look, the criticism we get is nothing compared to the backlash that y/n has been getting…” Lewis said, pushing himself off of the wall to stand beside the younger driver. “I like to think we’ve all stood together before for one of our own. You all stand or kneel with me when I’ve asked before, so I hope this cause is as important.”

“Just because she’s a woman, it doesn’t mean that what she’s achieved is any less.” Seb spoke next. “You all know that. We’re not asking for you to set the FIA on fire, we just want you to stand with her.”

Max leant back in his chair, crossing one leg over the other. “I mean… I’ve got a lighter somewhere.”

Lando shoved his friend’s shoulder lightly. “Idiot. What did you guys have in mind?”

“Just a simple shared statement posted onto our instagrams.” Charles tried to make eye contact with each of his rivals, in an attempt to gauge what they were thinking. “Just saying how we won’t tolerate the bullying and actual violence.”

The Dutchman frowned. “That’s it? She was attacked, Charles… I’m in but you’ve got to have a better plan than that.”

“What did you have in mind?” Lewis said. “We didn’t want to go guns ablaze and scare you guys off.”

“I think a blanket statement is sensible.” George spoke up next, leaning forward in his chair a little - Max still didn’t look impressed. “I think a message like that from all of us will go a long way.”

Max scoffed. “Yeah sure, it won’t come across as a PR move at all. You guys can do whatever you want but I’m not just going to sit here whilst there are people out there who think they can hurt her and get away with it.”

The room fell into a stunned silence as he stood up, he stopped in front of Charles - eyes flickering across his childhood friend’s face. “I’m disappointed in you. She deserves better than this.”

The Monegasque was lost for words as the current champion left the room, the door shutting behind him the only sound in the room. He had no idea how vehemently Max felt about what you were going through.

What surprised him next was Esteban, despite his publicly tumultuous relationship with Max, he didn’t even hesitate to follow him out of the room - muttering something in French about fighting for you. He had never really considered that your other childhood karting rivals would be just as passionate as Max about standing up for you - especially as, unlike the Dutchman, he hadn’t known your secret prior to your reveal. Esteban was never one for bold statements either so the fact he was willing to do something like this surprised most of the drivers in the room.

“Uhm, anyone else?” Charles asked quietly, eyes flickering across the room. He could see a couple drivers looking a little fidgety, like they wanted to go but not knowing what Max had planned - Charles’ idea seemed like a safer bet.

He barely noticed Lewis’ strong hand coming to rest on his shoulder. “Are you still happy doing it like this? We can do something else if you don’t feel like it’s enough.”

Charles frowned a little but nodded. “Yeah. I mean, people can customise things as they see fit but I feel like the more of us they hear from the better. If you’re interested can you leave us a place to send the blanket message to? Thanks.”

He gave handshakes and bro-hugs to each of the drivers as they left the room, not noticing the way that Pierre was hanging back - still sat in his chair. The Frenchman had a feeling in his stomach that Max was right, that this wasn’t enough. He was as guilty as anyone for assuming that Thirty was a man and just like some of the others, he’d known you since you were a kid, he knew what you were capable of but has always taken your story as gospel, never questioned it. The fact he hadn’t recognised you when he joined F1 was just the final nail in the coffin, he’d ignored you more than he cared to admit- even objectifying you like many other women in the paddock.

“Pierre, you okay, man?” The Ferrari driver sat beside him. “Looking a little spaced out.”

“Max is right. I don’t… mate, I don’t have a fucking leg to stand on here.” He laughed awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck. “I wasn’t exactly an advocate for women, for her, being in the sport.”

“C’mon, you didn’t know.”

Pierre’s frown deepened. “That’s not an excuse. I grew up with her and since we stopped racing together I spent more time staring at her fucking tits and ass than taking a second to use my brain.”

Charles went to speak but his childhood companion rose suddenly from his seat. Pierre walked over to the door before stopping with his hand wrapped around the handle.

“Do you not remember before her reveal when you were coming out of that team thirty meeting and I didn’t even consider her? I have to find Max. I’m sorry.”

The Monegasque sat there for a little while longer as he thought about what Max and Pierre had both said. They were right, you did deserve more than just some statement but he was nervous. He was the Tifosi’s golden boy - meanwhile, he was sure Max could get away with anything and well Pierre was a nuisance so he did what he wanted regardless.

And he loved you, he did but his reputation mattered too right? He just had to figure out the best way to do it without putting up the picket signs and actively tearing down the FIA HQ to get them to protect you. His eyes flickered to the door where the grid had since left him to his thoughts. Should he have followed Max, Pierre and Esteban? Or should he stick to Sebastian and Lewis’ sage advice?

He knew you were the only person who would know exactly what to do right now - that you would give him the perfect answer. But he also knew that if you knew what he was up to, you’d say that you weren’t worth all this fuss.

But you were worth it, more than.

As his phone buzzed in his pocket he fished it out, a text from you bringing a smile to his face. The public didn’t need to love you like he did - he wasn’t sure they ever would - but you deserved as much respect as the rest of your rivals. And if meant blindly following Max, Pierre and Esteban as they acted out whatever craziness they had planned…

He was going to do it.

***

Next part >>>

Thank you all for being patient!! Last weekend was so good 🏎️ hope you enjoy!!

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athanasius-symposium-of-writings · 4 months

Text

The Bird And The Man

Chapter Seven

Rated: Explicit | Warnings: fingering (in a way), dropped the big three words, nightmare is living his best life

Ao3

Chapter Six | Chapter Eight

Notes: -hands yall a congrats on the smut cake-

Nightmare and Orpheus are like two sides of a man, the duality of man. Is the monster truly a monster? Is the man truly the facade he portrays? The worst part is they share that spark of life, the soul divided but connected. They both share everything but their personalities.

The heart being one of those things they share, this budding love for you. Orpheus, the Novelist, does not fall in love easily. Orpheus, the ‘Nightmare’, falls in love easily. You have something he never thought to have, companionship.

He is a hunter, a creature created from the darker parts of Orpheus, yet there you were trying to communicate with him. Nightmare could tell at first you were afraid but you are brave, bold, and stubborn too; you refused to be frightened away. The bird is grateful.

If the circumstances were ideal, if he was still part of Orpheus, he would like to court you properly.

But this will do, you seem content with it too. No, not content, happy with the things he shows you.

Tonight, the full moon is high in the sky with stars flickering in the clear cold night.

You found him in the library, reading your book. The Nightmare had not expected to see you, he wished for you to enjoy yourself. But you told him you want to be where he is.

Something in him was beating fast, a warmth spreading, and at that moment he ached terribly.

He wrote down that he wanted to show you something.

And now here you are…

Up on the roof, there is a dip enough for someone to sit comfortably and stargaze.

And that is exactly what you did with him.

You currently are leaning against him covered by his coat, in and out of sleep, warm and safe.

“Thank you.” For everything? For being there? You are not sure what but you know you are grateful for him. A strange stability, someone you found this companionship with. To many, it will seem odd given he is a creature and one who has harmed many, but you know deep down he is trapped too. The gentleness he has soon you, letting you into his space, to communicate for hours; you know Orpheus is there deep down.

The gentleman novelist, you kiss him on the tip of his beak. “Orpheus,” He tries to kiss back but stops in favor of moving you onto his lap. Your back against his chest, legs partly open, you look up as his hands hover above your chest. “Hm?” His hands instead move to rest on his knees rubbing them as if nervous. “You can touch me.” Saying with as much of a steady voice as you can muster. He goes still, claws gripping his knees.

You take his hand, without the quill, and place it on your chest, your heart beating fast. “I want you to touch me, Orpheus.” Saying his pen name makes you groan. “Orpheus.” Saying it in an attempt to sound sexy.

His breathing slows, a sharp inhale from his nose as he draws you closer and shifts his coat to lay over your front.

Your cheeks burn as you feel him explore. Nothing too much but enough that you are squirming.

Nightmare is nervous and cautious, you are fragile compared to him. Many times he has bled out a survivor by simply crushing bones or cutting them deep enough. He is a monster, the wolf while you wander aimlessly within this dark forest with no path home.

Yet, you know all the horror stories about the hunter, know that in the end, you will fall by any of their hands— Including his— But here you are soundlessly moaning and fidgeting on his lap as he treats you with the utmost care.

Is that what you want? To be intimate with a monster like him?

Outside of the three brothers, the rest of them look normal. Even Fool's Gold was able to have a night of pleasure with a survivor at a party long ago.

“Hypnos.” A whisper in the wind, “Hypnos.” The vibration of his voice is muffled by his mask against your shoulder down your chest. “Hypnos.” His knuckle goes faster

You moaned louder, pitchy too, as his finger touched the top of your pants. It is wordless but he wants to know if he can go further.

“Orpheus,” Your hand on top of his, “I love you.”

Love, he is not deserving of it. Nightmare is a monster, the darkness of Orpheus made manifest. Your hand reaches up and behind you touching his masked face.

“I love you.” Saying it again as his finger slips inside of your pants. “Orpheus!” Moaning out his name as you learn you are sensitive.

He is going to be selfish, voracious, and take everything you are and hold it deep with his un-beating heart. You will be the one and only piece of his heart left in this world.

Nightmare rubs slowly, carefully, as he uses a knuckle as he fears his claws may hurt you. Your hips move as you chase that bliss, legs bending then stretching out, you suddenly are not cold either. Your breathing is uneven, your core weeping for more than being rubbed off.

“More, oh, please more.”

He curls around you, protective and his eyes enjoy the sight of you lost in pleasure. Your mixed scent (especially with the scent of his counterpart) is being changed to his and yours only, as it should be.

“Louder.” Sing his canary, no one can hear you up here aside from him and the night sky.

“Orpheus, Orpheus!” Chanting his name over and over as you start writhing on his lap, “I‐I feel ah…” No amount of romance novels could prepare you for that snap. They can describe the ideal orgasm but to experience it… You felt like you died! Body going taunt as rushes through you like the time Luca accidentally shocked you. Nerves on fire, but the difference is how blanked your mind goes, the way your heart is racing enough to hurt. The panic and thrill all at once.

The creature helps you through it as his own breathing is ragged with lust and a need he will not be pressing on you though he knows you will try to reciprocate. Having you in his arms, his finger and hand covered with your cum, and his scent all over you.

Perfection.

“Oprhy.” Drunk sounding as you are still on your post-orgasm high, “Cold.”

Right because you both are still outside in the cold on a winter starry night.

“Inside me.” Shivering but wanting more, “You.” Stopping his hand by grabbing his wrist from leaving your pants. “Please.”

Nightmare knows better, and fights against his desires, to take you like a harlot. To defile you on his cock, to have you walking among your peers– Among Orpheus– With his claw marks all over you.

“Future.” He swears he must be a gentleman. “Soon.” You whine but you are too high to complain properly.

One back inside, he sunk you to your room. Nightmare made sure no one saw you both in the halls of the survivors’ manor. Everyone seems to be at the party, save for the one room he passed by that lewd sounds from inside.

Not surprisingly, it is the holidays. Orpheus has many stories of adventures from after-holiday parties. Drunken escapades, a few times with the same gender too.

He found your room by asking the head butler who was making his rounds. Nightmare knows the man will not tell a soul who is and was here in your room.

Quietly and carefully entering your room, the creature felt nostalgia seep into his heart. The smell of ink and paper, the mess of balled-up tossed away drafts, and cups from drinking coffee or tea. Your room is small but you make it feel personal with your personal touches. Drawings, not well made, on the walls. Letters, he can see they are from a postman, on the desk. A few pictures were taken on a birthday with some of the survivors. You told him that despite the horrors of the Manor, you found joy. It is a positive outlook you said needs to grow in the darkness, light will find a way to shine in the most unlikely of places.

You hold onto him as he places his coat on the chair at your desk, you kiss his neck when he starts removing your clothes. His groans like honey as you bite leaving a mark on that bluish-gray skin, “Take me.” You want him badly, you want more, and want to share the bliss he gave you. Seeing you only wearing undergarments, ruined makeup, and the expression of want is hurting him.

“Again.” He lays you on the bed with him above you, the bed protesting by the creeks as his hand is once more between your legs.

Nightmare stayed longer than he planned, you were insatiable to a point but he knows most of it was because you want him; all of him without fear or regret. When he looks at his hand, now clean after wiping you down and preparing you for rest, he swears he can still feel you. Of course, he could not use his fingers the ideal way but his hand is large enough that he was able to tease your hole with his knuckle. The creature turns his head to see you fighting to stay awake, your body curled up towards him, a nightgown on you for modesty, Nightmare pulls the blankets over you.

You are the most beautiful person he has ever met.

He leans a little towards you when you stir and touch his arm, a strong grip on his forearm as if you fear he will disappear if you fall asleep. Partly true, he will return to his room but he will not be disappearing.

Your voice cracks as your throat is sore from all the moaning and cries of his name, “Stay.” That is impossible but you can feel the gentle loving gaze he has behind that mask. “One day, you can stay.” Knowing better. There would be no punishment as these are the only times both factions can visit each other, however, there will likely be questions and you will not be willing to let anyone make you question your love for the hunter.

He chirps, meeting you halfway to rest his forehead on yours, his now clean hand stroking your cheek. Nightmare for a night felt like more a man than a creature thanks to you.

“I. Love. You.” Broken sentence but he gets it out.

You smile goofily, “I love you too, Orpheus.”

#orpheus x you #idv orpheus x you #orpheus x reader #nightmare x reader #idv nightmare #nightmare x you #identity v x you #identity v x reader #identity v #idv reader insert #idv orpheus #idv novelist #idv x reader #reader insert #idv

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thefatedthoughtofyou · 1 year

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Warnings: allusions to abuse. Not against steve or Eddie but against both of their mothers. Other than that this is sweet i promise. Also just realized it's mothers day so... this is possibly awkward, possibly fitting. Take care my lovelies.

Steve had always loved the rain. Not storms, necessarily. But the rain. The pitter patter of drops on the roof. And the street. And the leaves in the trees. The surface of his pool on unnaturally warm spring day. The way the drops felt cold and tingly on warm skin. Steve loved it all.

Loved sitting with his feet in the pool, dangling over the edge, into the water, as he let the rain soak him through. Let his shirt stick to his skin as rain drops dripped from his hair into his eyes.

His mother had started his love for it. Always jumping in puddles with him on their way to the car in the grocery store parking lot. Both of them laughing as they held hands and ran and jumped, splashing their clothes and soaking their shoes and not caring at all for the mess they were making of themselves.

Steve missed those days. Missed his mother being happy. Her warm smile keeping the chill of the rain away. Steve supposed sitting in the rain, and watching it fall across the top of the water, was his way of bringing those feelings back.

