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azsazz · 10 months ago

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Dead by Dawn (Part 15)

Azriel x Cassian x Reader

Summary: Zombie!AU: It’s been a while since the end of the world.

Warnings: Blood, gore, injury, graphic depictions of violence, poly!relationship, slow burn, undead, death, mentions of cannibalism, SMUTTT

Word Count: 2,421

(Part 1) (Part 2) (Part 3) (Part 4) (Part 5) (Part 6) (Part 7) (Part 8) (Part 9) (Part 10) (Part 11) (Part 12) (Part 13) (Part 14)

Notes: okay, I’ve missed this one. It hits. (3/6 of 6 updates for 6k 💙)

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Day 195

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

You’re beginning to really hate the decision to leave.

Not only because of the three walkers you’ve seen, all with missing jaws, but there’s a niggling in the back of your mind, screaming at you about Feyre and Rhys. You shouldn’t have left the house, no matter how harrowing the sight you, Cassian, and Azriel had stumbled upon was.

Cassian and Azriel, the two men who have been taking care of you since. The former had stayed up all night smoking the deer meat over the fire until it was nothing but smolders and a carcass left. You had intended to stay up with him until he was finished but Azriel had pulled you between his legs and all but forced you to lean against him with your head on his chest.

“Sleep,” he’d demanded gruffly, but his fingers brushing the hem of your t-shirt to find your skin were soft, soothing as he traced patterns. His lips were warm against your forehead, his breaths even and strong against your back that had lulled you into sleep in a matter of moments.

You’d been woken up by gentle strokes, the moon high in the sky. Both men had decided that you’d need to move campsites in case any zombies or wild animals were attracted to the carcass. The three of you stumbled through the woods, sticking close to each other. You’d quieted at the soft sound of a creek trickling through the brush and you’d been able to fill your canteens before Cassian washed the blood from his hands and forearms.

By the time the sun had washed its yellow rays upon the sky, you had found your way back to the main strip of highway and have been following it since. The little sleep that Azriel forced you to get had helped a little, but the anxiety rushing through your body at the thought of Feyre and Rhysand out here alone keeps you wired and focused only on made up scenarios of what could have gone wrong.

Had they made it back to the van? Had they tried to come back to the house only to find the letter Azriel had left them? Had they taken the warning and found gas, drove up the road until they’d seen the Eryef signs her sisters had left her?

“Stop overthinking, sweetheart,” Cassian breaks the silence. He wraps an arm around your shoulder swiping his thumb across the crease in your brows. “We’ll find them.”

“You don’t know that,” you huff, wringing your fingers together. Azriel peers over his shoulder from where he’s scouting ahead, stopping in his tracks until the both of you catch up. You can’t look at either man right now. If it weren’t for you, you’d probably all be back together as a group, or at least waiting safely back at the house of horrors. “We shouldn’t have left them.”

Azriel pulls you straight into his arms and Cassian closes the pack by pressing his firm body against your back. You’re enveloped by arms and warmth, soaking in both of their confidence that both Feyre and Rhysand are safe and to keep moving is the correct decision for your group of three.

You’re still not quite used to this side of Azriel. How he’s more open to you than before, like it’s been just as much of a struggle to keep away from you as it has been for you. He’s no longer afraid to pull you into his side or chest or arms should he sense your overworking mind. You’re much like him in that way, always playing out every scenario before anything happens. It’s a hard habit to break, one that has gotten him this far, saved his ass more than once, and by the Mother he’ll do whatever he needs to to make sure you find them.

“Feyre is safe with Rhys, and he is safe with her,” Azriel starts, planting his palms on either side of your cheeks. The marred skin is soft against your cheeks and he tilts your chin up so you’re forced to look in his eyes. The gold in them is stern, as are his following words. “We’re going to see what this Eryef is all about because that’s where they’ll go when they see the signs. We’re going to meet them there and all will be alright.”

“Well, as alright as things can be with the apocalypse and all,” Cassian adds, nuzzling his nose into the juncture of your jaw. The brush of his lips makes you want to laugh, but you’re frozen beneath Azriel’s stare.

“Okay?” he asks you, and he tries to ignore the way that Cassian’s kissing down your neck, running his hands from your hips up your sides. He tries to ignore the way your fingers clutch to the hem of his shirt in response, and the way that your lids flutter. He steps into you and you can feel their stiff cocks pressing into you from front and back. The air is shoved from your lungs the closer they lean. “We’re worrying about us first. We can’t help them if we can’t help ourselves, first. We need to stay level headed, right?”

His lips slanting against yours are all too convincing of that.

“Right?” he asks against your mouth, and you nod, gasping when Cassian’s fingers dip into the waistband of your pants. You grind your hips, drawing delicious moans from both men.

“Right,” you whine, fingers raking down Azriel’s chest. You need them, both of them right now, even in the middle of the fucking forest in the middle of nowhere. You don’t fucking care. “Need you both.”

“If we’re giving her what she needs,” Cassian says, leaning over you to caress Azriel’s jaw. He tucks his thumb and is tipping his chin back, gold eyes clashing with hazel. It makes Azriel’s throat bob and from your vantage point you want to crane your neck and lick over it. “Then we can’t deny her this, Azzy.”

He hums languidly but it chokes off when you press onto your toes to lap across the skin of his throat. It’s salty, musky, and his fingers on your hips tighten. It makes your legs clench together and your cunt drip with want.

“We shouldn’t,” Azriel groans because Gods does he want to. But he’s feeling too exposed out here like this, all tangled up with his lovers. It muddies his mind and if you’re all too preoccupied with the taste of each other, he worries you’ll attract walkers. “Not enough protection.”

“Don’t have any condoms,” Cassian mumbles against Azriel’s mouth.

“From walkers,” Azriel growls, biting at Cassian’s lips. It’s meant as a warning but all it does is make Azriel’s cock jump at the thought of your tight heat milking him dry. He wants to fill you up, watch Cassian fuck his way into you until you’re a moaning mess, leaking their seed.

He’s right, though. You shouldn’t be doing what you’re doing even now. Anyone could be near hearing the three of you fooling around, dead or alive. It’s a dangerous situation that lust is trying to paint its way over, and no matter how badly you need to feel the press of their bodies against yours again, you need to be careful about it.

“I’m going to find you both a house,” Cassian says gruffly, disappointment lacing his heady tone. He brushes Azriel’s hair back with one hand, and with the other he’s holding you tightly. “One with a fence and room big enough for a garden. We’re going to find a place for Feyre and Rhys nearby, but not so close that they hear me fucking the both of you all day and all night.”

Your eyes roll into the back of your head at his words. He says them like he means them, like this is going to happen, and you can admit that it sounds like heaven. Spending the rest of your days with the two of them, always together, never lonely.

“‘M gonna take care of you both,” he continues, tone going soft with promise. Both you and Azriel lean into him, cradling him close. Your stomach twists a little at the thought that passes through your mind like a shooting star. “We’re going to be okay.”

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

“Only a few more miles,” Azriel says sometime later, when you’re taking a break. You’re munching on some of the meat Cassian had stowed away last night. You’d all been very lucky with that kill. Animals lurking the woods are a lot less common as they were at the beginning of the apocalypse, with all of the roaming zombies hungry for flesh and blood. They’ll take a bite out of anything with a pulse.

The meat is chewy and bland, but it’s better than most things you’ve eaten since the world ended. There was once when you and Feyre had to force down handfuls of flowers to ease the hunger pains contorting your bodies, but they hadn’t tasted as good as they smelled, but they’d kept you alive.

“We should be there by nightfall, I reckon.”

You nod, forcing yourself to swallow. You’re not complaining, but your throat protests around the chewed meat, dry as it scrapes down your windpipe. Coughing, you try to dislodge it, and Cassian hands you his canteen to wash it down with. You beam gratefully at him.

“Do you think anyone will be there?” You ask, examining the jerky. “What do you think we’ll find?”

Azriel sighs as he thinks, leaning back against the tree behind him. His gold eyes scour the woods surrounding you. When they pass over your body and they rove down, drinking you in, then does he answer. “Hopefully we can at least find shelter.”

You clench your thighs together. Clearly, he hasn’t forgotten about earlier when the three of you had been pressed so tightly together you were nearly one. Cassian shifts too and you can see the slight tenting of his jeans. Goosebumps awaken on your flesh as his bare arm brushes yours.

You’re about to speak but a twig snapping draws all of your attention, freezing in your spots.

You shove the rest of the meat into your mouth because by the Mother you will not waste it. Your body is tight with anticipation, and you draw your blade silently from your belt, preparing for the worst.

You peek a glance at Cassian, who shrugs a little. His hazel eyes are sharp, but he can’t see anything any more than you can. He sends a questioning glance over to Azriel, who silently shakes his head. He can’t see anything either.

The unmistakable groan of a walker sounds in the distance and your spine goes straight. It’s about time you’ve seen one. It’s been much too quiet as of late, and you pray to any God that will listen that it’s not a horde.

Slowly, you follow Cassian’s lead to stand. He offers you a hand and you move as silently as you can. Azriel’s already on his feet and moved closer to you. You hadn’t noticed how quickly and quietly he can be when he wants to.

You’re kind of envious.

Slinging your backpack over your shoulders, both men cover you while you work it into place until your knife is back up at the ready.

“C’mon you filthy vermin,” a voice cuts through the woods, not caring how loud they are. It carries through the trees easily, like an open field, though you still can’t see anything. “Just a few more steps.”

It’s a low voice, but unmistakably a woman’s. She sounds agitated as well, especially when the male voice that follows is nothing but a sweet, teasing trap. “Ease up, fawn. We have all day.”

“We don’t,” she disagrees. “Elain will wake soon and if something happens,” her voice pitches higher in distress and the male’s one turns soothing.

“Her condition hasn’t changed in months, Nes. She’ll hold on another day.”

You exchange glances with Cassian and Azriel but the confusion painting their faces is the same as that of yours. What the hell are they talking about?

The sound of a zombie groaning breaks them apart. The woman spits curses at it and her male counterpart chuckles. Cassian presses closer when the voices trail your way.

“All in good time, fawn,” the man says again and he’s back to calling her that nickname.

“It’s not my fault that they’re so damn stupid. I swear, it’s like being at University all over again.”

You hold your breath as he laughs and she huffs.

There’s a loud snap, the sound of something crunching nearby. It’s a little too close for any of your liking, and when the two of them step around a large oak, finally in your line of vision, they halt.

You watch the smiles slip from their faces, their eyes going hard. Their hands are tangled together but they rip apart as they reach for their weapons.

You, Azriel, and Cassian raise yours in defense, but no one moves.

The man’s auburn eyes blaze over the three of you, calculating. His features are sharper than the blade in your hand, eyes hard like he could light you on fire with a single look. His copper hair is finger rifled, tousled on the top of his head, but the unruly look works on him. You wonder if the smattering of freckles dusting his cheeks and the bridge of his nose are marks of all of his kills.

The woman beside him, however, somehow looks even more menacing. The hard lines around her mouth must be from frowning most of her life, much like she is now. Her dirty golden-brown hair is braided back from her face in two long plaits. There’s a bow strapped across her back, and you’re lucky that the three of you caught her whilst she was distracted.

She looks familiar, though, so familiar that it only takes you a moment to place her until you’re dropping your arm and stepping forward, ignoring how Azriel and Cassian grab for you.

The girl’s gray-blue eyes are sharp, deadly even. Her knife is curved and razor-edged, dark blood from her latest kill dripping off of the tip. She doesn’t look like she’s willing to extend any pleasantries in the slightest, but if the next three words out of your mouth don’t stop her from killing the three of you, then maybe you deserve it.

“You’re Feyre’s sister.”

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

DBD Taglist: @writingsbychlo @kemillyfreitas @5moremin @dream-alittlebiggerdarling @waggel36 @bionic-donut @que-serasera @applepie02 @azrielsbabyg @arcadianmoonlight @pradaxstyles @illyrian-dreamer @reiincarnatiion @fuckthatfeeling @shadowsingersmate24 @poppyalice2001 @fall-myriad @sstrohma @tcris2020@jeannineee @21stcenturytaegi@ochiolism @secretly-here @harrystylesfan2686 @i-am-infinite

#acotar #azsazz #acomaf #acowar #azriel x reader #cassian x reader #azriel x cassian x reader #dead by dawn #acotar zombie au #zombie au #acotar au

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yaut-jaknowit · 7 months ago

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In Front of the Clan

Pairing: We'ar-ow (Female Yautja) x GN!Reader

Word Count: 4237

Summary: We'ar-ow decides to speak to her clan about the situation and brings you along. As We'ar-ow speaks, people interrupt and speak falsehoods about the situation. Rumors within the clan always spread around. When the meeting gets a little out of hand, you stand forward.

Author Note: There's only four planned chapters left guys! We're getting closer to the end of this duo.

Masterlist

Ao3

A plate of alien food was set before you. The corners of your mouth quirked up in an appreciative smile towards the large pink Yautja. She grunted before sitting down next to you and leaning into your side. Her warm scales pressing into you while We’ar-ow peers over your shoulder to look at the tablet laid open on the counter.

After learning that she has known about your plan for escape, you only use the tablet to play games now. There was no other use for it. We’ar-ow hasn’t even restricted the access to internet or deleted any of the information you’ve saved. Either she trusts you or she knows you can’t escape even if you tried without her knowing.

Before learning We’ar-ow knew, there was a possibility of actually making it off the mothership and homebound. Yet, she has her claws sunk into your skin. You were never going to escape now… nor did you? Did you want to leave?

That got you thinking. If you had the chance to leave, like an open door back home, would you take it? Leave all this behind. The troubles of not getting hunted down by your ex-mate, or the mess of confusing feelings about the massive alien leaned against your side. The fact the only two people you could safely converse with are her and Xilomere. That was a sad thing to think about. Such a lonely life.

Then, there was We’ar-ow. A creature that always demands, always commanding. She takes no shit from anyone. If she wants something done, she’ll do it herself. She’s protected you from the harms Dwainet attempted to bring down on you. The fact he wants you dead. We’ar-ow won’t throw you to him to get rid of her troubles. No, she’s fighting for you.

You glanced over your shoulder to find her orange eyes on you. “What?” you questioned, concerned there was something wrong. The alien chuffed and reached out with her hand towards your face.

Instantly, your first reaction was to jerk away. Instead, you held your ground. Her thumb swiped at the corner of your mouth then wiped whatever was there off on a napkin. You cursed inside of your brain the way that made your body flush. You bowed your head to look back down at the tablet.

A game was pulled up, the dog hunting one. Where you level up your hunting dogs and breed the best ones. So far, after little less than two months have gotten you far in the game. With nothing else but to pass time now, you are stuck it. There are other games you have downloaded but this one is your favorite.

Plus, with the fact you don’t… need to plan an escape anymore, it’s all you can do to pass the time. With We’ar-ow gone during most of the day – despite her attempts to coax you along with her, you have to do something not to go insane now.

We’ar-ow reached out once more and slid the tablet closer to her. You grumbled a noise of disagreement but continued to munch on the food she cooked for you. She did give it to you, nor could you stop her if you tried. From your hunched over spot, you watched as the Yautja tapped away on the device until getting to a page. She turned towards you.

From English to Yautja, the words on the page were returned to their native language. “Hey! What did you do? Now I can’t read it,” you complained and gave her a deadpanned look.

In all of your time around these creatures, you’ve not once learned about their language. The way they spoke it made it seem impossible for you to replicate. You don’t have the proper vocal cords to make such sounds. Seeming some of the words gave you head. Like, how does thirteen words equal a simple ‘how’ or something. Of course, it wasn’t perfectly translated over so it could mean a little different. Yet, still.

“It is time you learned. You are on my ship. I will teach you if you like it or not. At times, I will turn off your translator and test you. Understood?” she explained then tapped the screen. “Find where you can turn it back to English.” Your lips parted at her words.

“But-but I don’t know how to read your language!” you bickered and glared at her. The Yautja’s expression didn’t change. “How do you expect me to navigate through it to get back to English.”

To probably frustrate you more, she patted your cheek with her rough palms. “Sink or swim. This is where you show me what you got. Then, I shall go from there.” You couldn’t believe this! She just changed her soft personality like one-eighty on you. How can you even get to the settings to change it back to normal?! The translator behind your ear only did verbal words than also words on a paper or screen.

“Come on, don’t do this! My puppers need me,” you begged her, not expecting her to let you sink like this. There was no chance you were able to get to the settings and return it to English.

“I have faith in you, little ooman.” We’ar-ow left your side, stealing away the comfort her presence brought you, and stood up from the stool. “I’m going to finish preparing myself for the day. Once, I’m done, I have a meeting with the clan I must attend.”

That caught your attention. You dropped the spork you were using and spun around. This was serious. This must mean she was going to face off with Dwainet.

And instead of hiding here, you needed to be there.

“Can I come with?” you finally asked after three weeks of refusing to leave the safety of your space. Not when Dwainet or one of his goons can come up and snap your neck. The bruises lasted until last week.

We’ar-ow’s eyes lit up for a fraction of second before dipping her head. “Of course. I will warn you. Every eye in this ship will be upon us. I must address the unrest building within the clan and kill it before it becomes a problem,” she warned and hooked her finger under my chin to ensure I keep my gaze on her. “You are free to stay but I promise to keep you protected and safe in and out of this room if you are to join me.”

Your heart began to thunder in your chest at her intimate touch. It was starting to get harder to deny the way your stomach fluttered at gestures like this. The lump in your throat was swallowed down. “This is about me. I’m the center problem. I… I can’t show how afraid I am, can I?” you retorted yet with a soft voice. There was no time to show your fear to the crowd despite how terrified you are in this situation.

One of her upper mandibles quirked up. “You are learning, little one,” she purred and dragged her thumb claw along your fragile lips. You shuttered yet continued to keep eye contact with the large beast before you. “Yes. Now change into something more presenting for a meeting with the clan.”

A deep breath filled your lungs before you slipped off the stool, leaving behind the tablet for a later time. You grabbed your plate and put into the sink then headed into the shared bedroom. We’ar-ow shadowed behind you.

All of the clothes Ruach made for you were hung in the expansive closet before you. Your eyes raked over each strip of clothing, brain mauling over which would be the best for this time. Something grand, something to show you have power despite being a pet in everyone eyes.

Blues, purples, whites, and golds. An array of colors decorated the pieces you chose. Light in fabric, the top of see-through. You didn’t let that bother you as We’ar-ow helped looped strands of golden metal around your neck. Other jewelry decorated your wrists and ankles alike.

Royalty. You looked like royalty.

The bulk of We’ar-ow towered from behind. Each of her hands engulfed your shoulders before one slipped off to wrap securely around your throat. Despite knowing you should be trembling at her hand placement, all you felt was safe. You tilted your head back to find her eyes on you. Her grasp tightened for a fraction of her strength, still not worrying you a bit.

There was a slight pressure pressed onto the spot behind your ear for a moment. The translator. Words of her native language fell from her fangs like water over jagged rocks. Your brows creased, confused on what was spoken to you. The language is completely unfamiliar to you. Since day one, you’ve relied on it to get through everyday life within the Yautjas.

Another small graze over your skin. The translator was back to life. “Hey, what was that for?” you whined with a small pout. Why did she have to force you to do this? That’s what the translator’s for. There was no need to learn Yautja. Maybe the reading part but the speaking, not so much.

The hand shifted so her thumb ran over the scar that marred your skin on the back of your neck. You shuttered at the feeling, head still stretched back. “What did you say?”

A playful glint entered her eyes. “You’ll know once you’re ready,” she spoke ominously. You groaned and leaned against her with the pout still etched into your face.

“You’re not fair. How am I supposed to learn if you won’t teach me what you had just said?” We’ar-ow stepped back to create space for a moment and used her hand on your shoulder to keep you steady. At first, you felt a bit heartbroken she had moved away. Only to slightly tense up when her fangs touched the crook of your exposed shoulder and neck.

Your throat bobbed but you made no move to stop nor to encourage her. A part of you, deep down, wanted for her to take the bite, to latch her teeth onto your fragile skin. You felt them add just the tiniest of pressure to create divots in your skin. Your breath was caught in your throat, unable to move, frozen and at her mercy.

We’ar-ow retracted her head then patted your shoulder. “We must go or else we risk being late. That would not look good on us.” You pulled fresh air back into your weak lungs and dazedly nodded your head.

What was wrong with you?!

Everyone’s eyes were on your forms. The sea of people parted. We’ar-ow stepped forward. No one dared to step in her way, let alone look at their Monarch in the eye. They bowed their heads with respect her. You shadowed at her side, head level and refusing to look at anyone. A steeled expression etched into your face as you refused to shy away from the crowd.

Pet or not, you held a power within the clan. They couldn’t touch you without We’ar-ow baring down on them within the same instant. You gripped that power by the reins tightly as you strutted next to her.

The two of you ascended to her throne. You faltered for a moment, realizing you had to sit on the steps. Heat rushed to your cheeks instantly before you reeled in the embarrassment, ready to find a seat.

Suddenly, your feet left the ground. You squeaked minutely, on the verge of flailing in reaction. When your butt was placed on a warm thigh, you instantly paused your dramatic reaction. For a moment, you stared off blankly, regretting all of your decisions in the moment. Then, you relaxed against We’ar-ow looked down upon the sea of Yautjas crowded at the base of the steps.