But deep down. He'd always wished for someone to share this with. He'd tried with Nancy. And she was no priss, really she wasn't, obviously. But when he'd asked her to walk in the rain with him once, she'd given him this look. Like she'd thought he was crazy. Or ridiculous. Or just being weird, dumb, Steve.

He hadn't asked again.

But he'd wanted too. So many times. Of so many people. He was sure Robin would love it too. But he hadn't been brave enough to ask yet.

And then there was Eddie. They'd been dancing around something for what was probably close to a year now. There was an ache in Steve's chest everytime it rained. Longing to walk out into the rain, hold his hand out to Eddie, and ask him to take it.

But he was scared. And he was trying to come to terms with that fear. And that ache. When he heard the door open behind him. He heard a few stumbled footsteps and jingling chains, and hung his head a bit, smiling into his lap.

Eddie.

It was movie night. Steve had forgotten, lost in the rain.

He should get up. Go inside. Dry off so they can start whatever movie Eddie had brought to lecture him on tonight. Steve would roll his eyes, but he loved listening to Eddie talk about things he loved. Loved all the little details he added, fun facts he knew that Steve never would have found out on his own.

He plants his hands to stand just as Eddie plops himself down next to Steve. Shoes removed somewhere behind them, jeans folded up a bit around his shins. Eddie lowers his feet into the water easily, taking care, ridiculously, not to splash, and turns to look at Steve with that fucking smile.

"Great weather right?" He asks, genuine delight dripping from his lips, and shinning in his eyes. Steve feels like he's flying a bit to close to the sun, the way Eddie shines. He just nods, bites his lip and looks into his lap again. Eddie knocks his shoulder into Steve's.

"Why ya sittin in the rain Steve?" He asks, still sounding happy, no judgment, and to Steve's suprise, no worry.

"I just like the rain." He says, easy. No lies. Not with Eddie. He's been making an effort to only tell Eddie the truth... about most things. He feels more than sees Eddie nod beside him.

"Me too. Love it. Nothin quite like sittin in the rain." He says, easy. Bumps into Steve again, he's swaying a bit now, side to side. Gentle as you please. It's a thing he does. Steve finds it hypnotizing in the best way.

"Yeah." Steve says dumbly, internally kicks himself. Eddie huffs a laugh next him as their shoulders collide again.

"Ya know," he leans closer, stops his swaying for a moment. His eyes focused on Steve, bangs dripping water down his face. Steve blinks rapidly, trying to focus on what Eddie is about to say, and not on the jealousy he feels for the raindrops slowly moving over Eddie's skin.

"I used to climb onto the roof of the trailer when it rained. Just lay there. Eyes on the sky." He glanced up, squinting into the rain and then looking back to Steve with a small smile, his 'just for Steve' smile.

"Drove Wayne crazy. He worries." Eddie tilted his head, the 'Bless him.' heavily implied in his tone. Steve snorts.

"I wonder why." He says, voice dry. Eddie's eyes move his face quickly, before he laughs and sways away again.

"That's fair. I did almost get struck by lightning once." Eddie muses, then rounds on Steve suddenly, eyes wide, finger pointing accusingly.

"Don't, tell him that." He's using his serious face, it makes Steve smile.

"I wouldn't dare." He holds his hand over his heart.

"Scouts honor." He says, holding his other hand up. Eddie leans back a bit, looks Steve up and down, wipes water out of his eyes before looking away again.

"You would have been a scout." Eddie shakes his head, rolls his eyes, but he smiling that smile again.

"Four years. Yeah. It wasn't horrible." Steve concedes, shrugging, and he sighs softly at the feeling of his wet shirt tugging on his shoulders.

They're silent for a long moment. Both of them just sitting, watching the rain. Eddie rocking back and forth absent-mindedly next to him now, his feet gently kicking back and forth in the water.

"My mom used to jump in puddles with me. In the store parking lot. And once out there," Steve points out over the pool, into the back yard, Eddie leans closer, his eyes following where Steve's pointing.

"We ended up covered in mud. Both of us laughing so hard we could barely breathe. Dad wasn't home so the mess didn't matter. We were just having fun. I miss her being fun." Steve hadn't meant to say that part, not really. But it had slipped, his cheeks heating a bit. But Eddie didn't even stumble over the confession.

"Why isn't she fun anymore? Cuz'a him?" Eddie asks, like it's easy, this thing Steve hates to talk about, and think about. He swallows, hard, and nods. Sees Eddie nod back, a sad smile on his lips now, until they quirk to the side, his scarred cheek pulling up a bit as he makes his thinking face.

"She could leave him? Take you too." Eddie says, and it's a question. He's prodding, a bit, always curious. Steve takes a deep breathe, straightening his back as he breathes deep.

"Sorry. None of my business." Eddie shakes his head once, his hair so thoroughly soaked now that it barely moves on his shoulders.

"No it's okay. I just," he pauses, takes another deep breath, thinking.

"I think she's stuck. Like... she can't leave." Steve shakes his head too, wipes at his face, moving the water out of his eyes, off his nose where it's tickling.

"Catholic?" Eddie asks, easy. And Steve stares at him.

No one had asked that before. Or mentioned it. People always being nosy and presumptuous, saying if she really cared about herself, or for Steve, that she would just go. But it wasn't that simple. And Steve had never been able to explain it very well.

But Eddie had explained it fine. With one word. A knowing look in his eyes. Steve suddenly remembers all the things he's heard about Eddie's dad, how he's never heard much about his mom, and his stomach sinks, his throat catching on the fire gathering there.

Steve nods. Eddie nods back. Smiles that small smile into his lap again.

"People don't understand some things. Ya know?" Eddie asks, bumping into Steve again. He sways away once more and Steve follows, presses his shoulder to Eddie's firmly. Eddie stills, let's him lean there.

"And ya know what?" He looks at Steve, eyes peeking out under his dripping bangs.

"What?" Steve asks, his palms and fingers itching, wanting to reach out and touch Eddie. To wipe the water from his eyes. To tuck his hair behind his ear. To hold his hand. Maybe kiss him a little.

"It's none of their fucking business. You know your mom. You know what she was like. How she cared for you. You'll always have those memories. Ya know? I mean, if you don't have anything else." He shrugs, leans his weight into Steve's shoulder, comforting. Steve closes his eyes, tries to think of something to say to the gift Eddie's just given him.

Because he's right. She's Steve's mother. She loved him. Always. And whatever else she was, or how she acted, was none of anyone's business. Steve had his mother. His memories of her. Her warm smile, and bubbly laugh. She was his. No matter how his father changed her, or kept her away. She was Steve's. Always Steve's. Maybe only ever his. God knows she wasn't his father's, probably never had been.

He realizes he's been sitting, not saying anything, Eddie still firmly pressed against him. Silent. Letting Steve process, or grieve, or whatever he assumed Steve might doing. He was just letting him do it, and supporting him, in more ways than one.

"Did your mom like the rain?" He asks, finally breaking the silence. And it's the right question. Because it makes Eddie laugh. A good. Genuine. Proper laugh. His head tilted back, face to the sky, basking in the rain falling on them. He sighs, looks back to Steve.

"She fuckin loved the rain. I guess that's were I got it. Wayne use to mutter 'just like your mother' everytime he had to dry me off when I was little and out puddle hopping like a violent frog." He makes a little sound in his throat, sounds exactly like the bullfrogs Steve used to hear at the lake and a laugh bursts out of him. Eddie's answering, crooked smile, is dazzling. Steve longs to reach out and touch those dimples.

"Wanna see what she used to do to me?" Eddie asks, his voice quiet now, he sounds a bit shy, so Steve leans closer, nods, his eyes glued to Eddie's face.

He doesn't have time to wonder if the shyness was real, or a ruse to get him close, but it didn't matter. Because once he was close, a mischievous glint tinted Eddie's eyes and Steve knew he'd made a mistake.

"She did this." He said around a smirk and shook his head violently side to side. His hair throwing water like a shaking dog. A few wet strands smack Steve in the face and he startles back, or tries too. But he forgets they're on the edge of the pool and his hand misses the ledge as he sways back and then promptly falls into the water.

When he surfaces again Eddie is cackling, holding his hands over his stomach as he looks at Steve. His eyes bright. The water is warm, the rain cold on Steve's shoulders as he stands, forces himself to glare at Eddie, even as a smile tugs at his lip. He stalks toward Eddie, slowed by the drag of the water. Eddie smile drops.

"No no no no no! Steven don't you dare!" He shrieks, but Steve notes, he makes no effort to get away, aside from leaning back a little. Steve grabs Eddie's waist swiftly and tosses him into the water.

He comes up sputtering. Hair flat around his head. He looks like a drowned rat. Or one of the fluffy cats that gets wet and looks miseral and skinny and grumpy. Eddie lifts his hands and then drops them again.

"I said no. I did say no, yeah?" He says, then asks, squinting at Steve through the water from the pool and the water from the rain.

"No yeah, you did. I just didn't listen." Steve shrugs, laughs, falls back into the water and then goes under, opens his eyes and looks at Eddie standing there. He watches him wiggle his toes against the bottom of the pool, it makes him look nervous. So Steve swims forward, gets as close as he can to Eddie, until Eddie backs away a bit, and then he resurfaces. Eddie's hands are held up in front of him.

"Don't splash me." He warns, hands lowering into the water.

"I splash back. That's the only warning you get!" He warns, hands flicking water at Steve, who just smiles.

"We're already wet Eds." He rolls his eyes, snorts when Eddie lowers his hands.

"Oh. Right. Duh." Eddie scoffs, mostly at himself. Steve stands, shakes his head the way Eddie had, throwing water into the boys face. When he opens his eyes and Eddie is flinching, sputtering out water dramatically, dragging a hand down his face.

"Very funny. You're a natural." Eddie says, voice dry. He's got that cute grumpy cat look going again and Steve can't help it. Can't stop himself.

He steps forward. Into Eddie's space. And presses his lips gently against Eddie's. He doesn't kiss back. Just makes a small startled noise in his throat. But he doesn't pull away. Steve does. Thinks maybe he read this all wrong. He opens his eyes and sees how red Eddie is, and knows he didn't misread anything.

"You okay?" He breathes.

"Mhm. What-" Eddie's voice breaks, he clears his throat, his hand rubbing at the back of his neck.

"W-what was that for?" He asks, his eyes locked on the water between them. Steve shrugs.

"Because I wanted to. That alright?" Steve asks, ducking his head to try and get Eddie to look at him. Eddie blinks, hard, and brings his eyes up, meeting Steve's. He nods. Doesn't say anything.

Steve moves, wraps his arm around Eddie's waist and pulls him close. Eddie makes a little high pitched noise in his throat when their chests meet and it drives Steve a little wild. But it also makes him realize what's happening. With Eddie. He's never done this.

"I can show you how. We can go slow." Steve breathes between them, his free hand lifting, dragging his fingertips over Eddie's cheek, touching the scar there gently, trying to convey everything he's been feeling for months into the touch.

Eddie whines, leans into the touch, pressing his cheek into Steve's palm. Snuggling closer like the cat he is. Steve smiles, cradles Eddie's face with his hands. Eddie's hands move to his hips, Steve can feel him trembling.

"I've got you." Steve breathes. Eddie nods, his mouth falling open just so before he surges forward and kisses Steve again. Their second kiss. Eddie's second kiss ever. Steve is so sure.

It starts frantic, Eddie's lips crashing against his. But he immediately loses his confidence and just, stands there, lips pressed to Steve's. Steve almost laughs into, but catches himself, doesn't wanna scare Eddie or hurt him, not now that he's just got him.

So Steve breathes through his nose and moves. Moves his hands to Eddie's hips and holds him steady. Moves his lips gently against Eddie's, slowly, until Eddie gets the memo and follows his lead.

It's clumsy, and awkward, and Eddie's palms are hot on Steve's shoulders where he's holding on for dear life. And it's completely and utterly intoxicating. Steve pulls back first, just a bit, to breathe. Eddie sways, his lips chasing Steve's. Steve catches him around the waist, keeps him still. Smiles at him when he blinks heavily, his eyes opening slowly, to look at Steve.

"Did-" he stops, his cheeks going an impossibly deeper shade of red, nearly matching the scar on his cheek. Steve soothes his thumb over said scar. Widens his eyes, letting Eddie know he's listening.

"Did I do that okay?" He asks, his face scrunching up. Steve nods, pulls Eddie's head down a bit, presses a kiss to his forhead.

"You did it perfect." Steve says, nods. Kisses him again. Soft and sweet.

"Movie?" Steve asks, head resting against Eddie's. Eddie nods, his breathing slowing a bit as Steve holds him, his thumb rubbing small circles into Eddie's hip.

"Yes. Yeah. Movie sounds great." Eddie agrees, nodding. Steve smiles, takes Eddie's hand and leads him up the steps out of the pool, their fingers tangled together as the rain poured around them.

Steve gets them dry clothes, and a pile of blankets. And later, when they're tangled together underneath them, legs and hands entwined, Steve's hand in Eddie's still damp hair.

He glances away from the movie, and out the window, smiling as he watches the rain fall, his chest warm with the feeling of finally having someone to love the rain with. He drifts off, the sound of Eddie's deep, sleeping breaths against his chest, lulling him into a peaceful sleep. And he dreams, of raindrops catching in Eddie's lashes as they dance in the rain, spinning through puddles with mud on their feet and warmth in their hearts.

#also hi the catholic things comes directly from a similar situation one of my moms friends was in so like.. not trying to religion bash or #anything. i just know Catholics dont really support divorce and such. so yeah. thats all it is my dudes #steddie #steve harrington x eddie munson #steddie fic #steve x eddie #fates endless inkwell #fei #steddie blurb #also side note. this happened cuz i got cuaght in the rain yesterday and was feeling absolutely romantic about it #my writing #mine #my fic

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lovebotomy · 18 days

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I remember reading meta on how gwen is better for arthur than merlin because she and arthur share love for camelot while merlin only cares about Arthur's wellbeing and it got me thinking about morgwen. gwen is the most selfless person in the series. she's forgiving, very rarely gets mad, she says that she wouldn't wish uther dead because what would it change and then cares about him for arthur. she cares strongly about the kingdom. thorough the series arthur merlin and morgana all have desires to leave camelot and the burdens behind. arthur wants a farm, merlin to run away with freya, morgana with druids. has gwen ever expressed that? even as queen?? it's funny that in the end she's the one sitting on the throne lol

and it's true she's better for king arthur than merlin because merlin coddles him too much, loves him too much to let arthur reach his potential. (also isn't that what morgana would want.. for a man to love her so much... lol)

and this brings me to morgwen because morgana IS 'selfish'. she wants to be angry, to punish, to have someone stand by her no matter what and share her anger and assure her she's not alone and will be safe. she will stand by those close to her no matter what but she expects the same in return and I'm not sure gwen would give it to her, because gwen is Good and morgana needs someone to stand by her even if she's the farthest thing from good. gwen loves arthur and lancelot for their nobility, loves arthur for the king he will be - brave, strong, courageous, selfless, upholder of laws, protector, carer of the people. and morgana doesn't feel like those things. she's scared, secretive, manipulative, orchestrated uthers murder in s1 already, and while kind her love for herself becomes stronger than for the people of the kingdom (understandable as she believes they would want her dead).

their relationship would be very volatile because they would disagree with each other's values and methods too much. merlin says he could never be like morgana, but they're very similar (if only merlin wasn't brainwashed by gaius and killi and decided morgana - sorcerer defender - is the pendragon worth fighting for..) . gwen is truly on the opposite side of the spectrum from them both.

morganas turn on gwen suddenly makes so much sense because the one person who's been with her through so much and who you could always count on before was destined to marry your perfect golden boy brother and with morgana not part of the vision it's not difficult to imagine they both would turn away from her now that she wasn't the perfect kind selfless king's ward but a sorceress with an agenda and desires for herself.

no point confronting them about it and risking her plan when she already knows them enough to be sure about this

#merlin meta #morgana meta #morgwen #mergana #bbc merlin #sorry if this doesn't make sense I didn't reread it it's pretty much word vomit #doomed yuri fr

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eksvaized · 5 months

Text

>>> John "Soap" MacTavish x Reader

>>> one-shot

>>> heavily inspired by Nelly Furtado's song 'Promiscuous'

“The feeling that you’re giving really drives me crazy.” Johnny whispered into your ear. His hand slid down your back, sending a wave of shivers up your spine. You turned your head and faced him. A smirk tugging on your lips.

“You expect me to just let you hit it.” You rolled your eyes at him but didn’t move away. He groaned, yet a cheeky smile still crept across his face. “But will you still respect me if you get it?”

You and Johnny were teammates. You were both aware that relationships among squad members were absolutely prohibited and frowned upon. However, you tried not to dwell on it, and if someone pointed out that you were getting close, treading on the dangerous line, about to step over, you used the excuse that always seemed to work: we are just flirting.

That might have been the case at first. Johnny was a confident man who loved to tease you, and you were having too much fun to turn him down. You enjoyed the attention, the compliments he would send your way, and the indiscreet glances he would attempt to steal, which you would always catch him doing. He didn’t care that you had caught him, though, and even when your eyes met, he refused to turn away.

“What’s the problem? I don’t see no ring on your hand.” He’d always point out, letting your fingers intertwine with his while he fiddled with your hand.

Even if it was simply holding hands, his touch drove you wild; you could never get enough of it.

Deep inside, you knew that what you two were doing was wrong.

After a mission, when you returned to the base, you and Johnny, and occasionally others too, liked to grab the bottle of the cheapest alcohol and finish it in one sitting. It was your way of unwinding, and it was much easier to fall asleep when you were intoxicated and couldn’t think about anything other than how fast the world was spinning.

“You already know that I’m all yours.” You replied and leaned into him, allowing your body to relax into his embrace. Your back was pressed against his chest. His arm curled around you, his other hand trailing up and down your side.

“I can’t keep my mind off you.” He confessed after taking another shot. You couldn’t see his face, but his head was dipped, and his eyes explored your body, trying to imprint the image of you laying in his arm in his memory. “I was at a loss for words the first time we spoke. You seemed so innocent, and I was curious about you.”

You giggled when he said innocent. You may have appeared to be a naive girl, young and eager to join an elite team, but as it was quickly revealed, you were far from innocent. The way you carried yourself, the fact that you never turned down Johnny’s banter and seemed to love flirting with him, the brightest smile would paint your face whenever you would see him... that’s what drew his attention.

He still wasn’t brave enough to admit to himself, you or anyone else, but he wished he could have you all to himself. He didn’t want to share you or your attention, and he was envious anytime you flirted with someone else. He knew it was stupid to feel jealous of someone who was only a friend, yet he couldn’t help himself. Those feelings would constantly reemerge, no matter how hard he tried to keep his cool.

“Let your guard down, ain’t nobody gotta know.” You raised your head and looked at him. You were the one who constantly tested the waters to see how far he would let you take things. However, no matter how hard you tried or how persistent you were, he was always the voice of reason and gently turned you down. “We can keep it on the low.”

Johnny took a deep breath, his gaze fixed on you. You were laying on his chest, so you could feel his heartbeat quicken. This increased the size of your grin. You hoped that one more push would send him over the brink and make him screw all the rules against fraternising with teammates... and then screw you.

He shook his head but wasn’t able to say no to you. He realised he had to change the topic before he caved in, so he tugged on your shirt, arching his brow.

“I can see you’re with my t-shirt on.”

You nodded. It had become a habit of yours to steal his clothes and never give them back. They were bigger on you and more comfortable, and they smelt like him.

“I can see you with nothing on.” You didn’t want to stop taunting him, so you proceeded with your little game after checking around to make sure no one was paying attention to you two. “Feeling on me before you bring it on.”

“Bring that on?” He cocked his head to the side. You rolled your eyes at him, your tongue running across your bottom lip.

“You know what I mean.”

“You shouldn’t say those things.” He replied, adjusting himself and then sliding his body lower.

You sat up and took a shot. The bottle was almost empty. You both knew that once you finished it, you’d part ways since you couldn’t continue to be together. Drunk and desperate were not a great combination; you were well aware that neither of you could keep your hands to yourself if you’d be left alone.

#cod #call of duty #john soap mactavish #soap x reader #writing #johnny soap mactavish

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shintin · 2 years

Text

Table No.13

↳ Gojo Satoru x Female Reader

One-shot

Summary: It's 4 in the morning, the end of December. You run to the airport, wearing your famous blue raincoat. Water's dripping out of your hair. It's raining out there. Tokyo is freezing. But it doesn't matter, because you are leaving. But tell me, when did you become brave enough to put it all behind you and walk away as if it wasn't just a desperate bluff?

This is the story of a girl who gets stabbed by the hands of her blue-eyed past, with no questions asked.

Word count: 9.5 k

Warnings: Heavy angst, NSFW content, No character death.

Note: ARTS ARE NOT MINE.

Song Recommendation: Ocie Elliott - Run To You & Mahsun Kırmızıgül - Belalım

Go back to the master list.

You looked out the large glass window of Haneda Airport. The sky was tar-black, and big pillows of cloud were forming, blotting out the old-gold color of the sun. It started as a whisper in the air. You could hear the taps on the window, and then it became a pitter-patter. Up to now, the sky had been postcard-perfect, but it was changing. The beautiful cocktail-crimson hue of the morning was beginning to darken into gravel-grey. The puddles began plinking as the rainfall became heavier. The rain was dancing on the rooftops of airplanes, as if nothing in life mattered at the moment. But unfortunately, that didn't apply to you. There were still things you cared about. As a matter of fact, one of them was sitting before you at table 13, in the coziest spot of the airport, but you preferred to listen to the buzzing murmurs of the rain rather than look at him.

"Come on, Chibi! Don't sulk. Everything will be fine," said Satoru gently, taking your hand in his. He didn't know whether it was possible, but he was willing to do anything for you. You were the best thing that ever happened to him. "Now, you better eat your strawberry cake, or I'll eat it. Do you want me to end up with diabetes?" He was joking; although it was silly, he tried to lighten your mood. But according to your facial features, his efforts seemed not very fruitful.

His thumb caressed the ring on your finger, followed by his lips. "Y/N," he called your name as if it were the only holy word he knew in the world. "No one else can have my heart because you're the only one I love."

The sound faded into a long swirling noise with so much rain falling. Clouds were churlish and Kraken-cruel. It poured into a biblical deluge, flooding the rivers, drowning the fields, and overflowing the dams, reminding you of the cataclysm of Noah's ark. You wished for an endless cataract of water sluicing from the sky. The ache in your heart wanted the trees to uproot, the cars to go bobbing by, the entire villages disappearing.

You turned your face and gazed at his eyes. God, you loved them. They held the whole ocean. When he was happy, they were a clear, radiant blue with slight wrinkles around the corners as he laughed or smiled, and there was no trace of a storm.

But when he was sad? Oh, it was a completely different matter. They turned icy, cold, totally unlike him, blazing with sorrow. There were a few clouds, but mostly just ice. They hurt you the most that you could never forget.

"Satoru, I don't -" Your sentence never ended because he was shattered enough by the sadness bathing your eyes to let you do more harm by transforming them into words. In his opinion, you were everything he wanted, but unfortunately, his family didn't think so. Those ancient walking fossils thought that the heir of the Gojo company should be with someone who would bring benefits to their family and help their business grow. Therefore, even mentioning your name, a common girl without a noble background, was considered a disgrace. Satoru, however, was not the type to retreat. He would give up everything, but not you. He interrupted your words. "I'll never let anyone take you away from me," he murmured, and cupped your face with his big hands. "I love you, Y/N." You heard him. "I'll love you forever." You believed him. "I'll never leave you." You took his words for granted.

Eventually, the noise lessened, and the drops faded into a musical chime. The sun came out again, casting diagonal beams of light across the airstrip.

Fear crept through you, so you kissed him. With love. With lust. With…

You felt his hands surrounding your body, but you wanted more. You needed more. You knew you had to save him for your future days. The days that you would yearn for a bit of touch from him, but a famine would devastate you. You had to scrape off that painful itch in your gut. "I love you, too, Satoru."

You felt his grip on your neck as he pulled you in to capture you for a deeper kiss. Your hands went to caress the back of his neck, tangle your fingers in his silky white locks, and feel his pulse hammering against your palm. Soon he found the taste of salt on his tongue, and the wet drops falling on his cheeks inflamed his flesh. He didn't know whose they were as he continued to try and cling onto you like his subconscious knew it was your last time together.

That day, he left Tokyo for Sendai with high hopes, and you made your way to Osaka. Your hometowns.

You were late. Too late. Why did you always wait till the last moment? You promised you would cut this vicious cycle of being late each time, but it seemed you would end yourself, but not mend.

It was raining as if it was doomsday. The torrential rains had closed the streets, and Tokyo was dealing with heavy early traffic. Cursing yourself, you stepped out of the cab and rushed to the airport with your luggage. You ran to the check-in section without wasting time and promptly put your luggage and backpack on the conveyor. Hurrying back to the control gate, you removed your watch and phone, and left them on the table for security to check.

Attention passengers on Fuji Dream Airlines flight 232 to Okinawa. The departure gate has been changed. The flight will now be leaving from gate 26.

Biting the corner of your lip, you waited for the previous person to get through the body scan, praying for the machine not to beep for you. Each beep and red signal meant a more thorough physical inspection, which would certainly make you miss the flight.

Closing your eyes, you went across the scanner. It was as if the gods were in your favor today. The machine gave no warning, and the officer let you pass by with a smile. You nodded, snatched your belongings, and raced to grab your bags. After all, every second was golden.

Like an automatic robot that memorized the process due to frequent repetitions, your body quickly moved towards the ticket counter. You were panting and searching for your ID card in your messy backpack when the sound of the announcement caught your attention.

Amakusa Airlines regrets to announce the delay of light 4022 to Osaka due to departing at 4:15. This flight is now scheduled to depart at 6:30.

Shit. Shit. Shit. The 'L' in your luck had been replaced with an 'F'.

With pursed lips, you raised your head, and your eyes fixated on the yellow DELAY in front of the Tokyo-Osaka flight information. You sighed and looked at your watch; its hands showed 4:00 am. Oh, well! You had to stay here for the next couple of hours.

A drop of water dripped from your hair on your wrist, just to remind you that you had come out of the rain shower a few minutes ago. Only a fool leaves with no umbrella in the fall. All right, no argument. It sounds like you were a chump.

You turned your head around to pick your next destination. It's not like you didn't notice people's judgmental looks on your wet hair and soaked raincoat. But today, you were tough enough with yourself, and oh, to be fair, you didn't give a fuck about them. You hated all that had a bitter taste of standards and traditions.

Do this, do that.

Wear kimono, not jeans.

Walk with small steps.

Don't laugh out loud.

Only whores lick ice cream in public.

Instead of reading, start cooking.

Men prefer women with long hair.

Ugh! You were disgusted by all these dos and don'ts. So, it seemed pretty normal for you never to miss the opportunity to despise old-minded schnooks. This hatred was a daily routine. After all, you had lost everything because of those imbecile tradition sucker maniacs. You had lost him. Why? Just because you didn't fit into their boxes. And it's not like you were hard-headed. You tried to adapt yourself to everything for him, your…your love, but according to those geezers, people are born as nobles. It is not an acquired trait. Assholes!

You took off your blue raincoat, threw it on your arm, and headed to the graveyard of your memories in the company of your dear luggage. As usual, you walked into his favorite coffee shop and ordered a mocha with caramel. It tasted like the old days. Bittersweet. More bitter now, because the past had hidden nothing but pain for you, yet you never wasted time returning to it. Unfortunately, it was the only place you could be with him. You were a prisoner of the past by your own will. You had the key, but nothing was out there waiting for you.

You were successful and independent now. Exactly as you always wanted. You even captured the memory of those days and placed them in a box. You put them there with photographs, his grandmother's ring, and dried bouquets. The box was their coffin, and you set them to rest with the same reverence as a deceased loved one. The funeral came with tears and trauma, no less than actual death.

Now tell me, darling, you could hide a box under the ground and pretend that it never existed, but you knew the echo of his laughter, the blue sky of his eyes, and the sweet taste of his lips would rise from the tomb amidst the long nights to hunt you till the first rays of twilight.

While waiting for your order to be ready, you turned your head and watched the determined people carrying their bags around.

There was something peculiarly depressing about the airports for you. Maybe it was because the airports were where the final goodbyes were muttered, and it was where your lips and his met for the very last time. Airports were where tear-ridden farewells were spluttered. And it was where you looked over your shoulder one last time as you passed through the security, praying, hoping against hope that maybe it wasn't really happening, that you would see him again.

The barista called your name and snapped you out of your thoughts. Holding your precious coffee in your hands, your steps unknowingly walked you to table 13. Again. Yeah, you used to sit here with him. Every time. Even the last time.

A bitter smile appeared on your lips as you slowly ran your hand across the table, as if your fingertips could touch the past. You sat in your usual chair behind the side table, but your eyes still refused to look at his empty seat after six fucking years. Your hands wrapped around the paper cup of coffee to steal its warmth, while your heart found comfort in watching the rainy sky.