The entire room was filled to the brim with the masses spilling out into the hallway. Though, it was heavily overcrowded with faces you couldn’t begin to recognize, you spotted a familiar figure moving through.

Xilomere. Others you learned that were part of the council climbed the steps as well. They stopped short of the last two steps to the throne and spread out. Xilomere and a female Yautja stood the closest, on either side. The alien mentioned by name gave a cheeky wink to you. Heat rushed to your cheeks, knowing the position in her lap wasn’t very professional.

Your hand snaked over to clutch We’ar-ow’s still holding your hips from when she grabbed you. Her other limb was resting on the armrest of her throne. You shifted around to find a comfortable spot to sit in. Which was your back to her chest, one of your legs crossed over the other, head held high. This wasn’t the time to show weakness in front of everyone.

Her fingers widened and allowed for yours to card through them. We’ar-ow trapped your digits between hers, refusing to let you go. This was an action you couldn’t tell was for your support or hers.

Behind you, We’ar-ow leaned in close to your ear. “No matter what happens, I will protect you, my little ooman,” she promised then returned to her original spot. She was attempting to calm your racing thoughts and thundering heart only for them to worsen. It made it seem like she was preparing for a revolution to break out.

We’ar-ow slammed her fist down with an ear shattering roar that echoed after the room fell silent. After a few long seconds to let this sink into everyone, We’ar-ow spoke in voice you’ve deemed to be her Monarch voice. Only used in the presence of her fellow clanmates.

“Many of you know what this about. Rumors spread. I am here to quell this outrage at the source.” Her voice carried out into the room. At first, you tensed your shoulders. Immediately thinking this quelling would include your death once and for all… but We’ar-ow wouldn’t do that. She wouldn’t take the easy way out.

“My pet is here to stay despite what that scum decides to try next.” You nearly curl up into her torso at her words, seeking protection. But Dwainet isn’t here to cause chaos. No, he’s locked up. “Number two, if you have an issue with my ruling, either bring it up to me or leave. I don’t need weak Yautjas part of my clan. Only the strongest, only the most skilled are sought after. You don’t have a place amongst the elite.”

“And three, if you don’t see me fit to rule, challenge me. There’s always been a clause to allow any of age to issue a challenge.” Her commanding voice sent chills down your spine. She squeezed your hand tightly. You returned the gesture the best you can.

“How can we trust that you’re strong when your pet is a feeble soft meat?” Someone from the crowd shouted. Others joined into the calls and spitting of harsh words.

“We were blinded by the last Monarch and her horrible rule.” Other agreed with whoever said that. You don’t know who or what happened during the last reign but We’ar-ow wasn’t anything like the sort. She’s a person who deserved to have this position.

Anger fell over your features. With a snarl, you ripped yourself from We’ar-ow hold and lap then stood before her, overlooking the room. Fire sparked to life in your eyes. “I know I haven't been here long, but I have seen the way she rules. A ruler that is strong enough to be gentle and knows when to use her strength,” your voice boomed loudly over the shouting match.

Everyone silenced themselves at first.

“Oh, look at that, the problem only causing more chaos in the mixture,” another voice drawled then scoffed. “I should gut you like the prey you are. Then, you’ll see how weak you truly are, soft meat.” You knew the use of ‘soft meat’ was a terrible insult to humans, but you simply brushed it off. It didn’t hurt to be said to you. Though soft, you could still cause damage.

Due to their words, you instantly knew We’ar-ow was going to step in. But, you had to act fast. “Maybe you’re right. I am weak. I am prey amongst hunters. Yet, here I still stand, with power you could dream of. I sit upon a throne while you grovel at our feet, paying your due respects to a Monarch whose blood, sweat, and tears have been put into this job.”

We’ar-ow stayed seated in her throne, yet eyes watched with rapture.

Then, your eyes drifted over into the direction of the other Yautja who before this one. “You’re right as well. I haven’t been here long. Long enough to know We’ar-ow could put you in your place. All of you in your place. Yet, here she is, choosing a path of peace rather than destruction.”

A new silence filled the tense air. Any eyes willing to meet yours, you glared at. You didn’t care that anyone in this room could kill you at the moment. Right now, this needed to end.

“Do you want discord? Or do you want peace?” you snapped and curled your hands into fists. None of your hits would do damage but it was the thought that counted if anyone dared to step up those steps. Plus, We’ar-ow promised you.

From behind you, We’ar-ow stood up placed her hands on your shoulders. Her thighs pressing into the middle of your back. Knowing that hunter stood at your back, you felt more power fill you instead of terror. She or anyone on this ship may be able to snap your neck, but We’ar-ow would never.

One person started it. They knelt down on one knee, hand splayed out to cover their face, head bowed. Once it began, others followed in their wake. Until all but eleven showed their respect to their Monarch.

Those who refused to bow glared daggers at the two of you. You snarled. Inside of your brain, you’re ready to throw down hands on any of them who didn’t respect the hardship We’ar-ow has endured. We’ar-ow tightened her grip on your shoulders and brought you from your boiling thoughts. You felt the way they twitch, nearly attempting to incircle your throat. Yet, they stayed glued to their spots.

“What paths shall you take? Leave or challenge. I will not tolerate any more disrespect from any of my clan members. I won this place, this title. I will continue to show why I deserve to be here,” she growled and tugged you tightly into her thighs. Her form continuously towering over you.

“We side with Dwainet. We see the flaws that will cause detrimental damage to our clan. You will be our downfall. We will not allow that to happen,” one snapped and stomped his foot down, arms splayed out at his sides in display.

A growled from the pits of hell tumbled from We’ar-ow’s throat. Yet, the Yautja didn’t move from her spot. “Dunkot, detain these foolish younglings,” she demanded a yellowed colored Yautja.

Without hesitation, he began his pathing down the stairs. A short growled fell from him. Others from the crowd moved towards their targets and did what their Monarch ordered them to do. They were escorted out and away. You breathed a sigh of relief and titled your head back to look up at her. Her fingers twitched and ghosted over the column of your throat before returning to their original position.

Her words made you realize. Only those under two hundred years were part of this revolution. Dwainet himself was barely even a hundred years old. They were only stupid young adults playing fire before they even knew it would burn them.

Once they had been hauled out, We’ar-ow gazed out into the crowd. “Does anyone else have something to say to either of us?” she demanded. Everyone stayed bowed but raised their heads to look upon their Monarch again. No one spoke up to voice their concerns again.

“Meeting adjourned.” With that, everyone took their, except Xilomere and the unnamed female Yautja. Though her color was different, her facial features were similar to We’ar-ow in a way that had you unsettled.

Said Yautja spun on her heel and moved along the steps to stand before you. Even at a couple steps down, she still had the same giant form as We’ar-ow. A playful smirk on her fangs. “Such a little thing to cause an uproar, sister. I love the fact you’ve kept them around,” she laughed.

Sister? This is the sister?! Jesus Christ. You don’t know why but you felt the need to impress her in any shape or form.

Xilomere joined the group as well and held out his own fist towards you in a very human fashion. You fulfilled the gesture. “Look at what you did. You’re just as good as We’ar-ow here.” His gaze flickered up to We’ar-ow. “You chose good.” You looked back up at her behind you.

“To be honest, if she wasn’t here, I’d be a shredded mess of meat and shattered bones on the ground right where I stand,” you nervously inputted and leaned more against We’ar-ow’s thighs. Her hands squeezed once more on your shoulders. It was the horrible truth.

He raised a brow and gave you an up and down look. “You are unarmed. Any honorbound Yautja wouldn’t attack you. Prey or not.”

Hidden on the side of your waist band was that knife thar random Yautja gave you a while ago. The fabric that flowed over your shoulders was enough to cover it apparently. “Well,” you drawled then unsheathed the blade carefully. “About that.”

The beautifully crafted blade was shown the group. We’ar-ow bristled behind you then snatched it out of your hand. “Where did you get this?!” she scolded and spun you around to face her. “This isn’t one of mine. Who gave this to you?” You nearly shied away from her due to instinct but held strong.

“A merchant named Wourk. He tried to trick me but I knew better. He gave it to me, free of charge. I needed something to protect myself. I have to show myself as capable without always being seen as this pathetic little creature,” you argued and tried to reach for it but she kept it out of reach. “This issue with Dwainet isn’t resolved. I could be killed by one of his goons.”

She growled and grabbed your throat, pulling you in close as she leaned down to your height. “No you won’t. I told you I would protect you as you are mine. Dwainet nor any of his followers shall lay a digit on you again. This blade will only put you at risk more. You will be seen as huntable prey with it,” she explained then plucked the sheath from your waist band with the hand around your neck.

You spun to look at Xilomere for help. “Help me. Don’t you agree me having a blade would be better than nothing?!” you rallied for him to side with you.

That look on his face told you otherwise. “I agree with her. If you hold a weapon, you are considered worth to be hunted. Without it, you are unhonorable to kill you. She’s just protecting you, ooman,” he resolved. You didn’t dare to turn to the unnamed sister, knowing she too would side with We’ar-ow.

“None of you realize how powerless I feel in this situation,” you growled, hands shaking then glared up at the pink Yautja. “Without you, I would be dead, ten times over. If it wasn’t for you presences alone, many would kill me. I just want to protect myself!”

Your voice carried out into the expansive room. Then, it turned to silence.

Both Xilomere and the sister bowed their heads to look somewhere else as you stared We’ar-ow in the eye.

“Well, I’ve got things to do. See you two later!” Xilomere announced his exit and was swiftly to fast walk down the stairs and out the room. We’ar-ow’s followed after him after giving a wave at the two of you.

Once the door was shut and offered privacy otherwise. Your neck was snatched in firm grasp that didn’t hurt.

“I do not know what it will take to get it through your thick skull. But I will protect you. You are mine to protect. My ooman!” Her fangs roughly clack together then spread wide. “Dwainet will pay for his crimes. He will die by my hand. He will suffer for the trouble of wasting two years of your life.” Her thumb rest upon your pulse point, feeling the way your heart raced.

The words in your throat died. Your chest heaved with each breath as the two of your stared into the other’s eyes. You licked at your lips. Her eyes darted down for a fraction of second during the motion. Long enough for you to notice.

This claim she continues to make felt different this time.

A deep huff dropped your shoulders. “Fine. But can I at least keep the blade? It’s pretty,” you asked, hoping she would let you. Despite the fact it could put you into danger for just having it, you liked it.

Her eyes glanced at it in her hand. “No.” Goddamn her.

#yautja #predator #yautja x reader #yautja x you #alien vs predator #predator x reader #yautja x human #predator x you #predator x human #x reader #We'ar-ow

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hesbuckcompton-baby · 10 months ago

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I'm Your Man - Robert 'Rosie' Rosenthal x OFC - Chapter 1

AO3

Summary: As Frankie reaches the end of her second week at Thorpe Abbotts Airfield, she begins to find her footing among the men of the 100th Bomb Group

Warnings: Excessive alcohol consumption, language

Word Count: 4k

Tags: @mads-weasley @xxluckystrike @curaheehee

The setting sun cast a golden blanket over Thorpe Abbotts airfield, basking everything in an idyllic, orange glow that was almost beautiful enough to distract from the heady stench of motor oil that lay thick on the air, permeating hair and clothes so thoroughly that anyone who spent even five minutes in the place would carry it with them for the rest of the day.

Frankie Bevan clamped a flashlight tight between her teeth, the narrow beam of light illuminating the underside of the B-17's gun turret as she surveyed it for any cracks or gaps in the glass that could compromise its integrity. The rest of the ground crew had called it a day almost two hours ago, but the Yanks always did prefer to work in the daylight. She was nearing the end of her third year in the Women's Auxiliary Air Force, and after so many nights spent running the airstrips in the darkness for the RAF, Frankie was well accustomed to toiling away into the night.

Thorpe Abbotts was new, and yet much the same. It was only her second week here, compensating for the Americans' manpower shortages. The job was always the same, no matter where she went or what planes she worked on - checks, fixes, refuelling, over and over again - but thus was the nature of a mechanic's job. What she was not yet quite used to was the Americans themselves. Loud and brash and self-assured, Frankie was sometimes glad they worked different hours.

Taking note of a few cracks in the glass panelling, she reached up to swipe the torch from her mouth, offering a satisfied nod as she completed her checks for the night. All that was left was to pin her list of concerns up on the board inside the mechanics' Nissen hut, and then it was off to the pub for her.

Once she changed out of her oil-stained coveralls, that was.

"They're working you like a dog down there on the strip," Georgina, one of Frankie's bunkmates, pointed out, flipping nonchalantly through a magazine as she lounged on her bed.

"Someone's gotta do it," She shrugged, kicking off her coveralls as she rummaged in the shared wardrobe for the correct service uniform. "Some of the mechanics they've brought over are practically kids, not sure I'd trust 'em to fix my plane if I was going up there."

"You'd better show 'em what for, then," George smiled, glancing over as Frankie finished buttoning up her blouse, reaching for the navy blue jacket.

"You coming for drinks?"

"Uh, nah - I'll go tomorrow. Sandra thinks we'll be starting early tomorrow so I wanna get a decent night's sleep."

"Ooh, luxury," Frankie teased, shimmying her shoulders as she made her way to the door of the hut. "Alright, see you later."

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The pub was crammed from door to door as she forced her way inside, the sound of chattering overpowering the music blaring from a radio in the corner. The American invasion of Thorpe Abbotts had well and truly been successful, scarcely a flash of RAF blue visible amongst the sea of khaki as Frankie burrowed her way through the crowds towards the bar.

"Pint of Guinness, please," She called over the din, the bartender offering a friendly nod of affirmation as she felt the crowd behind her push her body further into the edge of the bar.

"There y'are, love," The man nodded, placing the pint glass in front of her as she smiled her thanks, foam lining her top lip as she took her first sip. Frankie barely had time to wipe it away, turning to take a step back from the bar, before another body collided with hers. She gasped as the beer she had so looked forward to sloshed over the rim of the glass, pooling on the floor and staining the front of her uniform, as the other man's drink did the same.

"Woah, careful there!" The man cried, flicking a few stray droplets of spilt beer from his hand onto the floor. A deep frown creased her features as she peered up at him. The soldier was so tall that the tip of her head didn't quite pass his shoulder, and yet the irritation in her expression was so palpable that he took a full step back.

"Oh, that was my fault, was it?" Frankie tutted.

"Well, sweetheart, maybe if you'd been looking where you were going-"

"Maybe if you bloody Yanks gave us some room to breathe in here we wouldn't have a problem!"

There was an easy smile on the man's face that struck her as distinctly annoying. Discarding his now almost empty glass on the bar, the man put up his hands in surrender. "Alright, alright. Look. We're not gonna agree on this, so what d'ya say we settle this with a little friendly competition?"

She raised a brow. "What sort of competition?"

"Uh... how 'bout a drinking contest?"

Frankie let out a guffaw so forceful that the man's confident smile disappeared, and a few nearby airmen turned to watch the scene unfold. "Y'know what? Yeah. You're on."

With a nod, he turned away, marching towards the closest table. "Alright boys, gimme some space, I got a contest to win against half-pint over here."

She approached the table, sitting down opposite the soldier, smirking at his arrogance. The airmen he had kicked out of their seats were lingering to watch the spectacle unfold, and it was clear their bets were on her opponent.

"Now," He sighed, taking a seat. "In the spirit of good sportsmanship, I oughta introduce myself. John Egan," He said, reaching a hand across the table.

"Frances Bevan. Frankie," She nodded, shaking his hand.

Egan nodded. "So, normal rules apply. No spilling, no vomiting, gotta drain the glass. Still wanna do this?"

Frankie nodded firmly. "I'd never pass up such a wonderful opportunity to humble you Yanks," She grinned.

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Egan was turning red, his smug smile long since vanished, the motion of his arm slowing as he reached for the next shot glass, glancing across at her with a slightly nauseated expression. The crowd surrounding them had long since grown since they had begun, although how long ago that was she couldn't quite remember. The huge pile of empty shot glasses in the centre of the table did nothing to jog her memory.

"Oh, come on, Egan, you've gotta do better than that," Frankie teased, reaching forward and downing her next shot. In fairness, she too was beginning to feel light-headed, but it never showed on her face, her demeanour as cool and collected as it had been when she first sat down.

"I thought... I thought this would be easy," John complained, grimacing as he brought the next glass to his lips. "You're so small, where are you storing all this liquor?"

"I'm British - pretty sure it's in our bloodstream," She teased. Egan's eyes narrowed as he weakly upturned the contents of his glass into his mouth, screwing up his face as the liquid ran down his throat.

"I really like her," John admitted, letting out a long sigh as he drew a hand over his eyes. A few of the airmen laughed, clapping him over the shoulders.

"I think we're done here," Frankie chuckled.

"You forfeit?" He asked hopefully.

"No, I'm saying you're about to. That or you're gonna throw up - either way, I win."

"Nuh-uh," Egan shook his head. "Not gonna happen," He fought to suppress a burp, and the room seemed to brace itself for the inevitable vomit that would follow, letting out a collective sigh of relief when he swallowed his nausea back down. "...Yeah. Ok."

She clapped, throwing up her hands in victory as a couple of the men standing behind her cheered. "Well, it's been a real pleasure doing business with you Major," Frankie chuckled, fighting through the splitting headache that was growing in her temples as she rose from her seat, offering him a hand to help him stand.

John batted her away, but stumbled as he got up, one of his friends pressing a firm hand on his back to keep him upright. She smiled. "I'll help you get him back since it's my fault. Gotta get back to the huts anyway."

The airman accepted, each of them slinging one of Egan's arms around their shoulders as he tilted haphazardly over to one side, struggling to prop himself up against her due to her height. Trailing towards the door, a few of the men let out celebratory whoops at her as she passed, praising her victory.

"Thanks for the night, gents - I'm here all war," Frankie called over her shoulders, a cheer erupting from the crowd as they dragged Egan sideways out of the door.

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It was growing difficult to see as they marched John back to the huts, the street lights growing more and more sparse the closer they got to the airfield. "You gotta teach me how to do that," He slurred, tilting his head down towards her, the smell of liquor thick on his breath.

"You gotta get more practice in - you Americans with your 'no alcohol until you're 21' rule never stood a chance, we've just been in the game longer."

"Ah," He nodded, pausing for a moment. "Hey, why'd you call yourself Frankie?"

"Because Frances is a terrible name," She scoffed.

"Can I call you Fran?"

"Only if you want to die."

"Fair enough."

As they reached the end of the row of men's huts, she shrugged his arm off of her shoulders, relinquishing custody of John to the other airman, who thanked her for her help.

"See ya 'round, Shortcake!" Egan called as they trailed away, grinning proudly to himself at the nickname. Frankie scoffed, rolling her eyes and massaging her temples as her headache steadily worsened.

"You look like shit," George whispered as she wandered back into their hut. She had rolled her hair up into pin curls, protected beneath a headscarf, and was reading a copy of Wuthering Heights in the dim light of her bedside lamp.

"Got into a drinking contest with one of the Americans," She shrugged, tossing her beer-stained blouse and jacket into a crumpled heap at the foot of her bed, a reminder to wash them tomorrow.

"Did you win?"

"Of course."

"Shh!" One of the other women hissed from the opposite end of the room, shrouded in the darkness. Frankie pulled a face at her scolding, dragging a brush through the knots in her dark brown hair as George stifled a laugh, discarding her book and turning off the light once her friend had changed and gotten into bed.

It was silent for a while as she lay beneath the blankets, staring up at what would have been the ceiling if not for the complete absence of light. Her alcohol-induced headache thrummed behind her eyes, a constant, dull pain keeping her from sleep.

"George?" She whispered.

"What?"

"Do you have an aspirin?"

The sound of quiet rummaging was audible in the stillness of the hut, and she struggled to suppress a laugh as she felt the tube smack her in the face, a result of Georgina tossing it blindly in the darkness.

"Thank you," She giggled, trying not to gag as she took the pills dry, lying back and waiting for the pain to subside as she thought back on the night's events.

I'm not that short.

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The blinding morning sun was unwelcome the next day as Frankie made her way to the airfield from her hut, bike resting against her hip as she made a momentary stop to fix her hair for the day ahead, hair tie held between her teeth as she scooped it into a ponytail. Most of the women she shared the Nissen hut with had left over an hour ago, hurrying to the flight tower in anticipation of the arrival of yet more American pilots, but her job didn't begin until after the planes landed, so fortunately for her, she had been afforded a little more sleep, her headache now more or less dissipated.

A loud honking startled her, the hair tie slipping from her teeth and falling to the floor. As she bent to pick it up, a jeep rolled to a stop in front of her, the horn parping once more.

"Fuck's sake, what?" Frankie muttered, glancing up to see the cheery grin of Major John Egan smiling down at her.

"Mornin'."

"Are you even fit to drive after last night?"

"Fifty-fifty. Hop in, throw your bike in the back."

She frowned as she noticed the pile of bikes already forming in the back of the car, but stacked her on top all the same, sliding into the passenger seat beside him. "Starting a collection?"

"Won them in a bet, night before last. Got one for me and my buddy Buck, he's arriving today."

"Is that Major Cleven?" She asked.

"Sure is," John nodded as the engine roared to life, taking them sailing along the road towards the airstrip, the wind ruining her hair before she even had a chance to finish it.

"So..." He began, swerving slightly to dodge a few maintenance workers on bikes. "Where ya from, Frankie?"

"Stratford."

"I... do not know where that is."