"There is something I have to tell you, Y/N." He took a deep breath, probably the deepest, which brought his lungs to the verge of explosion.

The cold breeze slipped into your room and sent shivers down to your core. You went to the window to close it. The anxiety started circulating in your veins like a deadly poison. "T—tell me," you said, closing your eyes. No good would come of "I have to tell you something".

His heart twisted at the sound of your voice. "This isn't working out for me anymore."

His emotionless monotonous tone over the phone struck you harder than a wet slap. Rubbing your forehead, you pressed your lips together, praying for him not to mean what you feared the most. "Yeah, me neither." You swallowed, and the gulp slit your throat like a broken piece of a sharp crystal. "I miss you too, Satoru."

You weren't an idiot. You just read an article in Forbes saying that thoughts can change reality. Simply put, the brain can create delusions in the mind by denying the truth until the last moment to maintain the mental health of human beings. It is considered a survival instinct, and so far, your mind has been doing an excellent job. But the silence behind the phone revealed a different story. A story that even your brain couldn't manipulate.

"You know what I mean, Y/N." His voice trembled like a flickering flame of a burning candle, but he was fast to cover his mouth with his palm. He didn't want you to get wind of anything. It was for your own good.

"What are you saying?"

Your kind tone made Satoru hate his guts. No! He couldn't do this to you. He raised his head, and his red-rimmed eyes begged for mercy from his father, but he wasn't a man of God. He wouldn't give alms for free. Everything, especially your life, had a price, and he had to pay the cost. "I—I thought," his words refused to come out, but he always wanted the best for you, didn't he? He loved you more than anything, so he had to do this. He had to go through with it, no matter how hard it was for him. "I thought I was in love with you, but it was just a lie." Unable to breathe, he made his way towards the big window of the office. The cold air hit his face as soon as his shaky hands opened it. Was it freezing in Osaka like it was in Kyoto? You hated the cold weather. Were you wearing warm clothes? He bit his fist in a failed attempt to hide the lump in his throat. "I thought it—would work, but—but I feel nothing."

"Wh—y are you doing this, Sato—?" When you spoke, it sounded like your voice was made of gravel. Your clear tone was undercut with a choking heaviness that forced you to pause several times. As clear as spring water, a single tear flowed down your cheeks. Eventually, you stopped trying and lowered your head in a quiet sob.

Satoru leaned his head against the cold glass. He could hear your muffled weeping. God, he hated himself. He hated the sunset outside. He hated his last name. He hated everything between the two of you. "I just wanted to fool around in your bed." He fought back his tears.

"I know you don't mean that," you said, shaking your head. The Prefrontal Cortex of your brain was in denial. "It's not true." You were soft, almost fragile, as if your heart would break any minute. Perhaps it was already broken.

"You know nothing," he raised his voice, banging his fist across the wall. "Have you forgotten who I am? The bottom line is— " A tear burned his cheek as he turned his back to his father. Despite the love you had given him, he had to tear your heart apart to keep you alive. "I never loved you!"

"I don't believe you." The phrases didn't come out sharp, as if your tongue had judged your own thoughts too uninterestingly daunting and abandoned the words before their fruition.

"I don't know how to clarify this to you, Y/N L/N! You mean nothing to me. You were only one of my conquests!" He was lying. Of course, he was lying. He loved you more than words could ever explain. Now he could hear your heartbreak, for he was suffering too.

"You're such a coward! Are you breaking up with me over the phone? With crappy explanations? Is this what you promised me at the airport?" As you spoke, your voice started sharp, but then, you broke down, and before Satoru knew it, you were on the verge of bursting into tears, trying desperately to hide it and keep your words straight and stern. "Tell me the truth! You owe me this, Satoru!"

His eyes widened. You knew him like an open palm. He was always his true self by your side, never afraid to be judged. And for a second, he believed he could tell you the truth, but then he remembered how the compensation was substantial. So he added the cherry on top, the ultimate lie, to make sure you would hate him, that you would hate him and move on. Although the thought of you being with someone else, another man holding your hands, or someone other than him kissing you drove him crazy, but this way, at least you were safe from his father's harm. "I cheated on you, and— and now I am in love with her. I can't get her out of my mind. She is so much better than you in bed, and she doesn't dictate me to quit smoking or eating sweets to become something I'm not! She is not a control freak like you! She doesn't suffocate me as you do!"

After your ears witnessed his words, you bled an ocean through your eyes. Your soul felt wafer thin. Your body trembled and chilled. But suddenly, you stopped crying. Maybe the saddest kind of sadness was yours when your tears refused to drip. It was like the world had ended. You couldn't cry. You couldn't hear. You couldn't see. You became an empty shell that once was full of life. "You're completely fucked up."

"I'm—sorry, Y/N." His lungs punished him. His breaths kept coming in short gasps. His chest felt too tight. He couldn't stop wheezing. There was a hole in his chest filling with emptiness, pain, and unbearable agony. His knees couldn't carry his sorrow. He fell on the empty office floor with his back sliding down the cold wall and silent tears on his cheeks. His beloved dad had left the room, knowing there was no comeback after what his son had fed you.

You could be hurt in any way by another and still bounce back, but he… but he… he did the far worse with just a few small words. "Never utter my name again! Don't you fucking dare to say it again! No!" The bells ringing in your head, you felt terrible pain as if someone had punched you in the stomach. You wrapped your arms around yourself, and your skin chilled from the unforgiving coldness of his tone. The teeth in your mouth chattered together relentlessly and uncontrollably, and you couldn't stop yourself from shaking. The next voice you heard wasn't him saying it was another one of his dumb jokes. No. It was the beep of the phone. He hung up and never said goodbye.

Suddenly the roar of the thunder brought you back to reality, to the airport. You turned your head towards the table and noticed that your hands were clasped around your coffee cup. The sound of raindrops hitting the window made your solitude even sadder. You sighed, turned your head, and your eyes fell on the droplets, sliding on the window, sticking one to another, getting bigger and bigger till falling. Those drops and your love were doomed, destined to descend. Because even when life decided to give you another chance, you became the naive victim of fate's cruel sense of humor.

"Where did I put this stupid piece of paper?" You cursed under your breath and continued looking for a copy of your graduation certificate. You knew your messy ass would get you in trouble one day, and here you were, facing the consequences in the worst way possible. How dumb you had to be to lose your diploma?

You closed your eyes and started rubbing your eyebrows, like Aladdin rubbing his lamb for a genie to come out and help him. But you weren't lucky as that bastard. You were responsible for your shits.

You sighed and stared at your laptop's browser screen. You got rid of everything related to college and those years. You wanted to forget everything about him and his cheating. You had changed your email address, phone number, and all means of reaching you after that incident. You didn't want to be haunted by an unwanted remembrance... of him.

You took a deep breath. It had been a year. But it seemed that even years were not enough to get over what he did to you. He shot you and walked out. You had to remove the fucking bullet from your wound to let the sadness come out. He left you on your own, and to be healed, you hurt yourself in ways he never could. Undoubtedly, one year wasn't enough to fade those scars.

You remembered how you sat in silence for days with tears in your eyes. How you ached and drank enough to numb it. How you reminded yourself every day who he used to be and who he no longer was. Damn! It was one of the most brutal realization you ever had. In the end, you thought you learned to live without him, but again, you never forgot him. That was the funny thing about love, because it took you a long time to endure the pain he caused, but a piece of him always remained within you. You couldn't brush off all the good memories you shared and sweep them under the rug as if they meant nothing. And shamelessly, you missed his touch. Oh, God. You missed the timbre of his voice and the solid sense of his embrace—the curse of a lover.

"No! Don't start again! He never loved you, Y/N!" You bumped your head, dispersing the suffocating thoughts, but like a miraculous blow that makes broken things work again, your brain also began working. The light bulb on your head lit up. Yeah. You had a backup of your documents in your academic email.

Proud of the discovery, your fingers started typing. Thank goodness you could remember your email info. Okay. It wasn't that difficult when the username was the combination of your first and last name, password, and ID number.

Once the green checkmark appeared on the screen, you happily started scrolling through your inbox until you noticed an unread email of a familiar name. A name you buried alongside his. Suguru Geto.

You swallowed and checked the date of the email. It belonged to the aftermath of the doomed incident. While your hands were frozen, your fingers began shivering on the mouse. It seemed like you could flee your past, but it would always catch up. Without noticing, you realized you had been biting your bottom lip the entire time. What was that email about? There were two options. One was to delete it without reading and keep on with your life. The next one was... You clicked on the mail.

Your pupils were moving quickly between the lines. The more you read the email, the tighter your grip on the mouse. Your other hand was on your thigh, clutching your dress firmly, to the extent your nails almost made holes in its soft fabric. With each word read, your right foot subconsciously tapped on the floor.

Satoru— tap.

Loves— tap.

You— tap.

But—tap.

His father— tap, tap.

Threatened—tap

Him—tap

With—tap

Your—tap

Life ….

Your foot froze in place. A chill ripped through your spine when you reached the end of the email. Your eyes widened from the shock, and your palm in front of your mouth couldn't cover your bewilderment.

You should have known. You had heard from Satoru how wretched his father was. You should have guessed that he would do anything to achieve his purpose. You should have doubted that he wouldn't spare even his child and wouldn't be afraid of getting his hands dirty. But you were the one who never wanted to believe in the ill-disposed nature. You thought even evils would have a red line they would never cross. But you didn't know parents would break all boundaries on the pretext of wanting the best for their child. Understandable. If he saw you as a snake coiled on his son's shoulders, he would obviously cut your head off. It was unfair, though. You were no snake. You never asked Satoru for anything. You never forced him to do anything. You took all his bad days with your good and walked him through the storm; because you loved him. You loved him unconditionally.

Tears poured from your eyes. All those endless pains, sleepless nights, and restless sorrows were all due to his father, not him. Satoru loved you. He must have suffered the whole time, as you did.

Your hand went to your phone, and your fingers dialed the number they refused to forget after a year. Your heart was a madman, beating the hell out of your chest. You couldn't wait to hear his voice and watch the heartache fade.

"The number you have dialed has been changed, disconnected, or is no longer in service. Please check the number and try your call again if you feel you reached this recording in error."

You lowered the phone and looked at the screen. It wasn't possible that you got the number wrong. Was your mind playing tricks on you? You dialed again.

"The number you have dialed has been changed, disconnected, or is no longer in service. Please check the number and try your call again if you feel you reached this recording in error."

You closed your eyes and pressed the red end button. He had changed his number. You turned your head and stared at the browser's blank page. Silly but possible, suddenly, a thought occurred to you. Something you had banned yourself from doing for a whole year. You looked up Satoru Gojo with the name of Gojo Holding on Google, and as you expected, you found what you were looking for:

Satoru Gojo – Chief financial officer – Gojo Group / LinkedIn

Your eyes were stuck on the monitor. So after you, he agreed to the position. You ran your finger over his name. Your eyes shifted slightly downward. There were pictures of him in suits shaking hands with different people. You looked at his face, white hair, blue eyes, and pale lips. He had changed. There was no trace of his favorite casual clothes.

Subconsciously, your hand moved toward the monitor, and your fingers attempted to caress his cheeks. His usual messy hair was combed in some photos and on the side in others. You smiled sadly. He looked handsome. You had no right to deny it. But something was missing from him. Your fingertip shifted to his lips. There was no smile on his face. In neither of the photographs. What had happened to that goofy Satoru whose grins were his signature?

You clicked on his LinkedIn page, and after finding his contact number, you dialed without hesitation.

Beep. Beep. Beep.

"Good day, you've reached Satoru Gojo's office. My name is Nitta Akari. How can I assist you?"

"Yes! Hello. My name is Y/N L/N. I'm calling for Mr. Satoru Gojo," you said and bit your nails.

"Concerning?"

"Yes, ma'am, I need to talk with Mr. Satoru Gojo." Every time you spoke his name, your heart skipped a beat. You had called him He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named instead of saying his name aloud.

"Do you have a pre-arranged appointment?"

"Um, no. I—" You were interrupted in the middle.

"I'm sorry, Ms. L/N. I can't transfer your call if you don't have an appointment."

You sighed. "I appreciate that, but this is an emergency. Please, Ms. Alkari, I'm sure if you inform Mr. Gojo that Y/N L/N is calling, he would want to talk to me," you almost pleaded and placed your hand on your pounding heart, praying for the receptionist to accept your request.

"Hold on a second."

You closed your eyes and took a deep breath. You were going to talk with him—your love of life. You were going to hear his sweet voice. What did you want to tell him?

"Ms. L/N? Are you on the phone?"

"Yes?" You opened your eyes, and they fixated on his picture in front of you.

"Mr. Gojo has left the office."

You checked the clock. It was 11 am. "When is he going to return?"

"According to his schedule, he will not return to the office today, Ms. L/N."

"How about tomorrow?" You clenched your hand and felt your nails digging into your palm.

"I'm sorry. He won't be able to visit the office till next week, since it's his wedding. Do you want me to make an appointment for the next Tuesday?"

Your heart stopped. The second hand of the clock stayed steady. The leaves of the tree facing your window didn't move. The bird in the sky didn't chirp a wing. The air lost its way to your lungs. You wanted to grasp for oxygen, but the ache in your chest folded your knees. No tears pierced your eyes as your brain digested the words coming out of the receptionist's mouth. Your hands trembled. Your feet tingled. Your vision disfigured as though you were looking through a foggy window. You fell to the floor.

"Or, if you want, I can deliver your message to him on Monday morning."

You felt your heart would burst. Your chest was one minute away from crushing. The torture was so intense and all-consuming that you no longer knew where you were. You wanted to scream, to shout, louder than you had ever done in your life, but no sound left your throat.

"Ms. L/N? Are you there?"

You weren't sure which was worse, the fact that he was going to marry someone so early, or the fact that you thought he never would. It tore you apart; the way he forgot you like you never mattered.

For you, he was a bittersweet fairytale with a grey ending. He was your hamartia, your tragedy, your addiction. Frankly, he was also the only ray of sunlight in your aphotic world. He consumed every existing part of your soul, leaving you with the crippled remains. You couldn't take it anymore. You surrendered and let it all disappear.

Beep. Beep. Beep.

Turning your head away from the glass, you laughed at your misery. He didn't love you. He didn't miss you. He was happy without you, busy living his life while you were still stuck wondering where things got out of hand. You had to stop trying to find closure with someone that obviously didn't care to give it to you. You had wasted years searching for the answers you could never get. You had to put an end to it, Y/N.

This table was doomed. It didn't matter how many times you sit behind it and try to make it a usual, boring place by making new memories. It would never work. This gravestone had your names, carrying the heaviness of your last kiss. So it didn't matter how much you would kill yourself to write a new story on top of your hurtful one. You would fail; because the ink of the bad story hadn't faded away yet for the only good one to remain.

Rising from the table, you shook your head, scattering all the sad thoughts. You grabbed your luggage, picked up your cold coffee, and headed to the nearest trash can at the corner of the airport terminal. You stood there for a while, enjoying the faint sun rays on your skin and the pale rainbow colors in the sky. You delivered your luggage and checked your watch. Huh! You still got a lot of time to kill. So you tried to pass it by reading the magazine covers, hanging around the gift shops. It didn't go unnoticed by you that the airport was getting crowded with the sunrise. Ughh. You sighed and made your way through the crowd, unaware of the ridiculous farce of destiny for you.

Amakusa Airlines flight 4022 to Osaka is now ready for boarding, with all the passengers for this flight proceeding to gate 13.

As you walked past, your eyes fell on table 13, and all of a sudden, your footsteps froze. There was a huge mob moving between you and that table, but after all these years, there was still no way for you to mistake him. You could recognize him by a look alone, by a glance. You would know him blind, by the way his breaths came and his fingers touched his hair. This big airport and the packed crowd were nothing when you would know him in death, at the end of the world.

His fingers tapped slowly on the table, and time fell away for you. You had never gotten so lost in a sight before. And then the space between you two exploded to nothing. After being away from him for so long, just standing under the same roof as him felt like you were kicked in the stomach, and your whole breath was gone. Before you knew it, you were already biting your lip from the inside to stifle your tears. No more tears for him, you had promised yourself years ago. But promises were like your heart; they were meant to be broken.

You felt cold like that day. You felt like concrete drying in your chest. There was a shard in your guts that never left, though perhaps in time, the edges dulled. It felt like death, just the same as bereavement, and in a quiet moment, it choked the life from your body. You had longed to see him for so many years that he was beginning to feel fictional, but he was real. He was sitting at table 13. Was it a coincidence? Or did he still remember it? There was a part of you that was desperate to know if your absence had done any damage to him. Did he too, experience long, restless nights due to the thought of you? Was his heart broken in the same places as yours? You wanted to know that you weren't the only one hurting from this. You needed to know that you actually meant something to him.

Your legs wanted to run away, run until they bleed, until they drove you out there, from him. But your eyes didn't allow it. They were filled with regrets; the more they looked, the more they thirsted.

You watched as his hands grabbed the coffee, raised it, and that lucky cup touched his lips. You saw how he turned his head toward the glass window and stared for a while. Without realizing, you took a step in his direction. All the cells in your body cried out for you to let go, but the thought of him was consuming you.

His ocean blue eyes, peeking at you at the sunrise. His childish smiles, gifting you the butterflies. His smooth skin, touching your body like a sin. His vanilla smell, filling your nostrils well. His big feet, touching yours under the sheet. His warm hands, conquering your naked body's lands. His pounding heart, feeling it like a fine art. His naughty desire, red lingerie hugging you like a fire. His tender touch, laving your crutch. His cocky smirk, naming him as the biggest jerk. His rigid muscles, giving you rough hustles. His soft hair, becoming your finger's lair. His overwhelmed sweats, pounding you for sets. His shy groans, getting lost in your loud moans. His spit on your cunt, his cock ruining your front. His throbbing length, taking away your strength. His whispers in your ear, shooing away your fear. His peace in your arms, pushing away all of the harms. His never-ending need, revealing his hidden deed. Your endless meekness, turning into his greatest weakness. Your lullaby as a song, driving away every wrong. His peaceful dreams, hiding his painful screams. His contagious laughter, calling down every disaster. His favorite food, exchanging it with your nude. His favorite movie, turning out to be Snoopy. Reading him books, his kisses on your crooks. His goofy attitude, giving him latitude. His insights about pudding, having no idea about cooking. His eye-blinding light, forcing your soul to ignite. His aspiring ambitions, all dying because of traditions. His family troubles, bursting your happiness bubbles. His gloomy demeanor, rooting in you like a malignant tumor. His brutal fights, giving hell to the nights. His cold distance, ignoring your existence. His habit of being late, keeping your eyes on a wait. His unforgivable mistakes, leaving you with heart-wrenching aches. His deadly silence, slitting your throat with violence. His no victorious wars, gifting you countless scars. His yesterday a history, his tomorrow a mystery. His walking away steps, echoing with sound effects. His beautiful lies, leaving you with cries. His broken bond like a Knife…a knife…knife…k…n…i…f…e…w…i…f…e…wife…his wife…

You stopped. Your eyes followed his gaze, and the ache in your heart grew more painful as they saw a black-haired woman with a bow, wearing a traditional white and red kimono and approaching him with slow steps. This was the girl who ticked off all the boxes that suited Satoru Gojo. Not you. Never you.

You looked up to the ceiling in an effort to prevent tears from falling on your face. A quivering sigh escaped your throat. But wait a little. Whoever created your story was crueler than you thought.

This is the last call for passengers traveling to Osaka on Amakusa airline slight 4022, due to leave at 6:30 am.

"Dad! Look what mommy bought me?" A little girl, maybe 4 -5, with white hair, waved a small package of mochi in her hand and then ran to throw herself into Satoru's arms before your shocked eyes.

As you saw his child, what was once a whole was shattered, where once was peace was emptiness, echoes of a love you put your everything into. If only you could hold your heart in your hands and squeeze it yourself, the pain would be more bearable. Your chest felt tight, like someone was ripping your rib cage open and pulling your heart out of your chest. It just hurt. It hurt to breathe. It hurt your mind wondering why you weren't good enough, why it wasn't you, why you weren't in that woman's place. Why she wasn't your daughter, and it slowly broke you apart. You never thought he would be able to wound you so deeply, cut to the core again. But you got it now. Only the one you loved so much could be your assassin. Of course, it would take an inside job to attack you so resilient. He was the tool of your greatest pain. You knew he didn't mean it, you knew, but in a way, that made it even worse.

You choked back something welling up in your chest. Every few minutes, the pain renewed itself. Your palm flat against the wall by your side, you clenched your eyes shut. "Please turn your head," you said quietly. He couldn't hear you, but it didn't stop you from wishing he would come and save you from the terrible pain you felt without him.

After wallowing in your despair in the lonely corner of the airport, you took a few deep breaths and got yourself together. You always had this constant fear that you were never going to forget him. The way his blue eyes pierced yours or his goofy grin that always made your heart beat ten times faster. And what sucked the most was that he was never yours, to begin with. But you remained desperately in love with him. Damn! It had been six years, and a person could only endure pain for so long. You had to let it all go. The way he kissed you, the way he smelled, the way he touched your waist and pulled you in. You had to let it all go, and you had to let him go. Yes! He was the sweet taste on your tongue of sugar, but he was also the dense smoke that crept into your lungs and choked you. He was the venom in your veins, the tree root that tripped you. He belonged to his family, to his wife and daughter. Continuing to love him was like chasing after the clouds. It was wishing for the moon and the stars to appear in your arms. He was your impossible.

You took one last look at him and the smile on his face as his daughter was in his arms. Your last bit of willpower was lost, and tears began to trail down your cheeks, as you turned and walked away.

To be frank, hearts don't break. It's just another thing the poets say. Hearts are not made of glass, bone, or any material that could splinter, fragment, or shatter. They don't crack into pieces. They don't fall apart. No! You knew it better now. Hearts don't break. They just stop working like yours.

This is the last call for passengers Y/N L/N, Mikasa and Eren Yeager travelling on Amakusa Airlines flight 4022 to Osaka departing at 6:30 am. Will passengers L/N, Yeagers, and Nanami, please go to gate 13, where the flight is ready to depart.

Upon hearing your name, Satoru coughed and spilled coffee over his blue shirt. The hot liquid burned his chest, but not as sour as your name, opening the old, closed wounds. His mind rejected all possibilities. You were there, in the airport, and then it all flowed into his brain, the memories of his youth.

He first saw you sitting in the first row, like a nerd ready to glow.

Brushing your hair behind your ear, you bit all your nails without keeping them dear. You got your score, but he couldn't see anyone anymore.

You were in a hurry to catch a bus when he asked you out. You missed the bus. But instead, you found a new way to your house.

He kissed you under the pouring rain, you standing there wholly drenched without any complain, your eyes closed like a droplet free of every chain. How could you be aware of his bane?

You ate a double burger in less than five minutes on your second date after your third cigarette. Why? Just not to lose the bet. What did he say? Unlucky in cards, lucky in love.

Moaning his name, your fingers grabbed his hair locks, and your holes caught his heaviest flux.

In the darkness of the movie theater, he leaned to utter, "I love you, Y/N." You choking on your popcorn, survived to say, "Tell me that again."

Your laughter the best melody filling the house, when the artist tickled you crazily on the couch.

You left your shellfish-shaped soap on his bathroom side. The reason? It just smelled like the tide. Damn! You never lied.

Your colorful cute little notes in the pocket of his coat, his dad clearing his throat, staring at his son digging his own moat.

You in the kitchen, his hands on your waist, his hums in the air, danced with him there and bare.

Tears fell on the ring that he proposed despite knowing that his dad was opposed.

He waking up with a nightmare, sweats covering his white hair, he would have died if you weren't lying next to him right there. Your fights very not rare, but you were always fair.

Your hands were frozen cold the last day they were in his hold.

He wished you would yell at him on the phone, but you just cried, trembling him to the bone.

Broken pieces of your coffee mug, empty bottles of your favorite wine, his stumbling on the dusted rug, no, you were no longer around.

He walked down the aisle with a woman he had never loved. Thank God you were somewhere alive.

One hand still holding the coffee cup, the other gripped the side of the table firmly, turning his knuckles white. Six years. Six fucking years! And you were here.

"Satoru? Are you okay?" The familiar voice snatched him out of old memories. Turning his head slightly, his wide eyes fell upon a woman bent before him, trying to wipe the coffee stain off his shirt with a napkin. Oh, his allegedly beloved wife, having no other purpose than to please him in her life. The poor woman was unaware that all her efforts were in vain. For not only her white napkin, but there was nothing in this world strong enough to erase your remnants off Satoru's existence. You were eternal, engraved in his soul.

Grabbing her wrist, Satoru pushed his chair back and stood up. Across the airport stood the woman he loved, hurt, betrayed, and forsakened. Across the airport was you, the one who trusted him for years, stayed with him for years, and loved him for years. Unconditionally.

"Satoru, where are you going?" His wife's suppliant voice didn't reach him. Of course, his wife wasn't stupid. She knew that nothing was enough to stop his long steps from running to gate 13, to you, to his lost paradise, but just like Satoru, she endured the marriage for the sake of her loved ones.

You wiped your cheeks with the back of your sleeve and tried your best to take another step in the line. The emptiness in your chest was getting heavier by the time, making it hard to move forward, and holding your shit together seemed impossible when the gate appeared that far away with every passing moment. So you did what you always did. You split the colossal task of surviving into baby steps. All you had to do was, reaching the gate. It was your ultimate destination for now. After that, you would walk to the plane, sit in your seat, and fly away, never to book a ticket from this airport again.

You took a deep breath and begged your legs to drag you one more time as the black-haired couple before you moved forward. You convinced yourself that you were fine, hoping that you might believe the perfect lie, that the scene from a few minutes ago hadn't brought you to your knees.

"Y/N?"

They say different things about the soul leaving the body, but you witnessed with your own eyes how life left you in one breath, just hearing a voice. His voice. You could taste the acidic agony on the tip of your tongue, scorching you to the bone marrow.

An invisible hand forcibly turned your head towards the source of the sound. There he was. Your love. Your murderer. Your salvation. Your deity. Your death. Your hell. Half of your soul, as the poets said.

Your Satoru was standing there with his tall stature, his hands slumped on his sides, a big coffee stain on his shirt, and his white hair ruffled like in the good old days. But it seemed that life wasn't easy on him either. His once bright, bubbly, and even ambitious eyes were gone. There was no shine in them, as if they were blue plastic marbles in a daze. Who had stolen his radiant smile?

But for him, you were still the same Y/N he had lost. Your tear-stained face was puffy and swollen with grief. Your eyes looked tired, and the dark circles under them carried the news of sleepless nights. Yet, in his eyes, you were still the same sun, holding the whole universe together. One glance at you, and his heart started pounding. It constantly pounded, stomping on the shattered remains left of you in his heart. He couldn't stop himself from dreaming of the endless possibilities where you could be together.

He opened his mouth, but none of the words were courageous enough to come out. He stepped forward and raised his hand slightly toward you. There was a long way between you, the bars separating him from you. He could jump over the bars and bridge the gap, but something in his heart was well aware that no matter how far he stretched his hand, it would never reach you.

Hot tears flowed over his face, and he pressed his eyelids shut, hoping his tears would cease. His agitated breathing and tearful eyes remained for a long time as he stood there, statue-like.

God knows how he wanted to say that he missed you, how he wanted to call your name and start a silly conversation the way he used to do. How he wanted to ask you something ridiculous like do you still like cats more than dogs, like what do you think of the color blue, like did he hurt you so much, like were you able to forgive him, do you still love him as he does?

He wanted to hold you tightly, squeeze you between his arms and kiss away all the tears in your eyes. He wanted to sit on the floor of your room again, and you let him kiss you, let him kiss you, and let him kiss you. He wanted to tell you that in all these years, you were the most beautiful thing he had ever seen, that watching you cover your yawn with the back of your hand took his breath away, that he was sometimes so immersed in the music of your tone that he couldn't understand what you were saying.

He wanted to tell you that if you stay by his side, nothing bad will happen to you. He was about to ask you this at that crucial point, but a sudden certainty struck his chest like a cold fist. He knew he had caused so much pain that probably you wished you were fortunate enough never to know him, that you were one of the billions of people in the world that didn't know he existed. He was sure that you wanted to turn back the clock, go to the beginning, to the day he approached you. Maybe you would want to leave so he could never tell you his name, and you would never fall in love.

"Satoru." Your words broke up, and all you could say were stuttering sounds. You never expected to see him here, with the same longing you had buried in your eyes. Suddenly everything seemed possible to you. How could anything be impossible with him still wanting you? Turning back from this line seemed nothing when you would climb every mountain and swim every ocean just to be with him.

A seed of hope sprouted in your heart, and a faint smile blossomed on your lips. Now with a thing you wanted to name enlightenment, you could see the meaning behind every pain you had borne all these years, and martyrly, you were ready to take more pain, take it all the way if it meant you would be safe in the embrace of his arms. You were in love. You would run to him, even if it were going to ignite you alive. You would still call to him even if you were going to lose your sight. You were ready to let go of your broken heart even if it was going to break you apart.