"I didn't expect you to," She chuckled. "Grew up with my dad working his garage, that's what got me into it. Always preferred planes to cars, though."

"You and me both," John nodded, slowing as they neared the landing strip. Up ahead, the flight crew were beginning to disembark, and Frankie's eyes narrowed as she noticed one of the airmen carrying a large dog.

"If they let that dog shit in the plane, I'm not cleaning it up," She stated. "You've heard me say it, that's on the record now."

"Yes ma'am," Egan affirmed, pulling to a stop, a grin spreading across his face as he got close enough to recognise his friends.

As he clambered out of the car, stepping forward to greet his comrades, she climbed out of her seat, wandering around the back of the jeep to disentangle her bike from the pile, tugging it free as the sounds of wind and aeroplane engines overpowered the men's voices.

"Oh, and, uh - This is Frankie Bevan," John called, guiding Cleven towards her, speaking louder so that she could hear. She raised her hand in a somewhat awkward wave, almost dropping her bike on her foot as she hauled it off the back of the jeep. "Best damn mechanic we've got, she's holdin' us together, that's for sure."

"Ma'am," Cleven greeted her with a tilt of his cap.

"He's never seen me work," Frankie shook her head, stepping forward to shake Cleven's hand. "We only met yesterday, he's just being nice in the hopes I won't tell you about how I drank him under the table last night."

John scoffed. "That is not what-" She raised a brow and he stuttered. "Yeah, that - that did happen."

Cleven laughed, squeezing Egan's shoulder. "Well, I'm sure glad he's had someone to keep him humble before I got here. Thank you for your work, ma'am, I'm sure we'll be seeing a lot more of each other soon."

She nodded, grinning at Egan's embarrassment. "How was your flight?"

"Smooth sailin', not sure there'll be anything to fix up this time."

A soldier she had heard John greet as Demarco spoke up from where he was stood, scratching his dog's stomach. "The dog dropped a deuce in the cockpit."

Clicking her fingers, she pointed to Egan. "She's not doing that!" He called, craning his head over his shoulder as Demarco put his hands up in surrender.

"Well, that works wonders," Frankie chuckled, lifting her leg to straddle the seat of her bike. "Now, if all you gents have planned is standing around, I've got work to do."

"Bye Shortcake," John grinned as she pedalled the bicycle into motion, ringing the bell and offering up a middle finger as she left. He chuckled, feeling Cleven clap him over the shoulder again.

"She's interesting... nice," His friend began. "Bucky, I know you're sick of Marge tryna set you up, but she is definitely-"

"She's definitely my friend, Buck. Besides, I could never date a woman with a higher alcohol tolerance than me. That's just embarrassing."

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The wind whipped her hair this way and that as Frankie hammered at the pedals, gaining speed faster and faster with each second until the rolling fields beyond the airstrip were little more than a green blur. She'd always loved to cycle, preferably as fast as she possibly could. Her father used to say she should try racing, but his ambition curtailed rather when she got in trouble for almost taking out a couple of tourists outside Shakespeare's birthplace on her way home from school. Besides, she'd never quite had the discipline for sports.

Her breaks squeaked noisily as she rolled to a stop outside the mechanics' Nissen hut, stationed just beyond the main runway. They had been given a single hut for all of their operations, much to the chagrin of many. The back end was an orderly pile of spare parts - buckets of rivets, piles of sheet metal - but someone had supplied them with a table and chairs, and the recent addition of a gas stove and kettle had proved a huge hit.

Ken Lemmons was sat at the table as she wandered in, glancing at the corkboard by the door where she and the others posted notice of anything in need of urgent repair.

"A couple of the guys replaced the glass in the gun turrets earlier - thanks for the shout," Lemmons spoke up.

"Ah, good," Frankie nodded, taking a seat opposite him. As much as she bemoaned her younger, American co-workers, she had grown fond of Ken. He was sipping a cup of coffee, and by the look on his face, he was not enjoying it. She tossed the paper bag containing her lunch onto the table, retrieving a cucumber sandwich - meagre subsistence, and a sight that made the boy frown.

"I think I'd actually murder someone for some Hershey's right about now," He remarked, grimacing as he took another sip of coffee.

"Hey, we make do with what we've got," She shrugged, attempting to devour the sandwich before the cucumber could soak through the thin slices of bread. "I know one of the girls in the Land Army - I darn her jumpers in exchange for a bit of her extra cheese ration."

Lemmons chuckled, leaning back in his seat. "I miss good chocolate. I can't get used to... Cad-berry's?"

"Oh, that's sacrilege," She laughed, tossing a slice of cucumber at him, which stuck to the breast pocket of his coveralls. "If you'd come a couple years ago when they were still making Dairy Milk you'd've thought you'd died and gone to heaven."

"I'll believe it when I see it," He grinned, plucking the slice off of his clothes. There was a pause before he spoke again. "One of the fellas says they're actually taking off later."

Frankie nodded, lifting a hand to cover her mouth as she spoke around her food. "Oh yeah? This gonna be your first proper go at it?"

"Yeah..." Lemmons admitted, looking momentarily nervous. "You?"

She snorted back a laugh. "Nah. I've been in the WAAF nearly four years - moved around a bit, but whether it's Attlebridge or Docking or Thorpe Abbotts, it's all the same gig. You stick with me when the planes start coming back down and you'll be fine."

The corner of his mouth tilted upwards in a smile. "You're gonna babysit me?"

Frankie grinned, standing up to reach across the table and ruffle his curls. "With a cute little face like yours, who could help it?" She teased, laughing as he batted her away.

"Get off, I'm serious," Lemmons chuckled, but the smile never faded from his expression.

Ken's buddy hadn't been wrong, per se, but his fabled mission had come not hours, but days later, with a hammering knock on the door to her hut, the women stirring from their sleep in a wave of disgruntled moans.

"What time is it?" Frankie whined as she rubbed the sleep from her eyes, resisting the urge to burrow her head beneath the pillow and block out the relentless knocking outside.

"Four thirty," George groaned, frowning vindictively at her watch as she put it on, as if time itself had caused her personal grievance.

"They're flying today, get ready!" A young male voice bellowed from the other side of the door, clearly too shy to bare his face to a room of half-dressed, irritated women.

"Fuck me, I'm coming," She muttered, brushing her hair with one hand as she buttoned up the front of her coveralls with the other.

"Spot me! How's my lipstick?" George called, and Frankie leant across the bed that separated them to wipe a stray smudge of red away with her thumb.

"All good."

"Right," Her bunkmate huffed. "I'll see you later, yeah?"

"See you later," Frankie affirmed.

"I'll join you for drinks this time if all goes well!" George called over her shoulder as she scurried towards the door.

"I'll hold you to that!" She replied, smiling as she laced up her boots.

The planes left and returned in mere hours, but the in-between had felt never-ending as the ground crew waited in tense anticipation to see how many would return and in what state. Frankie had sent Egan away to the flight tower after his nervous hovering had started to get on her nerves, and she had since spent the last half-hour sitting in the grass beside the runway making daisy chains with a few of the local children as a way to pass the time.

"Frankie! They're comin' in!" She heard Lemmons yell from across the airstrip. Hurriedly sending the children back to their parents as the sound of plane engines grew steadily louder overhead, she scrambled to her feet, grass stains streaking the knees of her coveralls as she jogged over, raising a hand to shield her eyes from the sun as the planes began to descend towards them.

"...10, 11, 12..." Frankie muttered, coming to the slow realisation that many of the men they'd sent away that morning had not returned. But that loss did not negate the importance of the work they had to do now. "Ok, let's go," She patted Lemmons on the shoulder, and they reached for the bikes they had discarded on the ground nearby, pedalling hard towards the landing strip.

From the second they arrived, she was surveying the damage, scanning the planes for the areas that would need the most attention. It was impossible to pick just one.

"There's a reason we go at night," She muttered, so softly no one else could hear over the din of shouts and dying engines. The mechanics weren't emergency staff, but she'd seen a fair few planes come in either on fire, half-collapsed or both over the years, enough to learn it was best to get in as soon as possible.

"Shit," Lemmons huffed beside her, staring up at a huge, jagged hole in the metal of one of the plane's wings.

"Send a couple of the boys back to the hut - tell them to bring a car back with all the sheet metal they can put in it. Oh - and get me a welder!" She called to him, and the young man began barking orders at the other mechanics, the crew erupting to life around the plane as they began to fix the mess that had returned.

"Frankie!" Egan's voice rang from down below as she climbed up onto the top of the plane, marking out the areas of the body that needed replacing. She looked down at him as he yelled again. "You need anything?"

"Nope, we're good here!" Frankie replied, holding up a thumbs-up in case the wind drowned out her voice. Looking down at the work to do below her, it was as if she could map out every fix in her mind, envision every action in order, play it out in her head until the beast was as good as new. She smiled to herself. "This is what I do."

#masters of the air #masters of the air fic #masters of the air oc #mota oc #hbo war #john egan #gale cleven #ken lemmons #rosie rosenthal x oc #oc: frankie #mota #fic | i'm your man #oc: george

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deceptive-daydreams · 10 months ago

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Ch. 1 | Ch. 2 | Ch. 3 | Ch. 4 | Ch. 5 | Ch. 6 | Ch. 7 | Ch. 8 | Ch. 9 | Ch. 10 | Ch. 11 | Ch. 12 | Ch. 13 | Ch. 14 |

Smoke Signals

Chapter Thirteen - Yours

W/C: 5K

Eddie x Fem reader - Grumpy!Bartender!Eddie x Shy!Reader

"To you, I can admit that I'm just too soft for all of it."

Sweet Nothing - T.S.

A/N: so i think this fic will probably come to and end soon, not really sure but ITS SO BITTER SWEET

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“Aliens aren’t real!” A young boy, maybe eight years old shouts at Eddie, swiping the little action figure Eddie had placed on top of his toy fire truck, sending flying a few feet away.

“And you know that how?” Eddie argues, arms crossed over his chest. His dark gray knit sweater sleeves are rolled up to his elbows, a telltale sign of how heated the argument had become. He sits on the floor, criss cross while a little girl sits behind him on the couch, her tiny fingers combing through his chocolate curls.

Sometime in between you offering to help dish up dessert and freshening up in the bathroom, Eddie seemed to have made a few new friends, quite the opposite of what you were expecting out of tonight.

“Clippy!” The little girl demands, holding her hand out.

Eddie’s eyes widened as if to recall he had a certain task that he’d abandoned, snatching up a tiny sparkly blue butterfly clip from the fibers of the carpet and holding it out in the palm of his hand. Within seconds, the left side of his bangs are clipped away from his face.

“Cause they’re not!” The boy shakes his head.

“Why?” Eddie prods.

You can’t fight your grin, big bad Eddie decked out in tattoos fully engaged in a disagreement with an eight year old had you internally squealing. You’d never been met with such a sight, such contrast as Eddie’s large hand held out yet another clip, a pink one this time.

“Cause.”

“Why.”

“Just cause.”

“That’s not a reason! Give me my guy back!” Eddie attempts to reach for the little figurine across the carpet only for the little girl to protest, a whine stopping him from moving any further. “Sorry, sorry.” He surrenders, falling back into his original position.

“You messed it up!” She begins to wail.

It’s evident you need to take the initiative, poor Eddie’s face contorting in horror as he squeezes his eyes shut. Without another second wasted, you plop down next to her on the couch just above Eddie, greeting her gently.

“Hi, is this the salon? I was told you do the best hair in town.” You smile. “May I make an appointment?”

Her big eyes take you in, scanning you up and down before realizing you’d only wanted to play. A half done braid in one of Eddie’s strands of hair sits at the back of his head, one that seemed to fall apart in Eddie’s attempt to collect the little alien. The girl, nodding shyly, starts to point toward the predicament she’s in.

“Oh no!” You sigh, placing your hands in your lap as if nothing could be done to aid in correcting the braid.

“Fix it, fix it.” Eddie mutters under his breath, his hand covering his mouth to muffle his voice.

“Can I?” You ask the girl, gesturing to her little toy hairbrush.

With a petite nod, she allows you to take the brush from her little hands as you begin to work it through the loose hairs that had come out of the braid.

“You can be a firefighter.” The little boy insists as he hands Eddie a new toy, an obvious scoff coming from the man.

“What’s your name?” You ask the girl, ignoring him.

“Grace.”

“Grace? That’s a pretty name.” You begin to pinch the strands back together, braiding them.

Eddie’s thankful that his thoughts don’t project on the wall because in all honesty, he wants to throw himself out the window. Not once had he ever desired having a kid. Was this baby fever?

In an instant those thoughts escaped his mind when you secured the little braid and began scraping your nails at the back of his head, combing through his tangled curls. His eyes nearly rolled into the back of his skull, he could practically purr and was tempted to just curl up in your lap. With a full belly and head scratches, he figures he can die happy.

“Are you sleeping?” You snort, leaning forward only to catch a glimpse of his blissed out face.

”No.”

”Yes!” The little boy chimes in.

“Was not!” Eddie argues, straightening himself up.

The boy raises a brow at you, Grace happily twisting strands of Eddie’s hair together. This felt like home. This felt like the warm apple pie nestled in your stomach embodied as an emotion, gooeyness seeping from your raised cheeks and crinkled eyes.

Stolen glances at the dinner table just shy of a half an hour ago and brief touches of fingertips as you passed various dishes had warmth radiating throughout your body. Home was starting to feel more like a person than a place. Home had started to feel a lot like a person for a while now if only you had been more attentive to the fact sooner.

Tiny smiles from a tough metal head only encouraged you to rest a delicate hand on his knee whenever possible throughout dinner. Among all the chatter and friendly bickering, a silent conversation had been happening, an audience oblivious to the behind the scenes of the main attraction: a turkey big enough to nearly splinter the table. A calloused thumb had grazed over the top of your hand, the touch enough to heat your cheeks and pull the corners of your mouth into a permanent grin.

His dimples took residence on his face the entire time, a shyness to him whenever you took the leap to intertwine your fingers together underneath the table. A closeness only the two of you were aware of. A gesture not too big, but not at all taken for granted as he returned an affectionate squeeze.

And when all was said and done, dinner had been devoured, dessert enjoyed, tiny gestures continued to bombard his and your heart the same. Like an unspoken love war, who could offer the best token of their affections?

Once Eddie was in the clear with Grace, you’d been able to steer him off to the kitchen, now completely void of busy bodies and full of empty plates and dirty dishes. Your intent was to drop off your wine glass, and Eddie to discard his beer bottle. Laughter rang throughout the house, something about a few of the adults playing drunk Twister. It was lost on you, a large hand splayed out on your waist and pulling you toward Eddie’s warm body obliterating any other thoughts you had.

A buzzed haze lingered in both your stares, heavy eyes taking each other in. The kitchen was dim, lights shut off for the time being as everyone ignored the ginormous mess awaiting them, only the light leaking in from the living room illuminating a fraction of the room.

”Hi.” A whispered greeting, softly, for your ears only.

“Hi.” You whisper back, a gentle finger tucking a rogue curl behind his ear, hot to the touch whether it be from the nerves or the alcohol you weren’t sure though you had a suspicion that it was both.

Your cold hand rests against his stubbly cheek, his eyes fluttering shut at the touch. Your other hand trails up to rest flat against his chest, body heat radiating from him. Anyone could walk in and spot you two at any second. But neither seems to care.

“You’re beautiful.” He gulps, not enough beer in the world could aid him in having the confidence to tell you though he went for it anyway, humiliation could be confronted later.

He thanks whatever higher power is looking out for him that your eyes grow larger and twinkle in a way he’d now spend forever attempting to replicate. A bashful smile parts your lips, your gaze shying away from him momentarily.

His shy girl.

Several glasses of wine couldn't even hide the sheepish aura taking control of you. Fragile fingers toyed with the neckline of his sweater, fidgeting with the chain around his neck. A distraction from the flustering words.

”Yeah?” You ask, small and sincere.

So small and sincere, he wonders how often you’d been made aware of your beauty. So small and sincere, it’s like you almost didn’t believe him. If that were the case, he’d kick the stupid butterflies in his stomach to the curb, suck it up, and tell you every chance he got.

“Yeah.” He tells you with a nod, waddling the both of you back and forth to the music drifting in from the living room record player, Can’t Help Falling in Love, Elvis. “You’re beautiful.” He repeats, his forehead now resting against yours.

He doesn’t know if his advances are correct. Doesn’t have the experience of another woman’s touch to provide him the checks and balances. But he figures that if he was wrong in his movements and words, you would’ve given him the hint by now.

“And you’re handsome.” Your lips hover just barely over his, nose nudging into his cheek endearingly, a sultry tone to your hushed voice that nearly makes him melt.

He had never been called handsome before, not in the tender way you were uttering it to him. Sure, girls had attempted to lure him in for some free weed, never genuine and only for their own personal gain. You never asked anything of him other than earlier when you’d asked him to stay. Just to stay. That was it. And he couldn’t fathom it.

”Yeah?” He mimics you from earlier, a genuine question falling from his mouth against your top lip.

Your answer doesn’t come in the form of words but in the seal of a kiss, a promise against plush, slightly chapped skin. A statement. A devotion.

I am yours, I hope you’ll be mine.

Noses smash together as your lips mold to his, his hands coming up to cup your face with anxious hands. Similarly, yours reach up to rest against his cheeks, one hand working on its own accord to tuck itself into his hair, thumb brushing over his ear to fidget with the little silver hoop dangling from his ear lobe. Rather than ignore the shiver it sends up his spine, he embraces it, stroking his thumbs along the highest points of your cheeks. His rounded nose nuzzles into yours, lips parting from each other slightly, the tiniest strand of saliva hanging from either end. Suddenly, you feel the pad of his thumb brush against your bottom lip, tugging it ever so gently with crinkly eyes and a toothy grin. His answer. His own devotion to you.

I have been yours all along.

—

“You’re biting me.” You laugh, a bit too obnoxiously for your own liking.

Eddie’s canine grazes your top lip, teeth clashing against yours. His determination was endearing though you were hoping to keep your lips intact and your tooth unchipped. A breathy laugh against your cheek sends shivers through your body, his voice dripping in honey, more so than you’d previously heard. A side of him that not another soul had been granted access.

“Sorry.”

Endless giggles–yes, giggles-fall from his lips against your skin, his forehead bumping against your temple, hands fiddling with the hem of your sweater. You start to wonder how anyone could see him as anything but gentle. Anything but sweet.

The truck was cold enough that you saw your breath in the air, a warning that you should head inside though you couldn’t find it in you to part from him. Invite him in, you found that little voice in your head saying. But you didn’t want to push. Despite the front he could put on he was delicate, you could see it in his eyes. Chocolatey pools of vulnerability that had previously been stone cold but slowly melted for you.

“Slower.” A whispered instruction, your hand cradling his jaw as you hover your lips just above his. “Softer.” You playfully nip at his bottom lip, plump and kissable.

He offers a hesitant kiss, lips gently brushing over yours before pulling away.

“Like that?” It’s barely a whisper. A kind of anxious fear falling out of his brain and into the air, a thought he didn’t mean to put so much emotion behind.

“More.” Your lips meet his again, encouraging him. “Like you need it.”

A large hand rests at your waist, nearly pulling you into his lap though the steering wheel prevents him from doing so. Instead he dives into you, nose smashing into yours, eyelashes fluttering against your skin as eager lips work themselves against you.

“Mhm.” You mumble, nodding, motivating him. “Just like that.” You gasp, unable to get another syllable in before his tongue interrupts you.

Teaching Eddie the basics of how to make out wasn’t something you had envisioned when fantasizing about him previously. But it was so much better than anything your mind could’ve conjured up. It was endearing, the way he was so hesitant, so unsure, as if you weren’t ready to pounce into his lap hours ago. As if you hadn’t been glancing his way all evening, flirtation twinkling in your eyes and necessity for his touch obvious in the way that you would graze him any chance you could.

“Like that?” He repeats, excitement leaking in his question whether he knew it or not.

He was a quick learner, leveling up from awkward and uncertain to velvety smooth and confident in his movements. The more you egged him on, the more greedy he became, holding your face in his hands, tongue exploring against yours, lips finding a rhythm as they smeared your lipgloss. He was covered in it, some lingering on the tip of his nose and when you attempted to wipe it off he was kissing you again.

“Just like that.” You practically whine into his mouth.

—

Weeks passed by, a quiet romance blossoming with each and every interaction. Within those weeks, there were stolen kisses at the bar on smoke breaks and in passing. You didn’t mind the tobacco on Eddie’s breath though you still encouraged him to quit. It more so bothered you that he was increasing his chances of his health deteriorating.

“So everyone can blame you when I get grumpy if I quit?” Eddie grinned, dimples deep in his cheeks.

”You’re already grumpy. Even after your smoke breaks.” You giggle.

The Bourbon was doing well enough, the evening rush not quite arriving yet as the remaining beams of sunlight set behind the horizon at a premature five o’ clock. Happy Hour had officially started though the blanket of snow coating the town fended off some regulars as they opted for the comfort of their own homes, almost like hibernating animals.

”Is that so?” Eddie chuckles.

The tiny hallway just outside the office was secluded from any view from the rest of the bar. Especially the corner he was backing you into. Slowly, as if you were prey, he stalked toward you, caging you in with his arms. You couldn’t help but admire the lean muscle as it tensed against the wall next to you.