Your hand took hold of the rod, and as if a new soul had been breathed into you, your legs turned to take the path to him. Satoru's spell broke upon seeing your smile, and a nubbin of happiness slipped over his eyes. He started walking around the bars to get to you. His heart was racing like crazy, couldn't wait to feel you, to take you in his arms.

But suddenly, you stopped, like someone woke you with a slap in the face. The color drained from your face, and joy withered away. The thing you called enlightenment turned out to be an illusion.

"Y/N! Don't run in the airport!" The panting voice of a woman reached you while chasing after a child. Not just any woman, his wife.

"Nooo! I want to stay with my dad!" The white-haired girl reached for her father and grabbed his coat sleeve firmly. "Where have you gone, Pa? I got scared." Pouting her lips, not only did she not let go of Satoru, but she also hugged his knee tightly with her other hand.

His shocked gaze turned from his daughter to you. "Please, Y/N," he mumbled, begging you with desperation glooming in his eyes. He stood there like the whole world was breaking crumble apart around him. It no longer existed, and he knew he had to bid farewell to any chance of being with you. The ache in his heart became more unbearable when he realized he hadn't lost you years ago on the phone; he lost you today, before his eyes. He could see the flames of the wildfire he had thrown you in, because it was also turning him to the ashes. Even on your worst day, you didn't deserve any of the hell he gave you.

And on the other side, you were ready to give it all up — everything. You were half out of your mind with love, and you didn't think twice about throwing yourself into a fire, as long as you could keep him by your side. That was how you loved him. How pitiful.

The researches indicate ways for the human mind to cope with grief: sleep, forgetfulness, insanity, and death. Sleep allows people to take a step back from painful things. Like when someone gets injured or bad news, they often pass out. But at times, the wounds are so deep they don't heal. The saying that time cures pain is a fallacy. Yes, time heals most pains, but the rest are doomed to be forgotten. Rarely it happens that the mind suffers such a heavy blow that it takes refuge in insanity. Because most of the time, the truth is nothing but pain, and the mind abandons it to rid itself of murderous pain. Here comes the last escape way, aka death. When someone dies, nothing can hurt them anymore. At least that's what's being said.

Holding the rod firmly, you stared at him with grief, unsure which of these doors you would walk through after today, but you were well aware that he must have chosen the insanity by naming his daughter after you. You couldn't imagine the anguish he had to go through every time he wanted to call his own blood and bone your name. You had no idea whether he did it to preserve your memory or to torture himself. You didn't know. You couldn't say. Your head was dizzy, and everything hurt so much that it felt like you hurt for everyone who had ever been hurt this way.

You looked at him for the last time, trying to savor the moment. You knew you might not get another chance like this. Then you turned back to him, because you were afraid your chest would cave in and the only thing stopping it was the gasps of air you were taking between your tears. Before you knew it, you were sobbing, muffling your quiet screams of anger, frustration, and sadness.

You used your last remaining strength to walk straight, not to faint. Because you didn't want to give him any reason to come after you, to follow you. You loved him. You had fallen madly in love with what could never be, and no matter what your reasons were, you had to stay away from him. You just couldn't allow yourself to be a homewrecker.

"Mama? Why is dad sad?" The little girl pressed her lips together and looked at the black-haired woman with her big blue eyes. She had heard from her uncle Suguru that his father was once the funniest and goofiest person on earth, but no matter how much she strained her ears, she never heard his laughter. The only thing she remembered from him was the sleepless nights and the stench of alcohol. It gradually evolved into a dilemma in her mind, and sadly, she was too young for her mother to give her answers, to talk to her about the cruelty of her grandpa and her father's old, never-forgotten love.

"Everything will be fine, Y/N," he whispered in a distant, flat, quiet, and lifeless voice like he had promised you years ago on table 13. Still, this time standing there, staring at the gate you left, wondering how many lives it would take for him to finally experience a happy ever after with you.

"Of course it will, Papa."

Did you like this story? Would you like me to write the second part? If so, let me know your ideas :)

Also, your reblogs, comments and likes are appreciated.

#gojo satoru x you #gojo satoru fanfic #gojo satoru smut #gojo satoru angst #gojo satoru oneshot #gojo satoru x reader #gojou satoru x reader #gojou satoru x you #gojo smut #gojo angst #satoru gojou smut #satoru gojou x reader #gojo satoru #satoru gojo #jujutsu gojo #satoru gojo angst #jujutsu kaisen #gojo x reader #gojo x y/n

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jankwritten · 10 months

Text

JASICO WEEK DAY 3: Angst/Comfort

CW: major character death, grief

Nico runs his brush over the lettering on the face of the headstone, delicate despite the dirt worked into the cracks. He should be harder with it, he knows - it’s not like he’ll be able to break it. The headstone is too new for that, not worn down with age like the others in the cemetery. The dirt around the grave is so fresh, weeds haven’t even begun to grow over it, not that Nico would let them. He’s gotten good at weeding. Pruning flowers. Anything, to take care of this spot.

Jason Grace, the headstone reads. Beneath that, his rank, and years of service. The date he died.

Nico brushes his thumb over the curves which mark Jason as seventeen on his day of death. One of the eldest in the graveyard.

Back when he first heard, when Nico first felt the impact of Jason’s death like a saw blade through his gut, Nico couldn’t come visit the grave at all. Every reminder of Jason being gone was too much, the weight of loss sitting in him in a way Nico hadn’t felt since he was ten years old. He didn’t know what to do with himself, with his grief, except to cry, and cry, and cry.

He’s glad to be past that stage. His heart still aches, every day is still hard, but Nico can breathe through it, now. He can clean the gravestone, and talk to Jason even if Jason doesn’t talk back. He can make sure this site is as respected as the man it honors.

Nico adjusts the flowers Hazel brought last night, a bouquet of blue and purple and white. Jason would think they’re pretty. The smell would make him sneeze.

His favorite color was yellow, though. Nobody ever brings Jason yellow flowers. Always blue, like his eyes, like the sky, like his father.

Daffodils. Nico will have to bring him some daffodils tomorrow. And irises, and carnations. Maybe Persephone will help him put together a bouquet. She always had a soft spot for Jason, not that she’d ever admit to liking one of Nico’s friends. Whenever Nico would talk about Jason with her, she would listen with this look on her face, like Nico was saying the most interesting things. It felt good to know someone appreciated Jason in the same way Nico did.

Maybe not the same way. But as close as someone else could get.

“It’s been a good day today,” Nico says. He runs the brush over the crown of the stone again, gentle as before. “Things have been slow. Father hasn’t given me as many jobs this week, and there’s finally been a lull in attacks near the borders. Hazel and Frank are introducing a new bill to the senate tomorrow, which…well, I’ll tell you how it goes, then. I don’t want to jinx it for them.”

A breeze blows through the valley. Nico leans back, tilts his chin up into it.

He closes his eyes. He can almost imagine the wind in his hair is Jason’s hand, ruffling in a way nobody else has ever been brave enough. Easily affectionate, despite all the ways Nico threatened him, kept him at a distance. Jason was just like that, always eager to be there, to hold, to comfort.

Gods, Nico wishes he could’ve accepted one more hug. Had one more conversation.

It’s starting to rain. The temperature drops and the sky darkens and Nico can smell it, the dampness in the air. The first drops splatter across his cheeks and his nose, his lips. He doesn’t flinch. He’s used to sitting out in storms, now.

“I love you,” he tells the sky.

In return, the rain pelts harder, quickly turning from a drizzle to an outright downpour, soaking Nico’s hair to the root in seconds. His clothes stick to his skin.

He still doesn’t move.

“Don’t cry with me.” It’s silly, to act like the rain is Jason’s doing. Still. It helps Nico cope. Sometimes, if he imagines hard enough, he can still see memories of Jason’s grin, that scar on his lip, the tilt of his nose while the skies opened up around them, a display of power, a force of nature.

Nico never saw Jason cry. He supposes Jason never saw him cry, either. Just another thing they’ll never get to share. Another thing they missed. “You’re going to drown your flowers, at this rate.”

The deluge does not die down.

It’s enough to almost make him laugh, the sudden mental image of Jason scowling down at the flowers he doesn’t really like at all, the ones that make him sneeze and itch. Jason Grace, mighty son of Jupiter, champion of Hera, using all of his power to destroy a few flowers that have wronged him.

Nico didn’t get to know that side of Jason very long, the side of him that was a young boy, the side of him who was a person. But gods, of everything they did get together, that is what he’s happiest to have had. The truth. Not the son of Jupiter, not the champion, not the praetor. Just the boy.

Nico smiles, even as he cries, leaning back in a graveyard during a near-biblical rain storm. Nico smiles.

Every day, it gets a little easier to. Every day, he hopes Jason is smiling back, from wherever he is.

#jasicoweek2023 #day3 #tw major character death #tw grief #tw this shit sad #jason grace #nico di angelo #jasico #i'd say sorry for this but I'm not #It's supposed to be comforting but I don't know if that part comes across LMFAO #i was going to have this end with Nico going home and Jason is actually still alive and the grave is just there as a reminder #but then i decided that was cheap and a cop out and sometimes you just have to write something that's sad #i'm guilty of always trying to Fix Things in my fics and make them Better #instead of letting the characters learn to deal with their situation #so here is my first foray into 'this situation fucking sucks but i'm making the best of it because it's what he would have wanted'

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rapunzelforlorn · 5 months

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Ep6

Nick is so brave introducing Charlie to his dad

Two more years of high school?? I thought Nick was like a junior

Seeing the style on Nick's face, meeting his dad already seems difficult but he wanted to tell him about Charlie so bad

Are they playing find Waldo?

I love that the boys & girls had the same reaction to E&T's kiss

Sneaking around the hotel 🙈

Issac looks left out 🥺

Everyone sneaking to smooch town

Charlie needs to listen to Nick

Ajayi is trying his charms

Faruk IS gay!!

Clocked him 👀👀👀

"You flirting with me?"

Oh, happy birthday Tara

Imogen being part of the gang makes me so happy

Isaac is in book heaven

Charlie's a little hoodie thief

"I'm just recharging" - Nick 💜

There's a lot of underage drinking for a relatively wholesome show

Why isn't Isaac with James???

Who the FUCK let Ben in?

Kiss the boy Isaac

Paris is so gay 🏳️‍🌈

Isaac??

Hey babe let's go to a party just to escape it and enjoy each other's company, that's Nick & Charlie's relationship

Harry is trying...I think genuinely

But I'm pissed Ben is there much his church ass out too

Tao is always a ham

Who is this sour ass, shaved head ass, biiiiitch bringing down the vibe of the party??? Uhh...kid 1 that's who! Not even relevant enough for a name

Ben's bitch ass shouldn't have been there

Nick is a boss! And bi, actually

Why did they ruin to the teachers and not the bathroom if she was gonna get sick

Not sure if I want to be carried or carry someone like Nick "strong man" Nelson

Sharing a bed, how scandalous 😏

The revenge of the hicky

Oh Nick is so sweet & innocent, despite the hicky allegations

Darcy is having a time

Teachers getting scandalous now too 🙈🙈

Ep7

Nick seems so bummed not noticing or maybe not talking to Charlie sooner about eating habits

Go Elle!!

Tao's mom is great we love supportive mothers

Nick's mom fucking ROASTING David

Tori better go to this dinner party too

Congrats Elle!

What's with the purple smog at Darcy's?

Isaac seems off

Will Ben just FUCK OFF!!!

No matching suits?? Outrageous!!

Darcy doesn't have a good home life did she 😒

Issac actually ACE?

Fucking slay Elle 😍😍😍

Tao is so bad with change

Clocked Isaac

So glad he met someone to explain it to him

Imogen is trying, really

Prom is tomorrow?!?!

Elle's art 💜💜

Tao maturing

Ben is stalking now???

Don't make us feel bad for Ben, fuck him

Oh so he's ALWAYS been a predator

I'm here for you "mate"

Tori in the house!!

Fuck David!!

GETTEM TORI!!!

NICK 🥺💜🥺💜

Stephane 👀 no, no Stephane

He's always got mom

Tori's about to go away for murder if David doesn't shut the fuck up

Charlie's mom cares, just wants him to do well

Nick is always so proactive with the Google machine

Oh Darc ☹️

Ep8

No way this man woke up and didn't have his phone on a charger

The (I'm bi, actually) ig post 💗💜💙

The ig comments 🤢

Everything's prefect except you aren't eating Charlie boy

And they were official T&E

Tara sending out the prom SOS

The squad rolling up

That's a waste of paint

Coach wingmate

Nick opening up to Tao about Charlie

Tao opening up to Nick 🥺

Charlie needs to open up

They look so good for prom!!

I miss prom

Charlie's little prom fantasy was so cute

Darcy needs some help

Isaac is also on the struggle bus

Elle's dad, is exactly what I hoped

She always looks stunning 🤩🤩

They all look so great!!

Why did Sahar bring a guitar?

I want to believe Henry is trying

The rugby mates for sure are trying

Nick giving Tara advice that's actually for himself too

Oh she's in the band

I wish my school put this much effort into prom

These high schoolers are having so much growth

Tori at prom too 🥳

"That night in Paris..."

"Next time 😉"

Is Imogen...bi?

Neither can dance? I doubt that

Oh no 😨 Tara went to Darcy's

Her mom's such a bitch!!!!!

Sit down at Nick's

SEVEN

Big group hug 💜

Poor Darcy 🥺

We love disasters

Playing pong with normal cups 😂

Isaac looks so much happier knowing who he is

Best Team Player 🏆

Charlie 😭😭

"Promise to tell me, if it ever gets that bad again? "

Just hold hands through it all 💜💜

"I love..."

Gets me everytime Charlie gets on his tippy toes to kiss Nick

Wait...have they not said I love you too each other??

What a cliff hanger!!

Were both ready for season 3 😁

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callsign-daydream · 3 days

Text

Silencing a Rooster - TGM - Hangman X OC

Summary: Hallie "Daydream" A-Jones and Jake "Hangman" Seresin are trying to keep their new relationship under wraps. Unfortunately, they aren't too good at keeping secrets.

Warnings/Content: Hangman x OC, OC included (about her here), kissing, silliness, rooster is a menace

Word count: 861

A/N: Surprise fic! Idk I just kinda thought of this one...the ending isn't my fave but I hope y'all enjoy anyway <3

Jake: Got the cake. Wanna help me bring it in? ;)

Hallie bit back a smile at the notification, not wanting Phoenix to start interrogations. The context of the text was nothing special apart from the streamers and the big banner that yelled out HAPPY BIRTHDAY FLOYD! across the bar of The Hard Deck. Bob wasn’t due for another hour, and the Daggers were all happily decorating for the occasion.

No, Hallie’s smile was due to the emoji at the end, which could only mean Jake wanted a little extra sugar to go along with the cake.

“Cake’s here,” Hallie alerted Natasha. “I’m going to help.”

Phoenix nodded as she handed Payback another streamer to hang. “Good. Make sure Bagman didn’t lick it or anything gross.”

Hallie saluted and skipped outside, immediately spotting her boyfriend’s truck. The man himself was leaning against the outside, arms folded over his chest and watching her make her way towards him. When she reached him, he pulled her close and kissed her, making good on the winky face promise.

“You better watch out,” she said as she pulled away, trying to act more annoyed than she was. “Someone will see.”

“I still don’t see why we’re keeping this secret.”

It’d been Hallie’s idea. After officially confirming they were going to give a try to whatever this was between them, she’d immediately told him she wanted things quiet. It’d make things too complicated, both with their friends and with work, which she reminded the Texan of.

“You really wanna deal with Fee and everyone else?” Hallie asked.

Jake scoffed and wished the squad a good old fashioned expletive.

“Or how about Cyclone?”

The mention of their superior tamed the brave Lieutenant Seresin down some. As he replied, he pulled her back into his arms, though being good enough to keep his mouth at a distance. Hallie fought the urge to close it. Their relationship was still new, and while she sometimes wondered if she was crazy to be trying this with him, he’d show up with a smile, a gift, and a kiss she could never have enough of.

“On the other hand,” he was saying, “if Cyclone knew, we could get married. Lots of benefits for us both.”

“Easy there, Cowboy.”

“Just sayin.”

“You’re…”

“Handsome? Charming?”

“Ridiculous.”

“But I’m your ridiculous.”

“Shut up and kiss me before the cake melts. It’s insanely hot out here.”

Jake smirked. “Sorry, that’s my fault.”

Hallie pulled him down. He was vaguely sticky with sweat, his lips hot on her own, but she didn’t care. He pulled her closer and hit the back of the truck. He grunted at the impact, but didn’t break. She let a hand drift up to his hair and began to forget about Bob’s cake sitting in the backseat as another victim to California sun.

A horn jolted the duo away from each other.

“HEY! HEY! HEY!”

Bradley Rooster Bradshaw, pointing and gaping and yelling and hitting his Bronco’s horn in his shock.

“Rooster, shut up!” Hallie dashed to their witness’ open passenger window. “Would you cut that out?!”

“You and Bagman?!”

“Shut up!”

“YOU AND BAGMAN?!”

“Come on, Bradshaw,” Jake said, finally sauntering up beside Hallie. “You’ve seen me kiss girls before.”

“Not Hallie!”

“It’s not a big deal.”

“Not a big deal?!” Rooster’s mouth was practically down to the gas pedal. “You were eating my squad member’s face!”

Hallie shut her eyes. “Roo, please. We’re not telling anyone yet.”

“Then maybe you should try not making out in a public parking lot!”

“We weren’t making out.”

“Eh,” Jake shrugged. “We kind of were.”

Hallie glared at him.

“And on Bob’s birthday too!” Rooster yelled.

“Look,” Hallie leaned into the Bronco and held her curls back from the AC. “What’s it going to take to keep you from talking?”

“Ugh, don’t ask him that.”

Hallie elbowed Jake in the ribs.

“I think you both owe me beer for a month.”

“What?” Jake slapped the sideview mirror. “No way!”

“Hit Sharona again and it’ll be two months.”

“We’ll do it,” Hallie said. “But any jokes, hints, snickers, or innuendos and it’s all off.”

Rooster saluted. “You got it.”

He was starting up the Bronco again when he turned back to the window. “Can I play piano at your wedding?”

“Had it, Bradshaw!” Jake shook a fist as the man in question drove off to find a parking space.

Hallie rubbed her face.

“Well, that went well,” Jake said.

“Yeah, like Cyclone at a pool party.”

“It’s your fault, you know.”

Hallie snapped her head to him. “How is it my fault?”

Jake leaned in with a grin, so close she could inhale his cologne. “Cause you can’t keep your hands off me, Dreamgirl.”

She smacked him away. “Just go get the cake.”

He laughed and winked but obeyed. Hallie shook her head, reluctantly following to assist with the cake and wondering what she’d gotten herself into with Jake Seresin and what exactly he’d gotten into with her.

Whatever it was, she was willing to stick around to find out, no matter how many times Bradshaw whistled at them as he passed into the Hard Deck. ---

#daydream writes #top gun maverick #top gun maverick fic #top gun fanfiction #oc: hallie a jones #top gun oc #hangman x oc #jake seresin x oc #hallie daydream a jones #jake hangman seresin #oneshot

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undiscovered-horizon · 2 years

Text

"Hope for the future" - Druig x Eternal!Reader

SUMMARY: When you decide to visit Druig in his little village after nearly 500 years, he asks you to stay with him. But there's something else on his mind, too...

A/N: inspired by 'Hope for the future' - Bastille. That shit always gets a tear out of me.

WORDCOUNT: ~ 1.3k

Five hundred years was, actually, quite a lot of time. Even for someone who was immortal. So much could happen! Entire generations die never knowing peace, while others are completely oblivious to the idea of war. It was enough time to change someone into a person you no longer recognize and that was possibly the scariest thought you had: after 500 years, is Druig the same man he was the last time you saw him?

To be honest, you were never planning on visiting him in his village. When he marched out of Tenochtitlan, it seemed pretty obvious that he wished to be left alone but everyone has to indulge in egoism once in a while, right? You had been bravely bearing the yearning you had for Druig but there came a moment when you started to feel physically sick because of it. So, truthfully, your visit was entirely a self-indulging endeavour: see him, quench your hopeless yearning and hopefully put up with your heartache for another five centuries. It was a little pathetic but still better than never getting to see him again.

In a way, Druig looked like a king in a castle. Although, "shepherd among his sheep" would be more accurate. He had created this undiscovered haven in an uncharted land and now he was just strolling through, beaming with pride and might. It was a beautiful paradox - the more he gave of himself to others, the more he became himself.

"My beautiful lady," he called out. There was that cocky smile he so often wore - something you found both endearing and annoying. "What brings you here?"

"Oh, you know, was in the neighbourhood and thought I'd pop in, say hi."

"And here I was beginning to think you have forgotten about me."

"I don't think I can."

Without waiting any longer, you engulfed him in a longing hug. His embrace was pleasantly tight as if he, too, missed having you around. Taking a deep breath, you noticed he now smelt of rain and ground cover. His skin was warmer than you remembered but it wasn't something bad; it reminded you of safety and comfort.

"It's good to see you, Druig," you quietly said.

"Of course it is," he answered. Then, to your utmost displeasure, Druig pulled away from the longing embrace. Jungle heat felt sadly cold for a moment. "Come, I'll show you around."

Druig lost sight of you when a group of teenage girls swarmed around you in curiosity. While fighting over who gets you to give you a quetchquemitl as a welcoming gift, the giggling mob pulled you away. No matter how much he wished to follow you, he knew better - there were still things he had to see through.

Noon was already approaching when Druig found you again, this time without the nosy kids. You were sitting on the porch stairs, next to a little girl, attempting weaving. It was hard to believe you hadn't been here even for a full day.

He just stood there, admiring how you blended right in like here was where you were always meant to be. Although Druig's judgement could hardly be trusted - he was terribly biased. Little Catalina was teaching you basket weaving and from what he could tell, you were doing quite well. The crafty tutoring was accompanied by Catalina's grandparents: Santiago and Blandine, who were sharing the most notable events from the village's life. Anytime Druig saw the elderly couple, a pang of jealousy struck his heart. How beautiful would it be to grow old with someone, even figuratively? To have someone who cared and understood despite everything? And how wonderful would it be to love someone so much?

Then Santiago must have said something funny because you suddenly erupted in laughter. Druig was certain he could never grow tired of that sight. The world seemed a little brighter, a little warmer, throughout the minute when you were laughing. But then sorrow and heartache took him over once again: soon enough, you were going to leave to go back to your own life. He had grown familiar with the lovesick loneliness that seemed to always follow him around. Only for that one morning, when he was watching you weave a basket, did that sorrow leave him for a moment. But then, when it came back to weigh on his shoulders, did Druig realize its heaviness. How did he even manage to breathe for the past 500 years?

He knew that if he was not going to do something about his heavy heart now, he might never have a second chance. Spend another five centuries without you? It was a thought too cruel to even entertain.

"Mind if I steal the lady?" he asked little Catalina.

With a bright smile that lacked a few front teeth, she shook her head and continued weaving. Blandine's old hand pulled the stray strands of the girl's hair behind her ears. Her little fingers weaved with impressive speed and precision.

"Don't finish without me!" you jokingly warned the girl before turning to Druig. He seemed... worried. "What's going on, Druig?"

"I need to talk with you."

Gently pulling your arm, Druig began walking towards the privacy of a jungle backcountry. Passing by various locals, they would only glance at the two of you and go back to whatever they were doing. It seemed as if you were the only one concerned with Druig's nervousness or worry.

He let go of your arm only when the thick rainforest swallowed any signs of human life. But why would he bring you in the middle of nowhere? However you thought about it, none of the answers was good: thick shrubbery was audience only to passionate violence and confessions of unhappy love.

"Something's happened?"

You couldn't help but worry about him. He was someone who could keep a secret but was never secretive per se.

"I've been meaning to ask you something," he confessed with a serious tone. Despite the weight of his statement, Druig's face remained unreadable.

"I'm all ears, whatever you need."

Looking for any microexpression, you closely watched his face but it stayed as expressionless as ever.

To your surprise, Druig placed his hands on the sides of your face and rested his forehead against yours. The two of you stood in pleasant, intimate silence for a moment. He let out a heavy, although shaky, breath before he whispered:

"You're the only thing I could think about for the past five centuries. I wrote your name down on the hillside in my mind." He made a pause to take another, shaky breath. "Stay here with me, please."

At first, you were questioning your sanity. Maybe five hundred years of pining after a man had left its mark on you. But it couldn't be that... If there was anything you could be sure of, it was his warm presence: his hands warming your cheeks and his hot breath brushing against your face. Has he really waited all of five hundred years to make that confession? Could all of your heartbreak have been prevented had he said those words a few centuries earlier?

"Why are asking me now?" you asked quietly. You could feel your throat clenching but it wasn't tears of sadness that threatened to run down your cheeks. "Why haven't you before?"

Druig's thoughts wandered back to Santiago and Blandine. Every day they sat on the porch, holding hands and looking after children whose parents were working. On the days when he couldn't get your name off his lips, Druig wondered if he could ever have something like that: you and him, holding hands and watching children grow up - your children.

"Hope for the future got me on my knees."

Then you felt his lips move against yours. There was a certain desperation in his affection as if he expected the world to end in the next few minutes. Without needless reasoning, you kissed him back. Your hands clenched the material of his sleeveless shirt making sure he won't pull away any time soon.

There was no course of history in which you could reject his offer.

_____

TAGLIST: @igotanidea

#eternals #eternals druig #eternals imagine #eternals marvel #marvel eternals #eternals x reader #eternals fanfiction #druig x reader #druig imagine #druig fanfiction #druig fluff #marvel #marvel imagine #marvel fanfiction

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notmorbid · 2 months

Text

cursed bunny.

dialogue prompts from cursed bunny: stories by bora chung.

what in bloody hell are you?

stop calling me mommy.

i will always go where you are.

did i do something wrong?

do you recognize me?

may i sit down for a bit?

are you sick today?

nothing in life is easy.

it doesn't look like you're alright at all.

aren't you the one from the newspaper?

you've got to be strong and keep living your life.

today will seem like a distant memory, soon enough.

every object has a story.

i don't tell people's fortunes.

you don't care about the rumors?

cursing a person leads to two graves.

do you remember how you died?

are you alright? are you hurt?

what happened? where am i?

i think you'd better come out of there.

let me help you.

one step at a time. slowly.

there's only the two of us here.

you really don't remember?

you don't remember who i am, do you?

i've never known such a darkness before.

you're talking in circles.

how many languages can you speak?

i have a good feeling about you.

goodbye, my love.

just keep doing what you're doing.

why aren't you saying anything?

if you want revenge, do whatever you want.

i want a quiet, peaceful life.

i don't like going outside much.

did you think i'd act like nothing happened?

sometimes adults get into complicated situations.

i can't bear the thought of you being alone.

i'm comfortable the way i am. i just need more time.

to survive, children come to their own understanding of their place in the world.

children comprehend very quickly the intentions of adults.

you're being so brave for me.

to curse someone out of spite is cowardly.

the truth is different from what you've been told.

i knew you would come.

i wanted to escape, for just a little while.

i don't believe in any bright future for me.

the present is always better than the future.

you'll be back here someday.

survival is my purpose.

if i become to happy, i will miss sadness.

i don't know what i want, but i still expect a lot.

why aren't you married?

i've never seen another ghost.

understanding and forgiving are completely different things.

what are you going to do after i'm gone?

if i had one wish, i would wish to be just a little bit happier.

no one asked us, when we were still nameless, whether we wanted to live or not.

#rp meme #ask memes #inbox memes #rp memes #ask meme #inbox meme #horror meme

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welcome-home-art-dump · 1 year

Text

Welcome Home x Kaiju Reader Scenarios:

If you're feeling sad

POV: you're feeling down on yourself when you enter the neighborhood.

Home

🏠 He'll give you a sympathetic look, and try to attract Wally or any other neighbors to your location.

🏠 if no one's around or busy, He'll try to offer his best means of comfort, which is his usual onomatopoeia.

"Creeeak... squeak.. creeeek..."

🏠 you understood some of it, but not all of it.

🏠 If you're sitting close enough to his side, he'll try to "pat" your back with his window shutter.

🏠 wishes you were small enough so he could invite you in to wait for Wally.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Wally

🎨 he can't stand to see you upset. He'll notice your dimmed demeanor and ask you what's wrong.

🍎 He'd be very upset you didn't see your beauty the way he did.

"Oh neighbor. Don't you know that you're the absolute most to me?"

🎨 he'd try to make you feel better by painting your spikes or nails, or just a painting for you in general.

🍎 When none of which work/are denied, he'll reside to sitting beside you, if you're laying on your belly, he'll hug your cheek and reminds you that he "Loves you very much."

👁 will try to track down whomever made you feel this way to "talk" with them.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Barnaby

🦴 He'll somewhat sense you're feeling off, but if you're visibly saddened he'll ask you outright if you're okay.

🐶 He'll visibly wilt at how you upset you were as he couldn't bare the fact you felt so bad. He'll even take off his hat.

"Aw... s'ok kid... you know you could talk to your ol' blue buddy Barnaby if ya need to."