”Mhm.” You hum. “So if you think about it, you’ll be grumpy either way so you might as well—“

You weren’t prepared for his lips to smash against yours so suddenly, his tongue grazing your bottom lip before pulling away. A smile hid behind his eyes, his teeth sinking into his lip as he tilted your chin with his index finger.

God, was he fucked.

“You really want me to quit?” He asks, drowning in your eyes.

He’d do it for you. Only for you. Anyone else could ask him and he’d tell them to fuck off then and there. But you had him wrapped around your finger. Where he once didn’t care about anyone else’s opinion, he cared about yours, he deeply cared about yours.

”Well I-I just-I think—“

”Tell me. Tell me you want me to quit.” Eddie demands, encouraging you to stand your ground, be firm with him.

”Well, only if you want to.” You say quietly, your gaze nearly forcing him to his knees.

”My shy girl.” He whispers, tracing his knuckles against your cheekbone.

You made it so easy to go soft. So easy to submit to. Yes, he was the more dominant one by definition but he kneeled to you in every instance. It took him a while to realize it but it was so obvious now. Eddie was coming to find that when he fell, he fell hard. Faceplanted.

“Yours?” You question. Nothing had been established yet though you both had a pretty good idea where the other stood.

“If you want.” He uses your words against you, smirking.

You’d pin the mental polaroids you’d been taking of his dopey face on that ever growing wall in your brain forever. Frame them, even. Put them on display like a museum. They were precious, untouchable. No one could taint them, not on your account.

”Yeah.” You nod, a breathy sigh escaping your lungs. Solace washes over you, like your heart had just realized it had found a long lost piece of itself. And it whispers: Oh. There you are. “Yeah.”

And immediately your lips are on his again, a craving for nicotine kisses that drove you crazy. Then, a muttered promise against you had your head spinning.

”’M gonna quit. Just be patient with me.”

“Always.”

One of the new hires, Rex, had interrupted, shouting from around the corner that there was a “Code Vomit” near the bar. It didn’t spoil the lovesickness that poured from your mouth into his, only forced you into desperation as you chased his lips. Eddie’s eyes rolled, the scent of your perfume much more preferable to the puke out on the floor.

Later you talked him down, insisting that the new hires didn’t need to “earn” their status though Eddie thoroughly disagreed. You suppose he had a bias, being pulled away from you mid-makeout surely increasing his grumpy mood.

“They’re fine, they can deal with a little puke.” His hands dramatically gesture toward the office door, shutting you both in and shielding you from wandering eyes.

“Just because you put me through trials and tribulations doesn’t mean we need to continue the tradition with them.”

“Oh–I did not–” Eddie scoffs.

“You did.” You grace him with a smirk.

“Bambi.”

“Eddie.” You sing his name.

For a silent moment, he stares. His stares had become increasingly softer, his rough edges fading away anytime you were in his presence. And you knew he surrendered before even saying another word.

“Forgive me?” A hopeful question as he steps forward, looping a finger in one of your belt loops, tugging you toward his chest.

“Hm.” You hum in thought, eyes fixing themselves on the ceiling rather than his large, intriguing eyes.

“Hm?” He hums back, an inquiry.

“I dunno.”

You were playing games, the kind of games he was unfamiliar with. A territory he’d only recently stepped into, a flirtatious bantering that had his heart fluttering, aching because it had never been used to this kind of attention. The muscle had never been exercised, never prepared for this kind of thing.

“Tables are filling up, need another set of hands!” Jett bangs a fist on the door, not lingering for any longer than he has to as he continues managing the sudden rush.

“Yeah, yeah.” Eddie calls back.

“How can I make it up to you?” He tilts his head, his tone quieter in contrast.

Rather than supply him with an answer, a delicate hand cups his jaw, a slow yet passionate kiss pressed to his lips as he gladly reciprocates. His hold tightens on your waist, pulling you even closer if possible.

“You’re forgiven.” You whisper, twirling one of his curls with your finger.

You leave him in his office, pretending to ignore the rock hard bulge in his jeans. It’s not until around ten minutes later that he shuffles awkwardly into the bar and you’re sure you’re the only one who catches the little kick he does as he finishes adjusting himself.

–

The phone call comes unexpectedly. Wayne only calls on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays. 8:00 AM. Three times a week, a well polished routine. It was Thursday night. 9:00 PM.

Eddie had stared at the phone, hearts taking the shape of his pupils at the prospect of it being you on the other end. Another routine he’d been carefully trying to curate, every other night risking his integrity just to hear your voice. Stupid, he knows. With you just a few yards away in your own home, he may as well just show up on your porch but this…this was comfortable. He didn’t have to fear not touching you enough or overstepping. It was only your soft tone, his hushed responses, and the evening out of breaths between two half asleep souls. You hadn’t chanced calling him first, not yet. There was a mutual understanding that this was all unscathed territory, your knowledge of Eddie’s past confirming that moving too fast would only scare him off like a spooked horse.

He was grateful for your everlasting patience though he didn’t know how to navigate telling you that you could call him any time, night or day, and he would gladly pick up. He wouldn’t mind your voice lulling him to sleep, and welcomed the idea of his ears perking up, his body reacting to your voice like he just had a shot of espresso should you call him first thing in the morning. Yes, he wanted to take it slow, wanted to respect the boundaries around his heart he’d spent so long putting up. But he also didn’t have the patience you yielded and often found himself wanting to take a hammer to any walls he still had up.

Wayne’s usually gruff voice surrendered to a more calming tone, one that Eddie hadn’t really ever heard or cared to remember hearing since Mama had passed. No, he hadn’t heard this frequency of gentle words since that one night, he was six and his only worry should’ve been his spelling test the following morning. Unfortunately his worries far exceeded that of a first grade spelling list he had practiced with Wayne and Mama all week.

His uncle's breathing wavered, a nervousness about him that had Eddie paralyzed with his palm beginning to sweat against the plastic of the phone. He could nearly picture the way the older man’s calloused hand would rub over his scruff, his head shaking as he searched for words. Eddie couldn’t anticipate what kind of news was about to break. Was Wayne sick? How long did he have? How was he going to get him to agree to move out with him so he could take care of him? Was Wayne even allowed to move in with him, did Eddie’s government contracts allow for that? He hadn’t bothered to search that far into it initially seeing as his uncle was stubborn and thought it best to let Eddie take the reins on his life after everything went down. Let him do what he always said he wanted to do, get out of Shit-Hole-Small-Town-Hawkins. He had Grandpa Roy anyhow, waiting on the other end of everything to support Eddie, he didn’t need Wayne anymore.

Eddie told himself as such, too, so he could get out of his old man’s hair, let him live his life without supporting some kid he never asked for. He knew he loved him unconditionally but he owed him that much.

Thousands upon millions of thoughts engulfed Eddie’s brain, everything that could go wrong, that other shoe was about to drop, it had to be, Christmas was just around the corner and it wouldn’t be a true Munson holiday without something going wrong. It’s why he didn’t celebrate anymore.

“Kid, I gotta tell you somethin’,” Wayne warned his nephew. “It’s about your dad.”

Eddie blurted out every possible scenario the second he was mentioned. Every plausible reason. It had been years, maybe over six? He hadn’t spoken to or heard from his dad in around six years although there was no telling if he had tried through the means of Wayne and his uncle had never relayed his messages. For good reason.

“He got caught up again and needs a place to crash.”

“He needs money.”

“A getaway driver.”

“An accomplice he can screw over when it all goes to shit.”

”Just say it, he needs his fuckin’ son to help him out of some shit and he’s got no one else to turn to. That’s it isn’t it?”

Venom lingered on Eddie’s tongue, he wondered why the man didn’t just call him himself, though Eddie would hang up at the first trace of his voice. At least then though, his dad would’ve been man enough to seek him out on his own this time. At least then, it would’ve shown he tried to track Eddie down; put in some effort. Eddie didn’t want that…did he? He hated that man with every ounce of his existence but something about appeasing him always remained deep in his gut. Like a virus.

The little boy in him couldn’t let go.

Couldn’t let go of the what ifs.

The daydreams of what could have been. They poisoned his mind, every now and then reducing him to a ghost of himself. Eddie wasn’t proud of it, who would be? Idolizing a man that never existed? Dad was never one to teach him to play ball or take him on fishing trips, no, he was the man that taught him to hijack cars and talk his way out of trouble. The kind of trouble that lands you in a cell for a night or two. The kind of trouble that got him caught in the crossfire of two local gangs and when he turned to his pops for help, he was nowhere to be found. He was twelve.

He was twelve and was beaten to a pulp in an alley near downtown. Left to choke on his own blood. Dad was long gone and the only one he could count on was himself and even then, he feared he would black out before being able to crawl to the nearest payphone.

Wayne picked him up that night, red in the face because of his brother and blue in the eyes for the broken boy in his passenger seat. if he could die and give Eddie a life worth living a thousand times over he would. The kid never stood a chance in his brother’s hands and he’d done everything he could to get Eddie out of that godforsaken house that was full of dust bunnies and beer cans but Eddie was hard-headed and always vouched for his deadbeat father. It’s all he knew. It’s what he thought love was.

But after that night, Eddie didn’t fight back. Didn’t refuse going back to the trailer park, his heart still stuck in that stupid house his dad rarely came back to. Didn’t protest. He wanted to, god he wanted to but his ribs were so damn bruised that words were impossible to create.

He still craved affection from his father, even when he left him for dead. Still wanted his approval. Wanted to ask if he was good enough. If he had even been the slightest bit proud. Those conversations never happened.

Wayne cleared his throat in preparation for his next words. Words that he wasn’t even quite sure how to piece together.

“Ed, he-“. Wayne stuttered. “Your dad, he was-he had a run in with the cops.”

Eddie wasn’t sure what his uncle was trying to get at, dad always had run-ins with the cops. It happened more often than not. Maybe this time he wasn’t so lucky, maybe this time he got himself thrown in jail for good.

“Figures. What does he want, bail money?” Eddie spat.

Rage clouded his vision, how much audacity did his dad have? Did he really think Eddie would bail him out after the last incident? Perhaps the last incident had been a tad more tame than others, Eddie made it out in one piece, conscious and not too badly bruised. What made it different though: pieces of Mama had been destroyed, burnt to a crisp. And that in of itself severed the remaining tie. Burned the entire bridge.

“He’s gone.”

Eddie let the words bounce around in his brain briefly. Gone?

”What, so, he fled the country?” He asks.

Wayne sighs, keeping Eddie on edge, making him wonder what was so damn different this time that had the old man delaying his words. His uncle was not one to sugar coat things.

”He was shot, Ed.” Wayne says quietly, almost with regret. Regret for the small boy he knows still resides within Eddie.

Eddie’s breathing comes to a halt, stalls in his lungs. It couldn’t be. The devil himself couldn’t be dead, he had to be immortal, always lingering somewhere awaiting Eddie’s everlasting loyalty. Why did he feel sad? Why did the tears well up in his eyes for a man who never shed a tear for him?

”He’s—he’s—dead?” Eddie whispers the word, the reality of everything sinking in far too quickly.

Time freezes and he is a boy, sharing a frozen dinner with the man who promised and promised and never delivered. He is just a boy and he is looking at that man with stars in his innocent eyes, devoting every hope and dream to the life they would one day have, the life pops told him stories of. He was just a boy.

”Look, son—“

”I have to—I’m sorry.” Eddie sniffles before dropping the phone back down, burying his reddening face into his shaking hands.

He surrenders his body, sliding down toward the crumby kitchen floor and bringing his knees toward his chest in an effort to disappear. His cheeks wet and body trembling with sobs, he can't help but ask himself, why?

Why do I care so much?

Why am I sad?

Why does grief feel so wrong?

~end~

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tags - @gravedigginbbydoll @ohauggieo @spicysix @lunatictardis @ali-r3n @batkin028 @mrsjellymunson @witchwolflea @emma77645 @emxxblog @eddiesxangel @angietherose @lottie-90 @sheneedsrocknroll92 @pullingattheroots @avalon-wolf @vintagehellfire @cryingglightningg @foreveranexpatsposts @winchester-angel @mmunson86 @witchwolflea @kurdtbean @micheledawn1975 @tlclick73 @erinekc @hazydespair @whenshelanded @corrodedcoffincumslut @ms1oftheboys @lma1986 @uglypastels @aysheashea @dashingdeb16

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson fic #eddie x reader #smoke signals #eddie munson smut #eddie munson au #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson angst #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x female reader

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luvangelbreak · 10 months ago

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Deprived | Six

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14 Part 15 Part 16 Part 17 Part 18 Part 19 Part 20 Part 21 Part 22 Part 23 matthew sturniolo x layla venita (female!oc) summary: everyone knows the story of the bad boy and the good girl but what happens when the school's most popular boy, Matthew Sturniolo, and the girl who notoriously is never there, Layla Venita, cross paths. warnings: swearing, smoking (cigarettes) word count: 2.3k a/n: this part was a little shorter than I wanted but I didn't wanna add the next part and make it super long.

pov: layla

The first two-thirds of the game flew by quickly and Allie cheered next to me the whole time. The arena filled up quickly with our peers and family members of Matt's team as well as the opposition. I was thankful I understood the game already and didn't have to have Matt mansplain it to me beforehand. There was a 15-minute intermission for the teams to discuss their strategies between each third and the last one had just started before the final third.

"What do you think so far?" Allie asked me, a smile still on her lips and I looked at the scoreboard to see that they were losing by 12 points.

"So much for being the best hockey team in the state," I raised my eyebrows teasingly with a small smile on my lips and she shook her head with a smile that widened.

"Oh before I forget, can I get your number?" Allie asked hopefully and I nodded, pulling my phone out of my pocket and unlocking it.

"Just put your number in and message yourself," I said as I handed her my phone and she nodded in response, clicking on my contacts.

Before she could speak again, she got interrupted by someone calling my name. I turned my head to the rink where I saw Matt standing at the entrance to the rink, still on the ice that way his skates didn't get fucked up by the hard floors. He was holding his helmet and stick in one hand as he seemed slightly out of breath, his hair fluffed up from being in the helmet.

"Come here!" Matt called out to me with a wave of his gloved hand.

I looked at Allie in confusion and she shooed me away with her hands. I quickly got up and walked down to the rink, feeling eyes watching me as I walked up to Matt.

"What's up?" I asked, confusion clear on my face as he looked down at me, the slight elevation of the rink as well as his skates making him a lot taller than usual.

"You good?" he asked, swiping the small bead of sweat that was running down his forehead.

"I should be asking you that," I raised my eyebrows before my eyes glanced to the scoreboard, "What happened to breaking a leg, Captain?"

He smirked with a shrug of his shoulders, "Maybe I need a bit of extra luck today."

"What are you implying?" I squinted my eyes at him and he looked behind me at the small crowd of people before returning his gaze to mine. His sky-blue eyes seemed brighter from the reflection of the lights on the ice and his smirk widened.

"How about a kiss for good luck?" he asked, his eye glimmering with mischief and I raised my eyebrows, making an unimpressed face.

"Just because you're losing by 12 points doesn't mean I'm gonna kiss you to make you feel better," I told him matter-of-factly and he smiled shaking his head.

He shrugged as he adjusted the glove on his left hand, "Worth a shot."

I sighed up at him before biting my lip. My eyes glanced down to his pink lips that were pouted slightly as his mouth hung open, his breathing still slightly heavy. He stared down at me, making an over-exaggerated sad face and I rolled my eyes.

"You're the worst," I mumbled before I reached forward, placing my hand on the back of his neck as I leaned over the railing and pecked his cheek lightly. I pulled back to see the genuine shock on his face as I held my hand on the back of his neck still, "You better win after that, pretty boy."

I moved my hand from the back of his neck and patted his clean-shaven cheek as he continued to stare down at me. He looked like he was about to say something but got interrupted.

"Matt! Pull your head outta your ass. Let's go!" Chris skated past him as he yelled at him and Matt snapped his head to his brother before looking back to me.

"Another one for good luck?" he smiled at me cheekily and I stepped back so I was no longer leaning over the railing.

"Don't push it," I smiled at him and he shook his head, sliding the helmet back over his head before nodding at me. I backed away from him as he pushed away from the railing and effortlessly glided back over to his team. I jogged back up the stairs to where Allie was sitting, cheesing at me like she'd just won the lottery, "What?"

"Nothin'," she downturned her smile to try to hide it as she looked back into the ice.

+++

The rest of the game went by quickly and Matt's team redeemed themselves. By the end of the game, the score was a tie at 21 all around. In order to break the tie, a shootout was put in place.

I noticed the 3 players picked for Matt's team were Nate, Chris and Matt. The opposition decided to shoot first, getting the score within a few seconds. Nate was up next to shoot and he glided across the ice effortlessly before he scored the goal.

I cheered along with Allie now, feeling the adrenaline that she was. The opposition was up again and once again, they scored. A cheer was heard around the arena from the supporters as our team sighed or groaned in disappointment.

Chris was up next to shoot and he took his time as he glided towards the goal. Tension was building in my stomach as Chris took the shot and he scored, throwing his fist up triumphantly.

The opposing team was up for their last score and I chewed on my lip as I leaned forward, praying that he would miss it. To our luck, he took the shot too early and Daniel blocked it, sending me into a cheer of victory as Allie bounced in her seat.

Matt was up last, being the decider of the tiebreak. He slid to the middle of the ice, the puck being placed directly next to his puck. He seemed to take a breath, looking over in my direction and I saw a glimpse of a smile behind his helmet before he looked back at the goalie who was blocking his path.

Within an instant, he flashed down the ice and as he got closer to the goal, I chewed on my lip harder. He was about 4 feet from the net and he hit the puck at lightning speed but the goalie didn't drop down fast enough and the puck flew into the net.

I jumped up from my seat and cheered in pure joy with Allie who jumped up and down next to me. I looked over to see Chris flying towards Matt on the ice and collided with him, pulling him in a hug.

"I can't believe he just did that!" Allie screamed next to me and I smiled widely at her, "He's never taken a shot like that!"

"What does winning this game mean?" I asked her as she beamed beside me, picking up her bag.

"They're onto the semi-finals," she clapped her hands excitedly and I raised my eyebrows.

"I didn't know these last three games were such a big deal," I told her honestly and she nodded before I spun around, making my way down the steps, "Where do we go?"

"They need to shower and get changed. I usually just wait outside," she told me and I nodded before making my way to the exit. I watched as family and friends from the other team exited the building with disheartened looks covering their faces and I could easily tell who was cheering for Matt's team since their faces were lit up in joy.

As we walked through the entry area before reaching the doors to go outside, I felt someone tap my shoulder before saying, "Excuse me."

I spun around to see a girl who couldn't have been much younger than me with dark brown hair, "Yeah?"

"Are you the girl who was talking to the Captain of the Bats?" she asked and I furrowed my eyebrows in confusion.

"Uh... yeah. Why?" I questioned, glancing at Allie as she just shrugged, looking just as confused as I was.

"Oh, no reason. Just wondering," she quickly said before she ran back into the arena and I shook my head.

"Well that was fucking weird," I stated and Allie hummed in response as I turned around, making my way outside to wait for the boys.

I leaned against the cold brick wall, the sun now set making the air even more chilly. Allie stood in front of me, shivering from the cold wind and I looked over at her.

"Fuck it's cold out here," she mumbled as she slid her hood on.

"Do you want my jacket?" I asked and she tilted her head at me.

"Then you'll be cold," she furrowed her eyebrows and I shrugged, starting to slide the jacket off of my body.

"I like being cold. Don't worry about it," I handed her the jacket and she gave me a thankful smile. Since she was significantly shorter than me and her puffer jacket was small, the leather jacket was easily slid over the top of it, "Just make sure to give me it back before you go. I wear that every day."

"I wouldn't dream of stealing this from you. I never see you without it unless we're in gym," she said and I nodded as I slid my cigarettes out of my pocket.

"You mind?" I asked and she shook her head with a smile. I nodded as I pulled one out, placing it between my lips before I lit the end of it. I slowly started puffing the cigarette, making sure to blow the smoke away from her face.

"How long have you been smoking?" she asked and I shrugged, flicking the ash on the ground as a group of people walked by looking at me in disgust.

"Like three years," I answered honestly and she seemed surprised, "I started when I was fifteen."

"Oh wow," she looked at me with wide eyes, "My parents would fucking kill me if I ever did that."

With a shrug, I told her, "My dad gave me my first cigarette. Along with everything else."

"Everything else?" she asked, sounding genuinely interested rather than judgemental.

"Weed, beer, shrooms, molly. The whole thing," I explained and she nodded, seeming deep in thought. Before I could explain anything further, I heard a burst of noise come through the doors of the arena entrance and both Allie and I looked over to see Matt's whole team walking out together.

Allie ran over to Chris, jumping on his back and ruffling his hair, "You guys did fucking amazing!"

"Thanks, Al," Chris smiled at her as she slid off of his back, hugging Matt and Nate next. I stood in place, still smoking the last of my cigarette before I threw it on the ground, squishing it with my foot.

Matt turned around to look at me before turning his whole body to face me as I walked towards him, "So, what did you think?"

Instead of congratulating him verbally like I was originally planning on doing, I leaned up and placed another kiss on his cheek before I pulled back and said, "That's for winning."

"What would've happened if I lost?" he asked as he smirked down at me and I shrugged, biting my lip nervously.

"Don't lose and you won't ever have to find out," I smirked up at him before he chuckled, swinging an arm around my shoulders.

"Let me introduce you to everyone," he said as he started walking towards the group again, "Layla, this is Ethan, Ryder, Sam and you've already met Dan, Nate and Chris obviously. Guys, Layla."

"Good job guys," I pursed my lips and they all returned with small mumbles of greetings and thank yous.

"Where we goin'?" one of them said who I now knew as Ryder and Matt shrugged, his arm still around my shoulder.

"Get whatever food you want and we'll meet up at Downs?" Matt suggested and there was a murmur of agreeance before everyone started spitting off into different groups. Chris, Nate, Allie, Matt and I started walking towards where our cars were parked.

"I'll go with Nate," Chris stated once we reached the cars and Matt nodded before Allie spoke up.

"I'm going with Matt and Layla!" she jumped over to us excitedly and I smiled at her enthusiasm.

"See y'all there," Nate waved at us as he slid into his car, Chris hopped in the passenger seat and I looked at Matt.

"What's Downs?" I asked as I rounded the car, Allie jumped into the backseat and slid my jacket off of her body, placing it on to the seat beside her before she slid the back door closed. Matt and I both jumped in, buckling ourselves in.

"It's a parking lot in Downtown. We go there after every good game," Allie explained as Matt handed me the aux cord without a word. I smiled at him, plugging in my phone and clicking on my playlist I curated for situations I'd have to be on aux around multiple people, consisting mainly of pop and rap music.

"What do you guys want to eat?" Matt asked as he adjusted his black hoodie and grey sweatpants, his hair still damp from the quick shower he must've taken.

"Taco Bell!" Allie yelled quickly and Matt looked at me, making a face as if to ask if I was okay with Taco Bell.

I shrugged, picking at my nails, "I'm not really that hungry."

Matt shook his head as he pulled out of the parking lot and started heading in the direction I assumed Taco Bell was in. He turned up the volume on the radio and the song playing was Gold Digger by Kanye. I lip-synced to the words, looking out the window as I did so. I turned my head back to look at Allie who was dancing by herself in the back seat making me giggle at her over-the-top dance moves.

"Hey can you do me a favour?" Matt asked, talking over the music and I turned my head to look at him, "Can you just write down everything you guys want so it's easier for me to order?"

"Sure," I replied, pulling my notes app up before handing my phone to Allie, thankful that the aux cord was long enough to reach to her, "Write down what you want from Taco Bell."

"Oh right," Allie paused her dancing, quickly typing in what she wanted before handing the phone back to me. She resumed her dancing and I shook my head with a smile.

"Do you want me to write yours down too?" I asked Matt and he shook his head.

"Nah it's fine. Just write what you want," he responded and I chewed at my lip, just typing a large Pepsi into the notes app and I noticed Matt glance at me, "Get food. You haven't eaten since 3:30 at the very least."

"I had some of Allie's Sour Patch Kids," I told him and he shook his head as we stopped at a red light, turning his body to face mine.

"Get food," he deadpanned and I just looked at him.

"I had a big lunch," I answered and he continued staring at me.

"Layla, get something," he repeated as the light turned green and we drove down the street further, "And you're not paying me back."

"God you're so annoying," I grumbled before typing in a taco with just lettuce and cheese into my notes app.

"I love this song!" Allie chirped from the back, leaning forward to turn up the volume even further as the verse of Kill Bill by SZA began playing. She threw herself back into her seat before she started singing. I quietly sang along with her as Matt bopped his head to the music.

tags:

@leprechaunbirthdaygirl

#matt sturniolo #matthew sturniolo #matthew bernard sturniolo #matt sturniolo fanfic #sturniolo triplets #sturniolo #the sturniolo triplets #sturniolo imagine #sturniolo edit #sturniolo fanfic #sturniolo smut #christopher sturniolo #chris sturniolo #nicolas sturniolo #nick sturniolo #christopher owen sturniolo

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ramblingoak · 6 months ago

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Bookworm

Mushy May in Lucifer's Hollow: Day 17 - Funny T-Shirts

Ifrit x Zephyr

This fic is set in an alternate universe in a town called Lucifer's Hollow. It's sort of like a Satanic version of a Hallmark town. For Mushy May I'll be using the prompts to post little snippets of life for the humans and ghouls that live there 💙 Thank you to @forlorn-crows for putting Mushy May together!

~ In Lucifer's Hollow Ifrit owns a used bookstore called Bookworm and Zephyr runs a coffee shop called The Den ~

Warnings: none, sfw, 400 words (thank you to @ghuleh-recs for the dividers!)

Looking back on it now everything made sense.

Zephyr would be the first one to admit he wasn’t really good at reading people. It wasn’t ideal, especially considering he owned and ran a coffee shop, but honestly he felt like it was better sometimes not being able to pick up on someone being rude to him. Thankfully that was a rare occurrence in Lucifer’s Hollow. Generally the only rude customers were those from out of town.

Ifrit snorted in his sleep next to him, rolling over and slinging an arm across Zephyr’s chest. He turned to peer at the fire ghoul, covering his clawed hand with one of his own. His warm skin always felt so good against his own. He let his hand move further up, his claws lightly tracing the muscles twitching under Ifrit’s skin. Zephyr didn’t stop until he reached the edge of his t-shirt, the worn fabric pulled tight across his bicep.

He knew this shirt well since it was the same one Ifrit wore every day at his bookstore, Bookworm. This one in particular, the one that was now just reserved for sleeping or working around the house, was special to them both. Zephyr leaned back slightly, just enough so the dim light from the lamp on his nightstand highlighted the faded print on the front.

Would you still love me if I was a Bookworm?

It had taken months, and a few blunt words from Aurora, for him to realize Ifrit had been flirting with him. Months of Ifrit visiting his shop, The Den, daily. Of little jokes, teasing glances and sweet compliments. He felt like such an idiot now, thinking that Ifrit was just being friendly. That he probably acted like that with everyone. And while Ifrit could be a flirt, he had a particular smile that Zephyr only saw when he was looking at him.

His boyfriend muttered something under his breath and Zephyr shushed him, swiping a cool hand across his forehead and into his hair. Ifrit sighed and relaxed again, rubbing his face against his shoulder. Zephyr smiled when he felt his tail wrap around his leg, an intimate gesture he never had gotten to experience before now. He pulled back just enough to read Ifrit’s shirt again, unable to stop himself from grinning like an idiot.

“Yes.” He scooted closer to the fire ghoul, relishing the warmth his body gave off. A whispered prayer to Lucifer began to fall from his lips, the Ghoulish coming to him easily even after not using it for years. “Always.”

If you'd like to be added/removed from the tag list (or if I accidentally left your name off) of this fic or any of my others please leave a comment or send me a dm! Thank you 💙

My Masterlist ~ My Archive of our Own ~ My Ko-Fi Tip Jar

More snippets from this verse are on my masterlist under "Ongoing Series"!

Other Mushy May days: 1 / 2 / 3 / 4 / 5 / 6 / 7 / 8 / 9 / 10 / 11 / 12 / 13 / 14 / 15 / 16 / 17 / 18

#ifrit x zephyr #the band ghost fanfiction #ghost band fanfic #tales from lucifer's hollow #mushy may 2024 #nameless ghouls

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fernandopiastri28 · 4 months ago

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quand c’est - part 6 ~ ln4 x op81

part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5, part 6, part 7, part 8

Yet now at 24, he feels a shell of that aspiring kid. The one who truly believed he would be a world champion. That dream, the realness of it seems to have fizzled. Not just because of the diagnosis, but because he knows Oscar, he sees Oscar’s raw talent in his second year of racing. He saw it in Oscar’s rookie year too- and he knows he’ll never have that.

Warnings: sickness, illness, cancer

Lando wakes up, and he’s still sick. It’s expected- no one recovers from brain cancer in a matter of hours, but a part of him continues to believe this is some awful nightmare or a really sick joke.

It must’ve been a fair few hours since he’d gotten the news, because it’s already getting dark outside again.

Lando’s blurry vision slowly clears up the more he blinks. He tries his best to sit up, his arms not complying with him- heavy with the weight of being pierced with IVs and drips.

He leans over as best as he could, a slow calculated move. He checks his phone, calls and messages as far as he could see from his family and the other drivers.

Carlos: Landito

Carlos: Landito are you okay?

Carlos: Is Oscar taking care of you?

Carlos: Mierda

Carlos: You are in my thoughts and prayers. It was a bad crash.

Thanks for the reminder Carlos, Lando fucking knew it was an awful crash. An awful crash during an awful race from an awful driver. Just awful.

Daniel: Lando mate r u aluroght?

Daniel: *alright

Daniel: thinkin of u rn mate

Daniel: i hope you’re feeling better

Lando wonders how many people knew he was in the hospital. He wonders if Oscar had been calling anyone else beyond Logan to talk about how Lando was an insane man who had no care for his own health.

Max V: Hello Lando. I hope you are feeling well and are doing okay. Cannot wait to see you in cota you absolute weapon. You’ll be bonzer.

Max V: Daniel taught me that word. I think it is bonzer or bonza. Not sure

Lando smiles at Max’s messages, his body hurting too much to be able to laugh. Clearly the dutch man has been spending far too much with Daniel as his dialect was becoming more like the Australian’s each day.

Max V: Daniel is very worried for you, I am too.

He presses onto his chat with his mum, clicking to call her. He has 12 missed calls from her, no doubt about whether she knew about not only the hospital, but also the diagnosis. Oscar would’ve been on top of that.

It feels nice to hear his mum’s voice on the other end of the call, even if her voice was scratchy and hard to understand from crying. He asks about his sisters and brother, trying to skirt around the elephant in the room.

When the phone call eventually ends, he swipes his hand over Oscar’s mess of hair. It’s no longer that perfect swoop, more like how he remembered it being in Singapore a year ago, stuck to his forehead and falling down with the humidity.

It’s strange to think of anything about Singapore last year now. Strange to think about his first time being on the podium with his best friend. Strange to think about the ice baths with Oscar, playing padel with George, the feeling of being so disgustingly sweaty at the end of the race- but pure adrenaline and joy overpowering that discomfort.

Now he was left rotting away in a hospital bed, unable to do those same simple and ‘mundane’ tasks.

He misses George, for some reason, a lot.

And Alex, he misses the 2019 rookies group. He misses the beginning of his F1 career- where he didn’t have a care in the world and truly believed he was ‘exceptional’ for being at the top category of motor sports at 18.

If there’s going to be a world champion of either of them, It’ll be Oscar, and it kills Lando that he has to be happy for Oscar knowing that.

A nurse comes in every hour on the dot to either give him another round of either medicine or to note down how his body is reacting to the painkillers. To be fair, he does feel relatively good. His head doesn’t hurt, and he doesn’t really feel anything at all.

Oscar wakes up after a while and just sits with him, making some dry jokes in an attempt to make Lando laugh. He doesn’t laugh as much as he usually would, but that’s because he sometimes only catches every second word. He’s sure Oscar’s being pretty funny though, so sometimes he laughs for the sake of ensuring Oscar keeps talking.

Lando has energy for one thing, and one thing only- kissing. Oscar’s wary about that, cautious like a few little pecks are going to absolutely destroy Lando.

To Lando, he has already braced himself for the fact that he’s going to change with the effects of surgery and chemo- mentally and physically. Maybe future Lando won’t want to kiss Oscar as much.

And maybe he’ll get so ugly that Oscar won’t want to kiss Lando either.

But Oscar caves, as he usually does, and it’s so sweet, so perfect. They kiss, and Oscar laughs into Lando’s mouth when he makes a stupid one liner, not funny to anyone other than Oscar, who is the easiest person in the world to make laugh.

Well, when it comes to Lando. Otherwise, Lando takes the cake for that title.

It feels like being a teenager again, or what Lando imagines teenage romance would’ve felt like. He was too busy with F4, F3, F2 and then obviously all the prep for F1 to ever have enough time to consider having a relationship. But being with Oscar, kissing in a hospital room and quickly separating when a doctor or a nurse walks in is just like how it’s described in movies.

Before Oscar, he only dated Luisinha, which besides the off season and some weekends that weren’t race weekends, he’s never really had time with his partner to be like this.

He has as much of Oscar as he wants right now, has all the time in the world to kiss and cuddle and laugh and talk without having a hundred cameras in their faces.

Lando wants to stay like this forever. Forever adoring, forever adored.

After a few days, the doctors rule him ‘well enough’ to be discharged, which isn’t even something Lando thought would happen. Clearly he’s got a lot about brain cancer to research, because he truly believed he’d be permanently hospital bound.

In reality, he’s only leaving to go back to Monaco and have the surgery there. If he had the surgery in Singapore, he’d be stuck there for months. As much as he likes Singapore- it’s not home, and it’s so humid.

The doctors that have been treating him in Singapore have been in contact with a set of surgeons at a private hospital in Monaco- discussing each precise detail to the tumour and the ideal route of how to remove it. Lando doesn’t listen when the doctors describe it to him, he goes to his happy place instead.

Miami, Florida- the 5th of May 2024

Oscar does listen on the other hand. He’s attentive, noting down each piece of information onto a little pocket book Logan had given the aussie for his birthday back in April. Where Lando zones out and goes spacey, Oscar remembers everything so he can explain it to Lando if he wants to know.

However, Lando does sometimes listen when they speak about the time after the surgery. It isn’t clear when he’s going to be able to race again as it all depends on how much of the tumour they’re able to remove and how his body will react to the chemotherapy.

COTA is completely out of the picture in terms of what he might be able to race in, and to be fair, the rest of the season is a wary grey area. Anything beyond Australia at the beginning of next year just seems too soon, as recovery from brain tumour surgery is 6-12 weeks, and that’s for normal activities- much less racing F1 cars.

For once, he decides to take that advice. Not listening to someone who was genuinely looking out for his health got him into this situation, badly bruised up from a crash on top of the existing tumour and cancer.

Oscar helps draft out an email from Lando to the McLaren team, explaining a situation they are already completely caught up on. Lando watches Oscar’s fingers tap across his laptop keyboard, using all the fancy jargon that Lando wouldn’t even know exists.

If he’s lucky and the tumour can be successfully removed, the doctors tell him he’ll return to his old self. He won’t have the headaches, the brain fog, the poor vision, the nausea. He’ll just be Lando Norris again- maybe slightly different, but better than now.

They don’t like to discuss what will happen if he’s unlucky though.

The bad thing about the tumour is that even though they are able to shrink it through chemotherapy if the surgery is unsuccessful, they’re not sure of the exact spread of it through his brain just yet. The MRI scan didn’t show the complete extent of the tumour, so they won’t know just how bad the situation is until they actually get in there for the surgery.

That’s the exact reason they’re pushing for it to happen as soon as possible- within the week ideally. Because the longer they wait, the more it spreads.

Lando’s had so many doctors and nurses tell him he was lucky that he crashed and ended up in hospital, as it was likely that the tumour would have remained undetected for a solid few more weeks, which could’ve killed him if he left it any longer than he did.

But Lando can’t help but think if he really was lucky, he wouldn’t be in this situation. He wouldn’t have a growing brain tumour, he wouldn't be in hospital, he wouldn’t be going in for surgery.

He’d be racing, he’d be on podiums- he’d be fine.

#f1 #formula1 #formula one #mclaren #oscar piastri #lando Norris #sick fic #fernandopiastri28 #f1 2024 #logan sargeant #carlos sainz #landoscar #lando x Oscar

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wannab-urs · 1 year ago

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Carry Me

This is a request fill for @atinylittlepain <3

Pairing: Dieter Bravo x student therapist!reader

Summary: You’re overwhelmed. Being a student at a very rigorous university and interning as a therapist for the local DV clinic is all getting to be too much. You’re on the verge of a nervous breakdown for real, but Dieter is there to lighten some of the burden.

Warnings/Content: hurt/comfort, a rare non smut fic, general anxiety and frustration about being a student therapist, Dieter being kind of an idiot, brief mention of SA and DV (literally just the acronyms, no description whatsoever), Dieter is able to pick you up, Dieter calls you Shrink and baby, you and Dieter are roughly the same age, brief mention of oral f!receiving, no use of Y/N, WC: ~1200

Notes: Thank you so much to @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin and @theywhowriteandknowthings for the beta read <3 Love y'all bunches. I was so excited to write this fic AHHH

Dieter Bravo Masterlist | Main Masterlist | AO3 | Kofi

But you can carry me / I’m not heavy / I’ll grow extra arms / To hold onto your body Dig my fingernails / Into your shoulder / And you’re so steady /And you don’t tip over - Carry Me by Crooks and Nannies

You get home and look up at the stairs which have quite possibly never felt so daunting as they do right now. You had class from 8 this morning until noon, a 30 minute break in which you scarfed down some trail mix you found in your car and drove to the clinic, and then an extremely emotionally draining 4 hours of leading group SA and DV survivor therapy sessions followed by another 2 hours of paperwork.

So now, roughly 12 hours after you left your apartment, you’re standing at the bottom of your stairs, feeling weighed down by your bag and by your life in general and dreading what you might find at the top.

When you finally do make it upstairs, slip the key into the lock, push the door open, you’re desperately (delusionally) hoping to find a clean apartment. Maybe he cooked you dinner? Maybe he cleaned the living room and lit a candle? Maybe the bed is made and the laundry is put away?

Of fucking course not.

Dieter is sitting upside down on the couch, feet in the air and his head dangling off the cushion. He’s got a paintbrush in his teeth and a canvas propped against the coffee table. There’s a pile of laundry in the corner by the bed, dishes stacked precariously in the sink…

“Dieter. What the fuck are you doing?” He drops the paintbrush from his teeth and you watch it clatter across the hardwood. Add paint on the floor to the pile of bullshit being heaped onto you today.

“Painting!” He looks positively gleeful for a moment, but then he takes in your sagging shoulders, your wobbling lip, the way your eyes glint with tears. “Shrink? Baby, you okay?” Dieter does a surprisingly agile maneuver, rolling off the couch and onto his feet just as your chest starts heaving and the tears start to spill over.

He crosses the room quickly, takes your bag and sets it on the floor of the entryway, wraps his big arms around you and pulls you into his chest. You crumple into him, letting him finally take your weight. He buries his nose in your hair, cradles your head to his chest and supports you with an arm wrapped tightly around your waist. Broken sobs and gasps for air are all you can manage, but he doesn’t ask you questions. He just whispers that everything is going to be okay, that he loves you, that you’re so strong.

After a few minutes, you’re more sniffling than sobbing, and he grabs your face in his big hands. He swipes away a few tears, presses a kiss to your lips. You squirm away “Dieter I’m all snotty!”

“I don’t care, Shrink,” he kisses your tear streaked cheeks, your now fluttering eyelids, your forehead, then he sweeps you off your feet, picking you up bridal style. You shriek and stifle a giggle.

“Oh my god, Dee, put me down,” you yell, trying to contain your giggles.

“Sure thing, baby!” He dumps you on the couch, grabs his fluffy brown coat off the table and wraps it around your shoulders, sinks to his knees and pulls your sneakers off for you. He goes to the bed and pulls your favorite blanket from the tangled pile and tosses that over you too. “Here’s what’s gonna happen.”

“Di-”

“Nope, you’re listening to me, for once.” You roll your eyes and throw your head back into the soft velvet cushion of the couch. “I’m gonna make you a cup of tea, okay? You’re gonna drink the tea and you’re gonna make a list.”

“A list?” You arch your eyebrow at him, a skeptical look in your eye.

“A list. You’re gonna write down everything you need to do for school AND everything you want to do this week. When you finish that, you’re gonna make a list of ways you can cut your workload. Can you do that for me, shrink?” You start to nod, but then you catch a glimpse of the laundry.

“Dee the house–”

“Nope! That’s my problem, okay? Focus on your list. Tell me when you’re done.” He drops another kiss on top of your head and gets your bag for you, laying it on the table before running off to the kitchen.

You pull out your journal and start making his stupid list and a few minutes in, he brings you tea, just the way you like it and in your favorite mug. He puts on a record at low volume and you can hear the water running in the sink. Dieter Bravo is doing the dishes. You never thought you’d see the day.

You finish the first list of all the things you need to do for school and add Write and Watch a movie to the bottom for the things you would do if you ever had the fucking time. Dieter appears in front of you, reading your list upside down.

“Knew you could do it, shrinky dink.”

“Please stop calling me that.”

“No. Now what can you do to reduce your workload?” He heads over to the bed and starts making it while you talk.

“I could take this class as pass/fail instead of for a grade…” Your face pulls into a grimace at the thought.

“And why do you sound like that makes you want to die a little?” He says as he wrangles the sheet back onto the bed.

“Because it feels like failing. Or cheating? I don’t know, D! Gina will hate me for it.” You toss your journal onto the coffee table and burrow into Dieter’s coat a little more.

“Ok first of all, that woman adores you, but also,” he trails off as he focuses on stuffing a pillow back into its case. He sleeps like a tornado. “Also! There has to be something else you can do. Is your internship mandatory?”

“I need to do it!” you drag your hands down your face and bang your head repeatedly into the soft cushion behind you.

“Can you reduce your hours?” He’s next to you now, plopping down on the couch and pulling you over to sit across his lap.

“Technically?” You bury your face in the crook of his neck, drape yourself over him and soak in his warmth, his steadiness.

“Then that’s what you’re gonna do. And tonight, we’re gonna watch a movie. And then I’m gonna toss you onto our freshly made bed and I’m gonna eat you out til you’re so delirious you couldn’t think about your ‘workload’ if you tried.”