🦴 He'll try to lighten your mood with a few jokes from his stand-up acts or try to perform a few tricks for you if he had any props on hand.

🐶 if none of those really work, He'll lay his head on your lap. If your laying on your belly, he'll lay his head on your hand.

🦴 He'll either sit there with you and offer words of comfort or just remain silent until you're feeling better. Sometimes he'll even lick your cheek.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Julie

🪀 She'll notice it right away; she can detect the somber aura in your presence and lack of enthusiasm and ask you what's up.

🧸 Her cheery demeanor would lower almost instantly. Your feelings were very important to her.

"Aw... Don't worry, I'm here to help!"

🪀 seeing that you weren't up for physical games, she'd try games like "I spy" or find shapes in the clouds.

🧸 if you're laying on your belly, she'll sit beside your cheek, and idly trace shapes along your finger while having light-hearted chats with you

🪀 may doze off laying against your cheek, in which you'd also do.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Poppy

🍪 Poppy can see it almost immediately, and would gently ask if you were feeling well.

🪶 Her heart would break for whatever bad feelings would plague you. Even if you were tall, she considered you to be her "child."

"Oh dear... is there anything I could do to make you feel better?"

🍪 she'll offer you something to eat, whether it be a baked pastry or anything you wanted in general.

🪶 if that is denied, she'll simply sit with you, either in silence or engages in lighthearted conversation, while knitting something.

🍪 sometimes, if she's feeling brave enough she'll perk herself onto her shoulder and preen your hair gently.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Frank

🦋 he'll notice you aren't your usual bright self, and even if he's apprehensive with you, he'll still approach you and ask if you're okay.

📚 He'll actually be incredibly sympathetic, as he really didn't know what someone through your mind.

"O-oh. I'm sorry to hear that."

🦋 he won't really know what to do, and he'll upright ask if you wanted to talk about it.

📚 when you do open up, he's a very good listener, not missing a single word you say, and is very careful with his responses.

🦋 after a while, it will become a lighthearted conversation about a random subject.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Sally

☀️ she knows an act when she sees one. She can see right through the "cheery facade" and will ask you upfront what ails you.

🎭 she'll have to keep from bursting into hysterics, as you were a paragon to her and for you to have such negative thoughts broke her spirit.

"Oh no... that simply won't do! Is there anything I can do to aid you?"

☀️ she'll try to keep her exaggerating to a minimum and try to offer you words of comfort.

🎭 If you're laying on your belly, she'll sit against your cheek, periodically doting over you and praising your existence.

☀️ her figurative and literal warmth might cause you to dose off with a smile on your face, to which she'll let herself dose off as well.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Howdy

🐛 He'll see it in your posture, which was slightly slumped. When he got time to himself, he approached you and asked you if you were okay.

🛍 He felt terrible at how you felt. His inner older brother couldn't bare to hear such negative thoughts come from you.

"Ohh... Well... wait out here. I'm going on my break soon. Maybe we can talk about it."

🐛 true to his word, he did indeed spend his break with you talking with you, and offering words of comfort.

🛍 he sat on your shoulder, listening to you as you vented, while using all four of his hands to rub your hand best he can. [Optional if you have the appropriate hair type: he'll sometimes braid your hair.]

🐛 he'll offer you some of his stocks, and try to remain outside as much as possible to keep you company.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Eddie

✉️ he'll see it in how you greet him; he knows a sad voice when he hears it. He'll ask you if you're feeling alright.

💌 he'll frown in sympathy, knowing how difficult it must be for one of your stature to deal with such negative feelings.

"Oh my. Don't worry. I'll always be here if you need me."

✉️ Once he's done with his usual routes, he'll notify everyone of your feelings via, you guessed it; mail!

💌 everyone almost immediately makes you letters, crafts and other various gifts, and he incorporated some of his own work into this.

✉️ once he delivers it to you, he'll sit with you and remind you on how much you mean to them, and that everyone's willing to help you.

Hope this brightened up your day, lovelies~ ❤️

This idea is from a commenter from my Wattpad book.

If there’s any ideas you’d like to share, asks are open.~

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atlas-of-a-human-soul · 2 years

Text

Wildest dreams, pt. 6

Wildest dreams // part 2 // part 3 // part 4 // part 5

Summary: Y/N’s beginning to feel the physical effects of the bond while she goes to Emily for answers.

—————————————————–

Staring at the wooden house, Y/N felt like her mind is in a disarray. She’s hanging on by a thread, feeling as if she’s losing her mind.

When she woke up that morning, she was barely breathing. It felt as if an invisible hand has wrapped itself around her neck, choking her until she fell to the floor. As her vision got blotchy, the pressure relented and she finally inhaled properly. Ever since then, her ribs have been achy, so much so she was certain something was broken but she couldn’t fathom how.

All she did was wake up.

Why does she feel like someone beat her to an inch of death?

It’s definitely a time for a check-up.

Licking her dry lips, she shakes her head. Letting out a heavy breath, she walks toward the house. It’s not much, but it looks homey. The wood has been painted recently, the rose garden is small but well-tended to.

It’s odd. She used to wonder how Sam’s house looks like before, the headquarters of a cult he’s started. In her head, it was meant to be a dump, but this place is loved. It’s taken care of.

“Can I help you?”

It’s a voice she recognizes. Turning toward the sound, she finds a woman walking out from behind the house. She has gardening gloves on and a hat to help with the unusually sunny morning. Her skin is sun-kissed, but Y/N’s lived long enough in La Push to know this isn’t a temporary tan. Most of those inhabiting the reserve have a beautifully natural tan skin, something so many women try to achieve with tanning beds but never can.

“I’m looking for Emily.”

However, when she makes eye contact, her jaw clenches. She often heard of the scars Emily bears so bravely, but she had never seen her since the attack. A part of her was skeptical about it being caused by a bear, but no one else seemed to question the story.

Although the right side of her face is scarred from hairline to chin by three thick, red lines, one of them pulling down the corner of her dark, almond-shaped, brown right eye, another twisted the right side of her mouth into a permanent grimace, her beauty is undeniable.

Y/N worried it was caused by Sam, like a sick initiation into his cult. But Leah joined them too and she didn’t have any scars.

“So you’re the infamous Y/N”, Emily smiles and Y/N can’t help but smile back.

Scars simply add to her character, but they do not dampen the disarming charm Emily oozes.

“Depends”, Y/N pockets her hands in her jacket. “Who have you been talking to?”

Chuckling, Emily tosses her gloves to the side. “I hear you like lemonade. Want a glass?”

Raising her brows, Y/N answers with a curt nod and a tight lipped smile. If she’s come here to talk, she cannot be impolite and refuse, can she? And she really does love lemonade.

Following Emily who leaves her hat hanging on the doorknob, Y/N hesitates at the door.

Noticing, Emily turns to her. “It’s alright”, she beckons her inside. “There’s no one here at the moment.” Smiling, Emily reaches for Y/N’s hand to reassure her.

Initially, Y/N stiffens, wishing to pull her hand out of her reach. With a gentle squeeze of Emily’s hand, she feels the woman light tug as she leads her inside and this time there is no hesitation.

“It’s actually rare to have a minute just for me”, Emily’s hand leaves hers and Y/N looks around.

Her eyes shift from the large sectional in the corner of the dinner table to the massive muffins laying on a tray in the middle of it.

“Have one”, Emily tells her. “I’ve been trying a new recipe, I could use an honest opinion.”

“Does Sam lack honesty in sharing his?” Y/N remarks a bit too sharply than she intended.

Snickering, Emily nods. “He never criticized my cooking in all the years we’ve been together. Says he’d rather suffer a few bad meals than have me never cook because I’m mad at him.”

Pursing her lips, Y/N pulls out a chair and sits. “Smart man.”

“Unsweetened, right?” Emily asks as she lifts a glass with lemonade. She’s definitely talked to someone, likely Embry. Quil never paid her attention like that and Paul barely knew her...he barely knows her now. He certainly wouldn’t know how she takes her lemonade. Jacob would, but he’s not here.

Reaching for a muffin, Y/N raises it like a champagne glass. “It’ll be perfect with a muffin.”

Smiling, Emily brought out two glasses of lemonade before taking a seat beside Y/N. Bouncing her feet on the floor, Y/N realized just how tall these chairs are. When she leans back to sit properly, only her tiptoes can reach the floorboards.

Taking a bite from the muffin, Y/N glances at Emily. She’s smiling. No. Her lips seem to be set in such a way there’s always an inkling of a smile hiding behind her lips. There is something so pleasant about her, about the way she’s genuinely kind and warm to her while Y/N can’t help but analyze what shady business her husband is involved in.

“There is no need to be nervous.”

Nearly choking on the bite she took, Y/N coughs. Swallowing the food quickly, she takes a sip of the lemonade.

“You promised me answers I’m genuinely worried about getting, I’m bound to be nervous.”

With an understanding nod, Emily glances at Y/N’s fingers. Following her gaze, she realizes she’s tapping her fingers against the glass.

“Sorry.”

“No need to apologize”, Emily’s eyebrows furrow ever so slightly. “You’re right to be worried.”

Eyes widening, Y/N raises her brows. Stifling a nervous laugh, Y/N tilts her head to the right. “Well, that’s not helping my nerves.”

This time, Emily does not laugh or smile, she just leans forward. “I cannot tell you everything you want to know”, Emily sighs. “I wish I could, but I can tell you what to do next.”

Frowning, Y/N shakes her head as she stands. “You promised me answers.”

“And you’ll get them if you listen to me.” Standing too, Emily’s hands grip Y/N’s shoulders. “The key to all of this is Paul. But he is stubborn and he will not admit to anything unless he’s confronted by the truth.”

“And how am I supposed to get the truth if no one is going to tell me?!” Y/N’s tone is laced with annoyance, with hostility she refuses to cloak. She’s angry and she’s tired of hiding it.

“I knew a girl once who uncovered the truth on her own, but her story was a difficult one. If you do not wish the dangers the truth you seek brings, walk away and never engage with any of us.”

Swallowing thickly, Y/N locks eyes with Emily. Neither is blinking, the silence lingering becoming heavier as Y/N’s lips part.

“And what if I do not care of the danger?”

Finally, Emily smiles. “Then open your heart and mind for unimaginable things you will face. Until then, start by finding a book.”

“A book?” Y/N deadpans.

“On Quileute legends”, Emily adds.

“I know the legends”, Y/N rolls her eyes.

Snorting, Emily continues. “Are you feeling aches all over your body? Like you’re coming down with a flu?”

Furrowing her eyebrows, Y/N’s forehead wrinkles. “What does that have anything to do-“

“Do you have weird, repetitive dreams about…someone?”

Staring at her, Y/N gnaws on the inside of her lower lip. Paul. He’s haunting every dream she’s had since she first saw him in the woods.

“Read the book”, Emily states.

“But-“

“Read the book”, she repeats.

Before Y/N can ask for more details, she gasps at the sound of laughter coming from outside the house. Emily’s hold on her shoulders tightens, her eyes widening lightly too.

“We’re not alone anymore.”

Blinking fast, Y/N turns to the door as it’s slammed open with three men all but tumble inside, speaking loudly over each other.

They were all smiling, joking, all until they saw Y/N and her heart sunk so quickly down to her ass that she couldn’t move.

Staring at them, she could easily recognize Jared and Embry, the third one resembling an older Seth Clearwater but she wasn’t certain anymore. It’s been too long since she last saw him and he was just a scrawny kid who was yet another victim of Sam’s cult back then.

When he speaks, Y/N’s suspicion is confirmed. It is Seth.

“Paul’s gonna kill you.”

“Sam won’t let ‘im”, Jared chimes in.

Glancing at Embry, Y/N’s eyes narrow. “And why would he do that?”

“You need to leave”, Embry heads toward her but Emily is quick to step before Y/N.

“She leaves when she chooses to.”

Pinching the bridge of her nose, Y/N shakes her head. “What the hell”, she whispers under her breath.

“You and I both know if she’s here when he arrives, it won’t be pretty.” Embry hisses and Emily sighs.

“He needs to start dealing with his emotions instead of hiding like a petulant child!”

“STOP”, Y/N yells. Raising her hands in mock surrender, she moves past Emily and Embry and toward the door. “I’m leaving, okay?”

“But you barely touched the lemonade”, Emily exclaims but it felt more like a plea.

“Do you feel safe”, Y/N asks her earnestly, her voice calm and collected now more than at any point in their short conversation.

“Yes, I just…” Emily glares at Embry. “I just hoped you’d stay longer.” Looking back at Y/N, she musters up a meek smile.

“Perhaps another time”, Y/N glances at Jared and Seth. “When there is less testosterone around.”

Glancing at the muffin she took a bite of, Y/N points at it. “I’d add a bit more of orange. But I loved it.”

With a small smile, Y/N turns on her heel and all but runs out of the house. She didn’t turn around, not even for a mere glance as she walked as quickly as possible. She could sense them staring at her, but she refused to look back. Whatever the hell that was, at least she was gifted a clue on how to proceed further along her search for answers.

Part of her wished she could give up, but her heart that’s just traveled back from her ass to her ribcage wasn’t keen on giving up. She needs to know.

Panting, she reaches home. Her thighs are burning, the air drying up her throat and it’s become abundantly clear she’s out of shape.

But when she finds a dark, strange car in her driveway, Y/N pauses.

Inhaling sharply, she heads inside. Perhaps it’s just a friend of her dads? But her dad’s gone fishing, hasn’t he?

On her tiptoes, she opens the front door. Nothing seems out of the ordinary at first glance, but when she hears a clinking noise in the kitchen her blood runs cold. Grabbing her umbrella from the hallway closet, she sneaks toward the strange sound with care.

Her breaths are caught in her throat as each step across the old floorboards feels like stepping on a mine. She remembers where they creak the most, but any misstep and she will be caught and she can’t risk being discovered if it’s a foe.

Tightening her hold on the umbrella, she peaks into the kitchen. A tall, burly man with cropped black hair is sitting on the table, his back turned to her. Hearing the loud chewing, Y/N’s eyebrows furrow as she grimaces. She always hated loud chewing, it’s brought out murderous thoughts in the past and Jacob always used to chew so loudly she threatened to maim him. He absolutely loved annoying the hell out of her.

And that’s when it hits her.

“Jake?”

Tags: @the-chaotic-cow @xxxjaexxx @captainrogers-19 @bexloxl @laehlaluvs @adaydreamaway08 @sunsetevergreen @volturiwolf @twihard08

Bonus: Jacob’s POV

PART 7

#paul lahote #paul lahote x reader #jacob black x reader #twilight #twilight fandom #twilight fanfiction #Twilight series #twilight saga #paul lahote series #paul lahote imagine

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