“What about the laundry?”

“It can wait.” He kisses you softly again. You make an exasperated noise, but you let him grab the remote, pull up Netflix, put on a movie. You let him cradle you and kiss you.

Dieter isn’t perfect. He’s messy and forgetful and can’t hold down a job to save his fucking life. But he’s steady, soft, comforting. He’s understanding and kind and silly and a little bit brilliant.

You know that when everything gets too much for you to carry, he can carry you.

#Dieter Bravo #Dieter Bravo fics #Dieter Bravo fan fiction #Dieter Bravo x reader #Dieter Bravo x you #The Bubble #dieter bravo x f!reader #pedro pascal #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro fics #pedro pascal character fanfiction #gins1500sleepover

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chaotictarlos · 2 years ago

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CARLOS REYES x TK STRAND | 4 x 12 "Swipe Left"

Bonus:

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going-to-ikea-for-the-fries · 8 months ago

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It's a Match! || 141 x Reader

[ Chapter 12 ] || [ Chapter 14 ]

Pairing: Gaz x Reader x Ghost || 141 x gn!Reader Words: 1.9K~ Summary: While overcoming recent heartbreak, you decide to join Tinder in search of a rebound. Your friends advise to just Swipe Right indiscriminately... What happens when 4 soldiers from the same squad match with you? a/n: the start.

Chapter 13: Yes, and?

Once Ghost touched down from the mission, and after being seen in the infirmary for a couple of nicks and gashes, he went, as usual, to Price’s office to debrief. As he walked out, his one thought was that he needed to get out of base and take his phone to be repaired… Or maybe get a new one.

Normally, he wouldn’t care so much, but ever since the two of you started texting constantly after that night together, he couldn’t help but be attached to the little device. Even Soap had made a joke about how addicted to his phone Simon was and how it must all be “thanks to his little date that he refuses to tell me about”.

As he rounded the corner to his hallway, he spotted Gaz leaning on the wall next to the door to Ghost’s quarters.

“Gaz.” Ghost greeted with a nod as he pulled his I.D. card from a pocket in his vest and slid it into the card slot, popping the door open.

“Sir.” Gaz acknowledged as he pulled away from the wall and stood there, arms hanging by his sides, waiting.

Ghost went leaned against the door jamb. “Something you’d like to say?” He asked.

“Yes, sir.” Gaz said with a nod and cleared his throat softly. “Your… friend DMed me on Tinder looking for you.”

Ghost closed his eyes and sighed for a moment before he opened them again and stared at Gaz. “And what did you say?”

“The truth. Your phone broke and either way you had left for a mission so you wouldn’t reply for a while.” He answered.

Ghost nodded. “Thanks for that. Didn’t think I’d leave them worried sick.” He said sincerely and began to turn to duck into his room.

“I also went out with them.” Gaz added right as Ghost crossed the threshold.

That stopped Ghost in his tracks and the bigger man turned to look at Gaz over his shoulder. “You did?”

“Yeah… Went for lunch… Got curious once I learned you two had a date, sir.” Kyle admitted, lowering his voice out of respect for Ghost’s privacy.

Full of respect, Gaz was. Ghost always appreciated that about the sergeant. Except right now.

“And since when do you have a right to be curious about my life? Is it any of your business?” Ghost asked, though his tone was calm and deadpan, not hostile or angry at all.

“Since I matched with them before anyone else… And you moved in after Captain Price.” Gaz retorted.

“Are you trying to call dibs over them, like Johnny did?” Ghost asked as he took a step to stand over Gaz.

“Maybe?” Gaz replied and shrugged, dipping his head back a bit to look the taller man in the eyes. “I mean…” He trailed off and shrugged. “They’re nice, sweet, kind, caring, funny, easy to talk to…”

“Yes, and?” Ghost retorted. “What are you trying to say, sergeant?” He asked, his voice wavering just a bit.

“I’m just… asking permission, I guess.” Gaz said, his tone the most cordial and reverent he could.

“Permission?” Ghost asked and had his skull not been in the way, Gaz would’ve seen his eyebrow cocking.

“To keep seeing them.” The younger man clarified.

Ghost’s eyes narrowed as he looked Gaz up and down. “You’re asking what exactly? To share them?” He asked as he curled his head a bit to the side, as if to hear him better.

“I guess so.” Kyle replied. “Is that alright?”

Simon’s lip curled in contemplation before he nodded curtly. “I guess I can’t object to that.” He conceded.

“But does it bother you?” Kyle asked in earnest, his brows furrowing a bit in concern.

Ghost shook his head a bit. “I don’t have a claim to them.” He said calmly.

“With all due respect… That’s not what I’m asking, sir.” Kyle insisted.

With a deep breath, Simon took a step into his quarters and gestured the sergeant inside. Then, he shut the door behind them and leaned himself against the wall by the door.

After a deep breath, Ghost shook his head. “Bothers me a little.” He admitted. Gaz nodded in understanding.

Another deep breath later, Ghost continued. “They… make me feel… human.” He explained and turned his head to look away. “Outside of the soldier, outside of the Ghost.” He said in a tone that entailed more than simple friendship.

“There’s no expectations. No one asking me to kill. No one telling me ‘Jump!’ only for me to reply ‘How high?’. It’s just…” He trailed off.

Gaz looked down at his feet and rocked back and forth, a bit awkwardly. It was the first time he and Simon had a conversation as deep as this… Having never quite felt that the Lieutenant let him in or saw him as worthy of something other than small talk and jokes over comms.

“I see.” The younger one said and sighed. “I… I can give up on it, if you wan-”

“Don’t.” Ghost interrupted and looked right at Gaz. Then, he took a deep breath and scratched at his exposed forearm, his gloved fingers dragging along the tattooed skin.

“I’m going to buy a new phone. Or get mine repaired…” He explained. “But… after that I was planning on going to see them… tonight. If they accept.” He said with a sigh.

“Maybe order take out… Game and watch movies…” Ghost said and with the tone of someone who’s making a great effort to speak, he looks at Gaz. “Do you wanna come with?” He asked in earnest.

Kyle had already texted you, per Simon’s request, to warn you of their intentions to grab takeout and head over… And you seemed quite giddy. So it didn’t surprise him when you opened the door for them with a smile.

“Hi!” You greeted them, took the bag of takeout food, and ushered them inside, instructing them to take off their shoes. Simon didn’t even need to be told, he already took initiative to do so.

He had made an effort, Kyle had noticed, and put on a white henley shirt, a leather jacket, and black jeans… but still kept his stupid bloody mask on. Kyle himself was wearing an oversized purple-ish jumper and blue jeans.

Kyle observed quietly as Simon shrugged off his jacket and hung it over the back of a chair in the ‘dining’ area of your sitting room. “You bought a new candle.” He announced as he looked at the small lit flame on the coffee table.

“I did!” You acknowledged as you carefully opened the take-out containers and spread them all around the coffee-table. “Don’t just stay there, Kyle!” You told him, prompting the lad to finally move away from the entryway door, approaching you to sit on the couch.

Him and Ghost sat on opposite sides of the couch, leaving just enough for you to get squished in the middle, sandwiched by them. You each grabbed your food and, at first, it was incredibly awkward. The silence too large to allow for any of you to truly feel comfortable.

You looked back and forth between the two of them, eyes darting as if you were following a tennis game. Above your head, the two men also shot glances at you and one another.

“So… elephant in the room.” You quipped as you carefully bit a Jamaican patty and chewed it. That prompted both the men to look at you. “What’s going on?” You asked them.

“We both enjoyed our time with you.” Simon answered quickly. So quickly, in fact, that it startled Kyle.

“So you both wanted to hangout with me?” You asked as you looked between the two of them.

“We both like you.” Simon continued in his round of honesty. Kyle’s head snapped toward Simon, brown eyes widened. Simon was, however, completely absorbed in his meal.

Kyle was pretty sure he was right when he joked that you had Ghost under some sort of spell. Never had he seen Simon be so open and honest. Direct, sure, Ghost was always directly. But… sincere like this? Never.

“I like you both too.” You replied in earnest as you took another bite of your food.

“Not like that, sweetheart.” Simon replied and finally glanced over at you while dusting off his fingers on a napkin. “I mean we’d both date you if we could.”

“Oh.” Your eyes widened a bit and you blinked away the shock.

The way Ghost looked at you… That’s when he finally understood what he had meant when he spoke about you. There was a fondness in those usually cold, dead brown eyes…

Kyle felt like he was intruding. Like it was wrong of him to be weaseling his way in between the two of you out of some childish claim he claimed to have over you… Because the way Simon made him understand how good you were for him.

He sat in a relaxed way, legs sprawled, thigh touching yours, wearing clothes he could’ve sworn Ghost would never even own, and you never once flinched in his presence. Granted, you weren’t aware of all the blood in his hands, in their hands… But you acted as if Ghost was just some bloke you were dating and not.. well… Ghost.

“Kyle?” Simon quipped and it finally rose him out of his thoughts.

“Hm? Sorry?” He asked, noticing he had spaced out.

“I asked if you two were jealous of one another and that’s why you’re so tense.” You repeated yourself. “Simon said he wouldn’t call it ‘jealousy’.”

Kyle and Simon shot each other a glance, as if wordlessly communicating. It was something they were used to doing in the field, but this was a completely different circumstance.

Sighing, Gaz shifted around in his seat. “I wouldn’t call it jealousy either… But…” He trailed off. “Well, I saw how… how happy you make Simon.” He admitted.

Simon’s eyes, which had momentarily hardened, softened again as Kyle spoke. “And well… you made me… feel it too. It’s… easy to be around you. Easy to spend time laughing with you and always want more.” The younger man continued.

Your own eyes softened too and your cheeks warmed up a bit with his kind words. “So in a way I felt like… well… like I deserved to try to date you too.” He explained. “But it’s tense because, well, neither of us want to share.”

With a chuckle, you leaned back against the couch and covered your mouth with your hand. “Shared? What am I… some video game?” You joked. “Are you going to go to your mum to tattle when the other doesn’t let you have enough time with me?” You teased.

Immediately, all tension was gone, both of them rolling their eyes and scoffing. “Shut it, you.” Simon grumbled, amused.

“Most people would be honored to have two guys want to date them, you know?” Gaz remarked.

“Fuck that, most people would be honored to have me want to date them.” Simon quipped.

“Oh, you get down from your high horse!” You scolded him and nudged him with your arm, which made Simon chuckle.

“After this, we could watch a movie!” You announced as you resumed eating your Jamaican patty.

“Good idea.” Simon praised you.

“Not another horror movie.” You added.

“You have very bad taste.” He quipped.

Strangely enough, watching you bicker with Simon only made Kyle feel warmer than he already did. He still felt like he was intruding but… the bickering was familiar. He saw that often between Johnny and Simon…

“How can I have bad taste? I literally like you both.” You remarked.

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#ikea writes 💚#it's a match! fic #cod modern warfare #cod fanfic #captain john price #john soap mactavish #kyle gaz garrick #simon ghost riley #text story #cod x reader #call of duty x reader #kyle gaz garrick x reader #gaz x reader #simon ghost riley x reader

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circledotdestroy · 7 months ago

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Retrospective - Chapter 4: Professional Conversations

Pairing: Shouta Aizawa x F! Pro-Hero! Reader (the slowest burn) Main summary: After 12 years, you, Pro-Hero Strife, has to return to Japan. Your objective: discreetly track down and capture Akari Kaneko, a.k.a. Pro-Hero Aegis— your old classmate who attacked you during her visit in America. In the aftermath of All Might losing his power, however, using UA resources has its complications. The most unexpected complication being Aizawa, someone you never expected to see again. Why does your past have to come back to haunt you now? Masterlist First Chapter Last Chapter Word Count: 5,708

A/N: So Aizawa decided to comeback finally the other day... How are we feeling? Anyway, I hope this helps the manga readers. (I'm so sorry it's been over a month, life decided to throw me at the wall a few times. Because I've been struggling with posting chapters as often as I want to, I've decided after this one I will be cutting down the size. I hope it works out for the best, but that means there will be a larger number of chapters. I hope those of you that read my story don't care too much) (Also where the hell is Mic???)

For the rest of the meeting you stood breathless. Heart gushing blood through your ears. The words of your proposal dissolved as everything after cemented arrangements flowed into nothingness. You smiled, nodded, and told your new boss you understood his terms as his words reached your ears. Yet you grasped at nothing.

Nezu left the room satisfied. Said something about signing and a new ID. On his way out he wished you the best working for Eraser’s class. You did well, you think.

When Nezu was gone, heavy thunking and a giant shadow from the corner of your eye irritated you out of your trance. It was Mic, jiggling the briefcase by the handle. Your laptop was still in there! Slightly annoyed, you swiped at the handle to snatch it back. Mic pulled it away before you could, saying something about how he knows you can grab it, and to “try harder”.

You rolled your eyes in a huff, though now wasn’t a good time to break character. Right? You looked around the bright room and almost everyone was gone. The clock on the wall ticked away as you tried to place when everyone left on a timeline. Nemuri waved on her way out, All Might gave you a thumbs up. This was maybe five to seven minutes after you volunteered your time thoughtlessly. When the vote was over, the only people who needed to be in the room was you, Nezu, and—

You turned to the right of Mic’s chair. Eraser finished gathering his folders from his table. Nezu left the details of your position to him. There were many questions you had about being an advisor, but the main one was ‘what does Eraser have in mind?’ Eraser went around the table. Before you finished thinking you’d need to stop him to clarify your new temp job, he joined you and Mic in the center of the room.

In typical fashion, Mic caught on and spoke up before you thought of how to open. “You’re working with Strife then, Eraser? You excited?”

Eraser huffed, ignoring his question. Whether he regretted agreeing to the arrangement already, or he was annoyed Mic brought it up, you weren’t sure. So much for fostering a good professional relationship. You understood though. Just because something is objectively better, like having someone help you prepare twenty kids for a grueling exam, doesn’t mean it’s what you wanted. “I need to talk to Strife. Alone.”

Mic’s grin left his face as he looked at you then back at Eraser then back at you. “Alright,” his smile came back as he shrugged. Mic flipped your briefcase over his shoulder and walked toward the door, leaving you with the friend-of-a-friend. “Try not to keep her too long!” Eraser watched Mic leave the room. In the silence, the conversation you had earlier came to your mind again. Now that you owe him, thinking of how you stormed off earlier made you want to ask Mic to stay. Not out of fear, but because he’d make this interaction less uncomfortable.

But it was too late when the door shut.

You and Eraser. Alone. In a bright, empty room. There’s no need for played up charisma—not when he was past it all and knew you were full of it. Eraser, unexpectedly, held out the folders to you. Grabbing the small stack cautiously with both hands, you thought back to your earlier theory about the folders holding information meant to cast you out. If that was the case then he wouldn’t give you these now. Not when he can hold the folders as leverage for later. Eraser didn’t say a word until you flipped open the first folder, on the top there was a school photo of a boy with red hair. “My class starts training today in Gamma at 9:30.” Toward the middle there was another picture of him in the UA gym uniform. One of his arms was rigid like the side of a cliff, while the other looked normal. “Those contain the information of a few students in my class, I’ll give you more later. I want them to work on creating Ultimate Moves for the exams.”

That’s it?

Eraser could’ve done that without you. Why would he agree to the deal, if the training was independent work?

Your finger traced the paper up to the lines next to the headshot of the boy. The first line should be his name. Squinting at the page, your eyes bounced across the paper. The page was incomprehensible, a salad of lines and squares. You closed the folder and looked at the gray capture weapon again, it was easier to see what actions he’d take if you looked around his shoulders. “It’d be best if I observe the students before I read the files.”

Eraser shifted his weight to one leg, causing a shift where his weapon overlapped. “Any reason why?” His weapon was too clean for it to be used frequently. Maybe he got it replaced recently? Yet again, with everything you heard about the school, his students fighting off villains without licenses… it’d make sense if he was sidelined from doing hero work if his teaching his class was a handful.

“I want to judge them myself,” you answered, mirroring his stance. You lowered the folders in front of your body. Eraser made no moves to take them from you. “Judges don’t read about people taking the test before the exam. It’s like how students don’t meet judges grading the exam. It plays into…” you tried to find the right word. An equivalent to “impressions”, but drawn blank. You raised a gloved hand to pick the word out of the air. Eraser just leaned back with a vacant stare making it harder to concentrate. You closed your eyes and sighed as you settled on “-first sight, if you understand.”

When you opened your eyes, Eraser gave no input of his own. He stared blankly, with nothing to suggest he knew what you meant.

Language switching wouldn’t be acceptable with him like it would be with Hizashi. If you were supposed to give advice to students, then you’d need to communicate clearly. How often would you have to play Word Find in front of teenagers? If you wanted to stay here long enough to locate Akari—hell, if you wanted to investigate in Japan, you needed to get your act together. And quick. “It would also help if they are focused on their training, not a stranger in the room.” While you figure out the mechanics of their quirks, you can have some time to think about and practice what you’ll say. It’ll be just like the first year.

“My students won’t get distracted,” Eraser crossed his arms, with an edge in his voice. Defensive? “But fine. It’s logical enough. We’ll still meet at Gamma and set something up for you to get the information needed, but the class still has to meet you today. There’s only 10 days of training, no time should be wasted.”

Fair enough. If they’re training ultimate moves, you only need a little time to get the gist of their quirks for day one. Details can come later. It should give you enough time for a language refresher. “Anything else?”

Glancing at the ground, his boots pointed toward the door. Unlike his weapon, those were scuffed and broken in. The man is as ready to leave as you are. “We have everything covered. For now. We can talk more after you observe the class. We’ll discuss more when the time comes. For now, we’re building their strengths and hammering out weak points.”

The conversation ended and he finished, about to walk out the door. Footsteps thudded against the hard floor as he made his exit. You thought you were ready to see him leave, but “Wait—!”

Eraser paused.

The hand raised toward him recoiled into a loose fist. You put it away before he turned back. When he did, your eyes trailed to his boots again. “The way I walked out…” They were pointed toward you, and not the door. Good to know you had his full attention this time around. He hummed, that type of thing would be hard to forget in less than a few hours. You tried to find the rest of your sentence and got stuck at a fork in the road.

Were you supposed to say an apology you didn’t mean?

You weren’t sorry about why you left. In fact, business and gratitude aside, you were still mad at him. Not that it matters. “I didn’t act my best,” you said, looking up from the ground. What you feel now— it means nothing.

The man blinked slowly then glanced off to the side closest to the door. Bored already… Him listening to what you had to say was only professional courtesy.

“I didn’t act my best. You’re giving me this opportunity to let me complete my mission faster, and you don’t have to.” You were going to work with him. You’ll help his class. All of them will get their license. In return, you’ll get the answers you need. When all is said and done, Eraser won’t ever see the Pro-Hero Strife again. “Thank you, Eraser.” Words fell out smooth as sand on your tongue, but you can look at his face again.

Eraser rubbed the back of his neck, dodging your gaze by glancing at the ceiling. “If you judged licensing exams before then you’re an asset. Letting you investigate here is a rational trade, I’d be an idiot to vote against it,” he explained listlessly, meeting your eyes toward the end.

You nodded. “Of course…” After a hectic few hours, this was how your conflict ended. All personal grudges all under the bridge… Just like that.

Because you two are adults. Two adults with jobs to do– professionals.

You walked past the other hero, your short-term coworker, explained how you didn’t want to keep Mic waiting. He understood, told you he’d have more information ready later. Both of you went into the hallway. Mic was trying really hard to make it look like he wasn’t listening in. Mic tried dodging the suspicion by bringing up food. Fortunately for him, with the way you’ve been using your power– on top of the healing quirk, you needed calories. Enough to fill a black hole with the way your stomach squeezed. Eraser didn’t have the same worries as you. In seconds, he was long in the opposite direction and you were fine.

Mic led you around campus talking about Lunchrush, another member of UA’s immortality club. With your past experience in the kitchen, a new respect toward the man has grown. He was in charge of preparing enough food for hundreds of people. Showing up unannounced for food felt like an invasion. Lunchrush would have little use for American currency. You really should stop at the bank to make an exchange soon. When you arrived at the cafeteria Mic gave your briefcase back, told you to wait while he worked his “magic”. He strolled backward into the kitchen door, finger guns blazing, to the orchestra of scraping metal. Not long after he came out of the kitchen holding two trays. One with a giant bowl and another with four smaller ones on them. You went to help him but he pointed his chin to a nearby table for you to sit. You hurried to the table, pulling one chair out for Mic then going around to the chair closest to the wall for you to sit.

“Lunchrush thought the request was weird for this time of day, but I figured it’d be closer to dinner for you.” Mic put the tray with smaller dishes on his side of the table. Savory steam floated from his food. His tray had savory broth and spring onion with either soft tofu or an onsen egg (it was hard to tell from your angle), plain rice, the fluffiest rolled omelet, and a strip of tender salmon. It was a feast for the eyes and you can almost taste it on your tongue.

You looked at Hizashi before you drooled over the table like a rabid animal. From your angle, it seemed as if there were no side dishes on the tray he was still carrying. His buckling elbow told you the bowl was heavy. “I tried to get your favorite, but you usually brought your own thing when you finally learned to cook for yourself.” He went to place your food on the table. When you reached to grab the tray, Mic pulled it away. You raised your eyebrow at him. The joke would’ve been more funny if your stomach wasn’t clawing inward to digest itself. Hizashi held the tray closer to you, but pulled it away when you tried grabbing it again.

“Excuse me?”

You expected him to laugh in your face then give you your meal, but his expression hadn’t changed from the slightly amused smile from earlier. The tray floated further from your reach as the man before you held the tray high like he was the cover model posing for Waiter’s Weekly. Hizashi looked down, his pose statue-esque. “You never said anything about Kaneko visiting you.”

You put your hands under the table. Once shielded under the table, your fingers interlaced firmly. “I didn’t mean to make you look bad, I’m sorry.” You really were, you’d apologize even if the beloved sustenance was in your grasp. Peering up again, the statue pose relaxed, but Hizashi made no moves to hand you the tray. “The case has been a lot, I guess,” you couldn’t truthfully tell him you forgot to say anything.

“Right—it just slipped your mind.” Mic teased with lasers scanning across your body. You stopped leaning over the table and forced yourself to sit straight. The wound became slightly itchy– a small price to pay. Was he going to ask about you calling him? “I’m gonna keep it real, you’ve been forgetting about a lot of things.”

“I’m not the only one,” you thought, focus gliding to empty tables toward your right until you heard a sigh.

“You’re talking about Aizawa?” The plastic tray thudded on the table. A treacherous scrap made you wince when Hizashi pulled his chair further out to join you at the table. “I wasn’t trying to blindside you either.”

Steam curled into the air from the large bowl creating a veil between the two of you. Your fingers laced tighter, expecting Hizashi to say something else. Unless it was your turn to speak. You acknowledge his statement with a small nod. You moved your tray closer to your end of the table, hot vapor hit your face. You looked into the bowl. Hizashi got you a bowl of udon. The noodles were abundant with just enough rich broth, and it was topped with a crazy amount of vegetables and protein—the perfect thing for your current situation. In spite of your hunger, a lump formed in your throat. Most udon wasn’t supposed to include all these toppings, there was only one restaurant you remember including this much food without having to add on. Hizashi wasn’t playing around with what he said earlier.

“What are we waiting for,” Hizashi asked, breaking the tension. “Let’s eat!”

The two of you dug into your meals. As experience taught you, eating good food really does help move pain along. When you get the opportunity to combine the nutrients with sleep, you should feel a whole lot better the next time you wake up.

“How do you feel,” asked Hizashi.

You hummed with a slight jerk, worried he remembered your end of the call from days ago. When you processed the teasing edge to his voice, you relaxed.

“Mentor Strife coming out of retirement, didn’t think I’d live to see the day.” Mic had a cocky smile. “And after you told me you couldn’t multitask—”

“Not multitasking.” While you didn’t plan for this to be the mission, the mission is what the mission becomes. In this case the mission is finding Akari and helping Eraser’s students pass their test. The latter is secondary, but you know better than to walk around owing people. “I’m not mentoring students.” The students don’t need one–they already have teachers. “I’m helping them pass a test. That’s it.”

Mic pouted mockingly toward you and you mirrored him briefly before drinking some broth. “Not gonna stay to celebrate after? That’s cold,” Mic shook his head, pointing his chopsticks at you lightheartedly.

“By the time of the exam, there shouldn’t be a reason why I’m still at school. I need to finish work here before the hotel bill gets expensive. I want to go back to work soon.”

“Stay at the dorms then! We have all the room in the world. Unless…” Mic trails off, and you already know where this is going. “Personal feelings getting in the way of your job?”

You drop your spoon into the bowl tight-lipped. “I like my space,” you smiled.

“Space from who exactly?”

“Children,” you showed your teeth, hoping he’d get the hint.

Mic put his hands up in surrender. “I’m just saying! You don’t know who’s working at a hotel. Plus there’s more guests day in and day out than a rock festival. If someone knows what they’re doing, they can find what room you’re in. Swipe a keycard and mess with your stuff.”

“You think Akari would do that,” you asked.

“Were we looking at the right scene earlier?” You leaned back and clutched your nonexistent pearls at his sudden outburst. Mic shook his head, “what i’m trying to say is: If Kaneko finds out where you are, it’d be a huge blow to your plan. If you don’t want to stay at the dorms because of your gross personal feelings–” Mic gagged, rolling his eyes back dramatically. Which, admittedly, got a smile out of you. “Then you could stay at my place– it’s not like I’m using it.”

“No way.” You shook your head. “I don’t know what you have there!”

“My apartment’s clean! Cleaner than yours ever was– I remember your–” Mic said a term you didn’t know the meaning of followed by “Disgusting!”

“I wasn’t talking about those.”

“Because you can’t,” Mic interrupted.

You put a finger in the air, “I’m staying at the hotel. The hotel is close to the train station and I’ll have to travel around for the case anyway. If it makes you feel better, I’ll leave my research here.”

“And if Kaneko finds you?”

You leaned back from Hizashi, you grabbed your chopsticks and chose a random topping floating in the broth. Tilting your head, you pondered his question and thought about what the right answer should be. If Akari were standing in front of you, in your hotel room, after everything she did. Looking back up at Mic, you shrugged. “Let her.”

When the meal was done, you and Mic had to go your separate ways for the morning. He had no problem giving you a refresher on gamma’s location, despite your constant reassurances for him not to. As predicted, the directions confused you into taking longer to leave the building. A good general idea based on your memory, turned into a jumble of lefts and rights. Spotting for “this” symbol over “that” one. Somehow to the gym before Eraser and his class. No one was heading out of the school from where you can, either. Trying your luck you pushed the door open, leading to a hallway that seemed to be in an ‘L’ shape. Exploring further, you spotted the double doors leading inside the gym. These doors were locked, however.

You leaned on the door, not understanding why the class wouldn’t arrive earlier. Didn’t the staff want the first years to get their license as soon as possible? When the time came around for you, you’d rush to one of the training areas whenever you could. The ticking clock on the wall counted the seconds of your growing impatience. It made it hard to focus on your own thoughts. The off white tiles on the floor stretched out into a blurred vision of mind numbing boredom, then there was an aggressive prodding.

You slid to the floor– no one was near the building. The small hide away surrounding the entrance would be fantastic for cover if villains ever got into the school. The hall was nice and flat too. You could throw a baseball at a good angle, have it bounce off the wall and knock someone out like that one ti— you needed something productive. Taking your phone out of your case, you checked the notifications. Nothing. Then you looked at your laptop. No one was coming yet, you had another twenty minutes, why not check that too?

Pulling out the laptop, muscle memory took over. It came to a halt when the page wouldn’t load, no connection to the wifi it said. Checking the schools network, you were surprised to know Nezu never changed the password. Refreshing the page, you finally got into your account. The usual night crew should start their shift now. You moved the cursor to your workload and smiled seeing a red circle on your inbox link. When you clicked it you were happy to see you got a message from Gold Rush, the coworker who volunteered to work on the home-side of the case while you were away. Clicking on the message icon, you hoped he could tell you about what he found while you were in the infirmary.

Unfortunately, he just messaged you to say he just clocked in and wanted to see if you landed ok. It wasn’t what you wanted to read, you sighed, but replied about your progress. He put a thumbs up on the message. From there you had to strain your eyes to read the next block of text. Gold planned to take another look around your neighborhood, ask around to see if anyone saw Akari going into the building before your apartment was demolished— check out the damage again, if you were “okay” with it. When it’s over, he’ll send his notes on the last few days before his shift ends.

Pressing your lips together, you typed “thank you” then stuffed the laptop in your briefcase. Everything should be fine. Gold was the one who found the postcard Akari left when you were out. You worked with him at the agency for years at this point. He pulled his weight and kept up with you fine. He can hold down what little fort is left, while you’re here. Helping hero trainees.

You closed your eyes, already exhausted at the prospect of standing up again, but you pushed against the floor. Hold onto the wall. Seethe at some sharp pain in your side for a half-second.

See. Everything will be fine.

How could it not be?

You stretched your arms out and then walked in circles. After a minute or two, the pain didn’t hurt as bad. Maybe calories were all you needed.

Then there was a faint buzzing down your spine. No echoes in the halls. Just a ticking clock and your beating heart.

A jolt.

It must be a group outside. Eraserhead and his class finally showed– no doubt about it. You went for your briefcase, not taking your eyes off the hallway. When muffled voices reached your ears, you were perfectly in the center holding the case at your side. There was another jolt, then a surge hit you full swing. The pain was gone and you felt alive.

What a lively—and/or terrified— group! You forgot how strong teenagers felt about things. Yet again, the last you were around this many of them was when you were a teenager who felt just as strong. If they were told about the exam prior, they’re either rushing to get the ball rolling or having their heart explode over the deadline.

Turning the corner, the sea of students was technicolor. And louder than you prepped for. You took it all in. First impressions are integral to how citizens, and therefore judges, view a hero. What were you working with?

The boy with glasses looked like a knight with tubes coming out of his legs– a speed quirk probably? You could see civilians going to him to get them somewhere safe. If he was as strong as he looked, he could pack a punch on larger villains on the way out.

Two students reminded you of Present Mic when he was a teenager. Both of them, a boy and a girl wearing jackets that made them look like little rockstars! The boy had an electricity motif going on, so anybody can roughly guess what his power is—and the girl was wearing boots! And they had speakers? She must have a sound quirk like Mic, fantastic! If they play their cards right, they’ll never go broke.

While you can guess the quirk of those three, many students’ quirks were up in the air. One boy, with a nasty scar over his eye, wore a plain, navy blue jumpsuit. Another boy wore one with black, white, and a bit of yellow–who also had a mutation affecting his elbows, but you couldn’t guess what his quirk would be. At least he was stylish.

When it came to the girls' uniforms you were disappointed. The designers were STILL giving trainees heels! How are they supposed to run top speed in busted terrain? Unbelievable!

Noticing the girls’ inadequate footwear opened the floodgates on the design flaws on the others. Lack of armor and padding on the boy with a giant tail and the girl with pink skin. Lack of support for the tallest girl wearing a unitard exposing her vital organs. She could be like Midnight and need skin exposure, but you doubt the support company has never seen a sports bra before. The worst sin you bore witness to is a short, purple kid wearing a diaper—a self-respecting hero wouldn’t design that!

The students in front of the line stopped chatting among themselves. Some jumped at the sight of you. The rest of the class went quiet as they assessed you, this stranger, standing in the middle of their hallway where you don’t belong.

“I’m not a villain.”

No one laughed. The students’ expressions were vacant, they probably thought you were a dork. Your finger twitched as you thought of throwing your hand up and peacing out of there. Why did you volunteer for this position? You stood your ground and stared ahead. Judgemental teenagers won’t be the end of your resolve.

Eraser turned the corner, walking ahead of the silent crowd. “You showed up early.”

“I don’t show up late.”

Toward the end of the line of students Midnight waved at you as she stood with two other men. One looked like a cinder block-snowman, the other had a swanky trenchcoat and bared his teeth. You waved back at your friend, and a few students turned toward the back of the line. Eraser gestured to everyone, Midnight and the other two teachers included, to go inside the Gym. There’s something he had to take care of and he’ll be back in a minute, he said before giving the key to the boy with the knight outfit. The boy took the key with extreme duty, saying he was honored for the responsibility. Nice to know who the energetic one is.

Eraser handed you blue file folders, similar to the ones you put in your briefcase earlier then started walking ahead of you. He explained the folders had the quirks of the students you’re working with. He took you to another door he had to unlock. It was a sharp contrast to the bright hallways from before. Some cobwebs hung from the dim ceiling and the stair railing. This was the type of place a killer would drag a victim to hold them for a few days. When he turned the light switch on, it was still darker than the outside, but not the worst place you’ve been too.

Eraser approached the table against the wall holding a couple of computer monitors. He set up the tablet he tucked under his arm to the primary computer, explaining how to flip through the cameras. He said you can take notes on the tablet or in folders, but no matter what he’d need the tablet back. If you wanted anything to think over then you’d need to take notes manually, or bust out your own laptop.

“I know for the best results, you need time to study the students, but try to wrap it up in around the twenty minute mark,” he explained as he finished setting up. He rolled a chair from the right of the table for you to sit. After everything from earlier, it was hard to believe you both were being professional about this. He must really want his class to pass. “Time is short, and there’s a lot to see in-person too.”

You sat, swiveling the chair. “Got it. No loitering,” you tapped the screen experimentally and the camera shifted. Eraser didn’t react to the statement, but you knew better than to expect him too. You were just here for the job.

Eraser asked if you had anything you needed to know anything else. Scanning the room again, you settled on asking where the stairs led. Apparently, it was an observation room. He said you could watch the class up there with you and leave the equipment alone; but he knew for a fact why you wouldn’t.

You minded your manners and thanked him for setting up for you before he left for his class. You shook your head as the door shut, his class. Just as you said before, he may have been good with children, but Eraser being a teacher voluntarily was weird. Weirder being alone in a secret backroom.

The air brushed against your neck giving you chills. Where you sit, anyone can come behind you from either the stairs or the door if you weren’t mindful. You shifted the position of the chair’s seat toward the blank wall. With the stairwell’s rotation starting on your right and the table being under the “left” portion of the room, you should have better access to see everything that way.

Soon, Eraser entered Gamma. He talked to his class for a while. Safe to say, it was about the exam. Midnight stepped beside him, her finger pointing in the air, then Cinderblock did the same thing. It was a cult practice. After he spoke, he turned around and walked away from the group. The boy in the knight outfit was giving a reaction to the Smile Man. The man wasn’t opening his mouth though— were they having a psychic conversation? The knight was pleased by what the Smile Man told him. Other students were giving him weird looks, further proving the psychic theory.

Eraser spoke again and then the towers of rocks grew to the ceiling. Wait… You switch the camera view on one of the monitors and the structures reached 90% of the way to the ceiling. Back on the ground Smile Man threw up and more of himself formed, gross, but whatever gets the job done? The students were used to it at this point, because they were obviously hyped.

Starting now, you have twenty minutes to gather as much intel as possible. You clicked the screen to change the camera as fast as possible. The pink, moth girl worked with a substance oozing from her skin. A shorter boy, with a mutant quirk and a cloak, walked with Smile Man toward a farther corner of the gym to a cave structure. The boy with the tail started battling with a Smile Man and he was doing rather well. His combat skills were up-to-par, something undervalued considering not ALL villains are interested in leveling a city.

You switched the camera and nausea hit the back of your throat. The students were walking up the structures and there were no railings. OSHA would have a field day over these violations. Nausea hit you again when you remembered you’d have to join on said OSHA violations. If you didn’t know better, you’d think Eraser agreed to let you tutor his class to torment you. Like in the second you brought up the quid pro quo, he thought of the best way to make you quit and violate the agreement. Pushing the dread aside, you wrote as many notes on the students as you could before twenty minutes were over.

Fun fact: systems change all the time during American Licensing Exams. It’s part of the reason why first impressions matter so much. A good impression can add points, or prevent you from losing points in deduction-based systems. A bad impression will have the reverse effect, and frame everything someone does negatively. It’s easy to say only technical skills should matter, but you need to expect the people to have poor judgment if you want the students to succeed.

You looked at the time and saw you had four minutes before close. You rushed to finish your last thoughts on the student– the boy from the file earlier, so you can join everyone at the gym. You thought about what advice you should give to him. It was clear from how he hit he put a lot of thought into strength, but if he could work on his speed— You wrote it all down, but then you heard the most GRATING ring you can imagine coming from your side. You recoiled at the sound and saw the monitors were frozen. The tablet on your side blinded you with harsh, white light.

You squinted at the tablet, your head starting to hurt from the obnoxious, high pitch. You wanted it to stop. You shot from the chair, yanking the cords out of the device as it beeped at you for a password. On the screen, there was a crude image of two stick figures– an adult and a child.

Eraser put a parental lock on the tablet.

Taglist:

@lonelyghosts-stuff

#mha x reader #bnha x reader #aizawa x reader #shouta aizawa x reader #mha x female reader #aizawa shouta x reader #aizawa x you #retrospective by dot #aizawa x y/n #bnha aizawa

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marvelmymarvel · 1 year ago

Text

Guardian (Part 10)

Jiraiya x Sarutobi!Reader

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12

Synopsis: Your brother gave you an assignment, "Go ask Sakumo Hatake if he needs help with his newborn." It was a simple task, but it snowballed into so much more.

Tags: @twilightlover2007

A/n: *folding* Sakumo heals my daddy issues

Naruto Masterlist: Here

A deep exhale came from your chest as you basked in the sunlight. Birds chirped around you, and for once in a very long time, you felt serene. A warm hand caressed your cheek before soft lips pressed against your temple, "You look beautiful today."

Your eyes opened slowly, and you smiled sweetly up at him. "I dressed up for you. I know you loved this dress on me" Despite starting confident, you soon fell into bashfulness under his loving gaze. He hummed playfully before moving to sit in front of you. His brown eyes were soft and warm; they always made you feel safe and sound. He grabbed your hand and laced his fingers with yours, "How is Kakashi?"

Your face beamed at the question, excited to show off how well you've raised his son in his absence. "Kakashi is in the prodigy program. He's already a chunin…." you trailed off, eyes falling to your intertwined hands, "He's just like you. In both good and bad ways."

He hummed once more as he caressed your finger with his thumb, "And you? How is my beautiful girl doing?"

You finally got the courage to look up at him, but you could tell it wasn't the look he was expecting. He bit his lip as tears rolled down your cheeks, "I'm sorry I left you, Y/n."

"It's been so hard, Saku. Kakashi thinks you're a traitor and hates you for it. I can't bear to see him like this. Not only that, but I just can't move on from you. You haunt me."

Sakumos brown eyes softened as his free hand came up to swipe the tears away. He knew all of this, and the past four years of watching you fall apart killed him. It made him regret ever letting his demons win. If he could go back, he would have waited for you before entering the house. He would have gotten help. He would have stayed.

Because he loved you and Kakashi so much, but he couldn't see it through the pain.

"You don't have to forgive me. Neither does Kakashi. But I want you to do one thing for me, baby. Can you do just one thing for me?"

Your sniffles started to quiet down, and you nodded at him to continue. The hand intertwined with yours broke free, and he moved it to cradle your other cheek. "I need you to give in to what you want. You want Jiraiya, and that's okay. I'm not there to protect and love you like you need, but he is. Allow yourself to feel love again. Can you do that for me?" His grip on your face grew more assertive as his tone grew frantic. The world around you started to darken, and something told you your time with Sakumo was ending. "No one will replace you-"

"I sent him your way. My love for you flows through him." His voice grew muffled as he began to blur with the darkness, but you heard them loud and clear. You had always thought that Jiraiya coming back into your life was your doing, but it would seem that none of it was. Before Sakumo could entirely vanish, he leaned forward and pressed a kiss against your lips. "I love you. Tell Kakashi I'm proud of him."

You went to kiss back, humming to reassure him that you would do as he asked. Like you always did. "I love you more-"

His touch disappeared, and you were once more surrounded by darkness. Your hands were wrung together as your sniffles echoed around the empty space. While your heart still ached for his touch, something else blossomed in your chest. One that you've been pushing down for three years now.

You closed your eyes and took a deep breath. The sound of shallow breathing filled your ears, and you urged your eyes open. The room was dim, and there was a weight on your side. Turning your head slowly, you took in Kakashi sound asleep and curled up next to you on the bed. A hum came from you as you ran your fingers through his white hair; he stirred slightly but didn't wake. He always slept deeper when he was around you and always felt like he was safe enough to. But never this deep.

He only slept this soundly when Jiraiya was near, which could only mean... You turned your head to the other side of the bed to find Jiraiya sleeping with his head on the edge. Your other hand touched his face, smiling sweetly at how his nose scrunched up from the tickling sensation. You caressed his cheek with your knuckle heart beating faster as you took in how relaxed he looked.

"Jiraiya…"

He stirred some more, muttering something like 'five more minutes,' making you giggle softly. "Jiraiya," your cooing grew in volume as you moved his hair out of his face. His eyes blinked open, but they were glued to Kakashi on your side as if he was avoiding looking at you. His eyebrows furrowed as he saw how your hand ran through Kakashi's hair. He hoped he wasn't dreaming, but he was too afraid to look at your still passed-out form. Your coo made him freeze, and he finally realized that your other hand had also been dragging through his hair.

Jiraiya's widened eyes looked up at you, shock and fear coursing through him as he shot up from his seat. His arms immediately wrapped around you, hauling you into his embrace. You gasped in pain as he somehow had forgotten the deep gash on your side. His muttering and praises to the gods grew in volume, causing Kakashi to stir. Jiraiya pulled back, eyes filled with tears as he held your face. "Jiraiya-" His lips slammed against yours, and you quickly deepened it. Your hands dove into his hair as you pulled him closer, the need to be closer to him taking over all of your rational thinking.

"I love you. So much," you whispered against his lips before diving back in for another heated kiss. He nodded against you, humming in a way that solidified in your heart that he felt the same way. "I'm never letting you go-"

Movement on your right stopped you, and you pulled away with wide eyes. Turning slightly in the bed, your lips curled up into a smile at the eight-year-old rubbing his eyes. "Hi, Kakashi-" Kakashi gasped at your voice, fully waking up as he threw himself into your embrace. Jiraiya hauled him onto your lap so he too could wrap an arm around him. Kakashi tried his best not to cry but quickly broke down as you pressed kisses against his face, tears of relief falling from your eyes and landing on his skin. "I'm so glad you're okay. You had me worried sick. No more training alone!! I will accompany you-"

"That won't be necessary."

All three of you looked up to see your brother in the doorway; his under eyes looked heavy and dark, telling you that he didn't get much sleep. Your eyebrows crinkled together at his words, confused by what he meant. "What do you mean, Hiru? What happened only shows that I need to protect him."

Hirzuen raised a hand, silencing you before looking at Jiraiya expectantly. "I'll be moving in with you and watching over the both of you," Jiraiya stated as he leaned his head against yours, nose slightly nuzzling your ear as he spoke. You cocked your head at your brother, not upset with the idea but confused about why this was happening suddenly. Hiruzen opened his mouth, but your gasp cut him off. "Do you know about the ANBU officer??"

Hiruzen's eyes narrowed, and he let out a sigh. You being knocked out for a couple of days made your brain turn all mushy. "Yes, Y/n. That's why he's moving in with you. He's going to look after you two instead of the ANBU..." Hiruzen trailed off as he looked between the three of you. At first glance, it would seem that you and Jiraiya had Kakashi, but despite not being his flesh and blood, he still loved him as if he was his own son.

You looked at Jiraiya expectantly, silently questioning if what he had said before your brother's entrance was true or if he had promised to play along, but his soft smile was reassuring. "Are you sure you want that? If not, I'm sure he can find someone else." Your voice was soft as if you were afraid speaking too loudly would scare him into backing out. He simply nodded at you before turning to your brother again to talk logistics about the arrangement. You drowned them out and played with Kakashi's hair, lips curling into a smile at the thought of once more living with Jiraiya. Sakumo's words had moved something inside you, and now you knew what you wanted.

Leaning back into Jiraiya's arm, you let out a content sigh. Kakashi looked up at you expectantly before cuddling deeper into your side. Hiruzen's eyes wandered down to the two of you, and for once in a very long time, he felt content with what he saw. While he didn't like the idea of you dating Sakumo, you were always so happy around him. When he died, that happiness disappeared, and it had been a very long and painful four years for your poor brother. He hated seeing you, the real you, disappearing right before his eyes.

But it would seem that he wouldn't have to worry any longer.

Jiraiya smiled at him before pulling you and Kakashi deeper into him, "I'll keep them safe. You have my word."

#naruto imagine #naruto imagines #naruto x reader #naruto #jiraiya imagine #naruto fanfiction #jiraiya x reader #jiraiya imagines #jiraiya #jiraiya x you #kakashi

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hesbuckcompton-baby · 9 months ago

Text

I'm Your Man - Robert 'Rosie' Rosenthal x OFC - Chapter 5

AO3

Summary: Egan's first mission since Cleven's disappearance proves disastrous, leaving Frankie to clean up the damage he left behind

Warnings: Language, vomit, this one's angsty guys

Word Count: 4k

Tags: @mads-weasley @xxluckystrike @curaheehee @footprintsinthesxnd @dcyllom @storysimp @latibvles @love-studying58

The smell of cigarette smoke stung Bucky's nose, his warm breath fogging up the inside of the cockpit windows as he stared aimlessly at the early morning sky, dull grey gradually giving way to a vivid blue as the sun crept above the horizon. He had no idea how long he'd been sitting there, glaring at nothing, but this certainly wasn't his first cigarette, a pair of burnt-out butts on the floor by his feet a testament to this. It could have been sadness or anger that had driven him up here, but when the two combined it felt awfully more like numbness than anything else.

A sudden hammering against the glass broke his train of thought, dropping his cigarette in surprise as if left a small scorch mark on the inside of his trousers. Turning to his left, expression contorted in shock, he came face to face with Frankie, her furrowed brow only inches from the window after somehow managing to clamber up onto the wing without him noticing.

"What the- get down!" Egan cried, stomping out his cigarette before it could become a fire hazard.

"If that cockpit's full of cigarette butts now, I'm gonna beat your ass," She warned, her voice slightly muffled by the glass.

"...No," He shook his head, attempting to covertly use his uniform cap as a makeshift dustpan to clean up his mess, but when he looked back up at Frankie her eyes had narrowed at him. "What do you want?"

"Colonel Harding's looking for you. Personally, I just didn't want to deal with the smell after you drink and smoke yourself to death in here. I'd much rather you do it somewhere else, please."

A flicker of a smile crossed Egan's face, perhaps the first he could remember since he'd heard the news about Cleven. Half-empty flask tucked in his pocket, a hat full of ashes in his hand, he clambered out of the pilot's seat, weaving his way through the plane's interior to drop down out of the door. Frankie was waiting on the tarmac for him as his feet touched the ground, peering discerningly up at him. She swiped the flask from his pocket and took a swig for herself, giving a shrug of almost-approval at his choice of drink as she handed it back.

"I'm not gonna ask if you're ok," She frowned, yanking the cap from his hand and upturning its contents.

"Good," Bucky nodded, slinging an arm around her shoulder as they wandered back towards the jeep she had come in. "Weather report?"

Frankie glared up at him. He knew she objected to his participating in the next mission - it was only a matter of time before she actually tried to argue about it. Really, it was more a question of whether she was going to fight him, or try and take on the general. "Clearing up. D'you need me to drive you back?"

"If it was anyone else I might have said yes, but you... you're really bad at driving," Evidently she had anticipated this response, for her bike was already sticking out of the trunk, waiting for her to surrender the vehicle to him.

"Alright, one sec," Frankie gestured for him to turn and face her, surveying his appearance like she was a mother about to send her son off to the school dance. Reaching up, she tugged his tie straight, brushing a few flakes of ash from his jacket with the back of her hand. "Open," She demanded, and he opened his mouth without question, fighting the urge to roll his eyes. Taking a whiff of the alcohol on his breath, Frankie frowned, and Egan found himself unable to utter a word before she shoved a couple of breath mints into his mouth with such force he almost choked.

"Gee, thanks," He spluttered, coughing. "Might choke to death, but at least I'm not gonna smell."

"I can't do everything," She shrugged, stepping away to grab her bike out of the jeep.

"I don't know what I'd do without you," Bucky drawled sarcastically, clearing his throat one last time as he slid into the driver's seat, the engine starting with a roar as he watched Frankie begin to cycle away in the rearview mirror.

It was barely beginning to rain, spots of cold water striking Frankie's face as she pedalled relentlessly, taking it at a somewhat leisurely pace for once, too distracted to sprint the way she usually would. They were running a mission today. They had run one yesterday. They had run one the day before. She was losing track of the last time she'd slept more than a couple of hours in a night, the constant missions meaning tougher, tighter deadlines for all her work. The fixes needed to be completed twice as fast, and it was becoming physically impossible to keep all the buses air-worthy as needed.

Lemmons and the others were already on site and working away as she arrived, a fact that lessened her anxiety ever-so-slightly. In the months since they'd arrived, her begrudging acceptance of the American mechanics had grown more and more willing - they'd proved their worth, their dedication, and she couldn't ask more than that.

"How many can fly today?" She called, abandoning her bike in the grass as she jogged over to the hardstand where Ken was working away.

"Still only seventeen," He sighed. "A couple need fixes to the return lines, but we just don't have time for any big repairs."

"I know," Frankie nodded grimly. "Daily missions are a nightmare, just pull through with what you can, they can't blame us for any of this."

His expression was tense, tainted with guilt. She could tell he was thinking of Cleven again. "Hey," Frankie urged, pressing a reassuring hand to his shoulder. "None of this is our fault." Lemmons nodded after a moment's pause, tilting his head to let his chin rest upon the spot where her hand gripped his shoulder.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

By the time the flight crews began rolling in in their jeeps, Frankie had grown so irritable that she swore her teeth would shatter if her jaw clenched itself any harder. The constant frustration of never being able to carry out the repairs she wanted, the ever-present worry that burrowed into her stomach whenever the pilots left, and the anger she felt at Egan for going with them, were all colliding in an explosive combination. And her fellow mechanics seemed to feel it - even Ken was keeping his distance.

Bucky's car slowed to a halt behind her as she finished up, and she turned to glare at him, a look he was sure he'd never seen crease her face before. "Now, Frankie," He approached with a plastered-on grin, seizing her by the shoulders as he tried to alleviate her mood with his own false joyfulness. "Why is it that we're only flying seventeen buses this morning? I hope Lemmons over there hasn't been screwing with your excellent work."

He had touched a nerve. Unfortunately for Egan, this realisation came a split-second too late. Before he knew it, there was a spanner jammed under his chin, as if she held a knife to his throat, her expression only made harsher by the remark. "Maybe if some people didn't force themselves in where they aren't needed we wouldn't have to pull everything together in such a fucking hurry, eh?"

"Ok, Frank, tough morning, I get it," He nodded, releasing her shoulders and taking a full step back. But he wasn't going to pretend her statement about him being unneeded hadn't sparked his own anger. "But don't take that out on me, I'll pass your concern on to Harding, and we'll see what he can-"

"The only thing I want Harding to get is a smack up the fucking head for letting you fly."

"This is war, Frankie, you think I'm gonna sit out because of what happened? I've never wanted this more than I do now!"

Without fully realising, their voices had begun to rise, argument audible to the other ground and flight crews nearby as they attempted to awkwardly go about their business.

"We both know you're not fit to fly - oh, or does a breakfast of whisky and cigarettes pass the military standard these days? You're burning the candle at both ends and you won't talk to me about it because you're embarrassed by how obvious it's become, John!"

"You really wanna go there? How 'bout we talk about how you spend every fucking night up here working until you drop, and the only times you don't is when you're drinking yourself to the same effect? How many hours did you sleep last night - or the night before, huh? Two? Three? Don't stand there and fucking lecture me about 'burning the candle at both ends'-" He lifted his hands in quotation marks, mockingly mimicking her accent. "- when I'm just following your example!"

Frankie didn't speak for a moment, but as Bucky tried to walk past her, she swivelled on her heel, yelling at him with such force that it was a miracle the entire bomb squad didn't hear. "Why do I have to lose my friend just because you lost yours?!"

He stopped dead in his tracks, stone-cold expression cracking for a second. "Frankie-"

Raising a hand to silence him, she shook her head. "No- you know what? Just fuck off. Get in your death trap and fuck off. At least I'll have one less mess to clean up when you don't come back. I'm sure Cleven will be so proud that his legacy amounted to that."

Frankie could tell she'd hurt him. His glare didn't falter, but she saw the way he flinched when she mentioned Cleven. If she'd been in a more forgiving mood, she might have apologised on the spot - taken it all back, promised she wanted nothing more than for him to return safe and in one piece. But she was tired and she was angry, and apologising was the last thing on her agenda. Hot tears were welling in her eyes as she stomped off, the clanging weight of her toolbox accentuating every step as she officially declared whatever happened next as Not Her Problem.

'Royal Flush' was the next plane along the runway, close enough so that every shouted word of Egan and Frankie's exchange had carried on the wind, the flight crew exchanging embarrassed glances as they tried to ignore the conversation they had suddenly found themselves privy to. Rosie had been about to climb in, but the sudden shouts had given him pause, waiting by the hatch as he watched on with a furrowed brow. Her boots thumped hard against the tarmac as she marched up to them, tools weighing her down on one side.

"Everything looks good?" She demanded, stopping in front of the plane, her usually jovial tone gone.

He frowned, concern twisting his expression. "Everything is - yeah - are you ok?"

Frankie's lip jutted out for a moment, and Rosie grew suddenly worried that she was about to burst into tears. Taking a sharp, shaky inhale, she nodded firmly. "Everything's great."

He slammed the hatch shut, gesturing for her to step underneath the plane's belly so that they were out of both sight and earshot of the rest of Rosie's Riveters. She did so, putting her toolbox down at her feet so that she could wipe away the tears that were forming with the heels of her palms. "I'm really tired."

Rosie almost laughed, a huff escaping him as she confirmed every suspicion he'd harboured about her unorthodox work hours. Lifting a hand to her cheek, he brushed her hair away from where it had stuck to half-dried tears. "Oh, honey," He uttered before he'd had a chance to actually consider the words, the pair of them brushing past the term of endearment without a second thought, as if it were the most normal thing in the world. "He's gonna be fine. Egan'll come back in a couple hours, and you can both apologise to each other, and everything'll be fine."

She sniffed sharply, nodding, and he chuckled as she reached up to tug the zipper on his jacket all the way up past his collar, the sheepskin brushing against his chin. "Don't get... like... shot, or anything."

He grinned, nodding affirmatively. "Duly noted. Nice pep talk."

Frankie smiled then too, thumping him in the shoulder like she always did when he teased her. "I'm not kidding," She chuckled. "If every person I'm seen talking to before a flight fucking dies people will start thinking I'm bad luck."

Rosie raised a brow at this, flicking away another stray strand of hair that had gotten caught on her eyelash. "Well... of all the ways to go, I'll take your weird bad-luck-magic any day."

She sniffed again, her eyes still red from almost crying. "Thank you," She nodded earnestly.

"Alright. I'll see you later?"

"You hope," Frankie joked, smile flickering for a moment as she realised the remark may have been in bad taste, but he chuckled nonetheless, opening the hatch and climbing up into 'Royal Flush'. As his head popped up in the belly of the machine, Rosie noticed his co-pilot crouched on the floor beside him, eyeing him with a raised brow.

"... What?"

"Jesus Christ," Pappy muttered, pushing himself to his feet and worming his way through to the cockpit.

"Pappy, what?" Rosie insisted, close behind him. The man batted him away, and he threw up his hands in frustration, sliding into the pilot's seat.

"This thing ain't as sound-proof as you think it is, that's all I'm sayin'."

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Frankie squinted in the midday sun as she lay in the grass beside the runway, the tall grass blowing in and out of her peripherals on the cool breeze. The wait was always agony - the uncertainty, the sense of powerlessness, the surety that some of the men who had left were never coming back. It seemed word of her public argument with Major Egan had travelled fast, for as soon as lunchtime rolled around, there was George. She never bothered to walk all the way to the airstrip from the command centre, but today she had made the hike, a paper bag full of cheese and cucumber sandwiches in tow.

Lemmons sat silently, cross-legged in the grass as he enjoyed his lunch. "Thanks for this, ma'am, it was real nice of you," He nodded appreciatively, making up for his and George's lack of familiarity with polite flattery.

"Yeah," Frankie agreed, speaking with a mouth full of cheese. "Much better than the shit coffee and stale crackers we keep in the hut."

George furrowed her brow, frowning questioningly over at Ken. "No refrigerator," He shrugged, offering no further explanation.

Frankie ate with one hand, a difficult task when lying down, half of the sandwich filling falling out onto her chest. But her other hand was draped across George's leg as she painted her nails a subtle shade of mauve, scolding her whenever she twitched. When she was stressed, she smoked too much, and George had long since realised that the best way to curb the bad habit was to distract her with food, or to ensure her hands were indisposed. On a particularly stressful afternoon such as this one, it seemed combined efforts were in order.

"... You don't think Bucky hates me now, do you?" Frankie asked quietly, her two companions frowning down at her.

"What are you, twelve?" George snorted, carefully finishing off the edges of her thumbnail. "He'll get over it. Grown-ups fight, dear."

"You're both having a hard time," Ken added. "He's just blowing off steam, I don't think he meant any of it."

"I meant what I said. When I said it, that is."

"Once you got drunk and told me you wanted to rip my eyes out because I was too pretty - I haven't held it against you," George shrugged. "You definitely meant that at the time."

"I'm easily frustrated."

"Yeah, no shit."

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

George's watch ticked steadily past the time they had expected the planes to return. She didn't return to work - didn't leave Frankie's side - sitting beside her in the grass, a deathly silence hanging over them as she began to pick and chip away at her freshly dried nail polish.

"They should have been back by-"

"Shh." Frankie interrupted sharply, an utterly dreadful sense of foreboding hollowing out her gut. She didn't realise how thoroughly she'd picked at her hand until her finger came away bloody. Where were they?

The sound of an engine rattling above made their ears prick, gazes locked on the same spot on the great blue horizon as a single plane came into view.

Just one.

Before she even realised she was nauseous, Frankie had vomited the contents of her stomach onto the grass in front of her. If none of them had returned, it could have meant any number of things. She knew exactly what one plane meant. She didn't even watch it land, just stared down at the stinking puddle before her as it soaked into the dirt.

In her mind, she had a choice now. When the time came to head over, she had to decide on who she was praying would climb out.

Bucky or Rosie.

Even if it was neither, it couldn't be both.

But then a second rumble sounded, and before she'd had time to look up and track its movements, another plane was pulling in, its wings jagged and torn, engines sputtering as it slowly descended.

'Royal Flush'.

A terrible, ragged noise escaped Frankie's throat, something between a sob and a sigh of relief. Scrambling to her feet, George thrust her half-empty flask of lukewarm coffee into her hand, and she downed the whole thing, the bitterness mixing with the acidic tang in her mouth, masking the smell of sickness as best she could.

Rosie hadn't even had time to register her approach. No sooner had he slipped out of the hatch did he feel the sudden crush of another body against his, her arms thrown around his neck, her hand in his hair, holding him steady. Suddenly he was breathing again.

He wasn't sure he'd ever held anybody so tight, relishing the feeling of solid ground beneath his feet as he wrapped his arms around her back, hands pressed so firmly against her skin that he could feel her rapid heartbeat beneath it, a desperate tether to life. She was breathing in his ear, his curls waving back and forth with it, and without thinking he reached up to pluck a piece of grass away that had gotten stuck in her hair.

Her breath didn't come easy - he could hear the laboured way she pulled in each inhale, as if a weight were pressing on her chest, keeping her lungs empty. When she spoke it was barely a whisper.

"Egan?"

Rosie shook his head ever so slightly, the guilt of what he knew he had to say eating away at him. "I gotta wait until after interrogation, I can't-"

Suddenly Frankie pulled out of the embrace, hands clutching either side of his face, forcing him to look at her. Her hands were gentle in the way they pressed against his cheeks, but in that moment it felt like a vice grip. That warmth he had become so fond of was gone, her eyes merciless, and Rosie knew in that moment that if he didn't tell her now she would never forgive him.

"He went down Frankie, they all- ... They all went down."

A horrible, agonising sound tore free from her throat, half whimper, half choke, and immediately she was blinded by the tears that filled her eyes. His fingers found hers, ever so gently prying her palms away from his face so that he could hold her again, pressing his lips briefly to her sweat-soaked temple. If he could, he would have stayed there for hours, for as long as she needed someone to be there whilst she wept. But he couldn't. For someone he'd known only weeks, walking away from her was suddenly the hardest thing he'd ever had to do.

Frankie didn't turn to watch him go, didn't spare a glance to the surviving Riveters as they climbed into the back of one of the trucks, whisked away to interrogation.

What the fuck could they say that wasn't already obvious?

She felt a hand press against her shoulder, and turned her head to meet Ken's gaze, his expression twisted with fear.

"Bucky?" He asked. The simple question was enough to undo her, and all at once Frankie burst into tears, accepting his embrace as he offered it.

Just fuck off. Get in your death trap and fuck off.

At least I'll have one less mess to clean up when you don't come back.

She couldn't breathe. Couldn't feel anything but a terrible, harrowing guilt, so heavy that it made her very bones ache. If she hadn't already upturned the contents of her stomach, she would have done so now, the desperate feeling of nausea left with nothing to cling to within her.

Frankie Bevan had lost people to war before. She had loved people and sent them away, and they had never returned. But not once in her life had she let them leave without them knowing she loved them. Not until now.

"He forgave you," She heard Lemmons murmur, his hand stroking her hair in that way her father used to soothe her when she got too mad - when the world got too heavy, too weighty for her hands alone. "He knew you didn't mean it."

She sniffed loudly, clutching at the dirty fabric of his coveralls. "He loved me, didn't he?"

"Oh yeah."

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Rosie sat on one of the benches outside the interrogation hut, staring down at the cup of Red Cross coffee that warmed his hands. They had made too many cups. He had walked in and seen them, laid out row by row, and taken the first of the front row like he was supposed to - leave the rest for the others. But there were no others. And suddenly the bitter liquid was the least appetising thing in the world.

The bench's wooden slats creaked as someone sat down beside him. Frankie was sitting on her hands, staring blankly at a fixed spot in the grass ahead. Wordlessly, he held the coffee out to her, and she took it, the hot liquid scalding her tongue as she took a sip.

"Jesus," She sputtered, grimacing at the sudden pain.

"Still hot," Rosie said.

"Yeah, I noticed," Frankie huffed, sucking in cool air through her teeth to soothe the burn.

"Hey, I'm really sorry about-"

"Don't," She interrupted, shaking her head. "You don't have to do that, it's okay."

At some point during their flight, Rosie had sliced the skin along his hairline, droplets of blood drying and encrusting his forehead. Frankie put the still-hot coffee down, reaching up to brush his curls out of the way with her thumb. Her hand was still warm from holding the cup, and he felt the urge to lean closer.

"That hurt?"

"Nah. It's just a scratch - I don't even know how I got it."

She nodded, hand falling back down at her side. Neither of them moved for a moment, but when Rosie lifted his arm she seemed to get the message, leaning into his side, arms wrapped around his torso. His chin rested atop Frankie's head, the smell of her hair filling his lungs with each slow inhale.

"I don't know what we're supposed to do now."

#masters of the air #masters of the air oc #masters of the air fic #rosie rosenthal #rosie rosenthal x oc #mota #mota fic #john egan #ken lemmons #oc: frankie #oc: george #fic | i'm your man

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