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hot-patootiee · 2 months ago

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Part 3

part 2 here. I’m writing these like right after my Calc BC exam and I have a killer headache but fuck it we ball. Aka Steve is not the only one to obtain brain damage because of an ex.

Don’t worry about the headache, I’m having a special gummy and chilling.

…

Eddie wakes up to an empty bed. He finds a note on the nightstand.

Had to go to work, see you later

-Steve

An idea forms in his head on what to do to help apologize. Steve’s constant complaints about the big empty house he lived in. How he wished Robin or Eddie could stay forever.

Eddie was still a little unsure. It would be quite an assumption to make. He would probably have to talk to Robin during her break and see if she would also be on board and if she thought it was a good idea.

But, he knew Steve would be ecstatic to have people he cared about close by. Eddie couldn’t help but remember the nights he was woken up from Steve calling to make sure he was alive.

It would suck moving away from Wayne, but Eddie figured that taking the relationship too serious would be better than not taking it serious enough.

Eddie decided that despite just waking up at this unholy hour (11 am), he would go see Robin and brief her on his plan.

When he got to family video, luckily, Steve was working in the back and Robin sat at the desk.

She perked up as soon as she saw him.

“Eddie I messed up.” Robin stumbles out with a groan.

Eddie waits for her to continue.

“I didn’t know that Steve thought you two were dating. He’s been talking about you for weeks and I never noticed.” Robin whines again, head dropping shamefully.

“I have just the thing.” And just like that Robin is up again.

“Really?” Robin exclaimed, jumping on her toes as she leaned against the counter. Eddie personally didn’t think Robin could show this much emotion, but with Steve’s stories, it doesn’t really surprise him.

“Do you think Steve would be on board with us living with him?”

“He’s been asking me to forever, it’s just my parents give me crap for moving in with a single man.” Robin replied plainly, hints of resentment lacing her voice.

“Well you’re 18 and therefore you make your own decisions. Do you want to move in with him?” Eddie probes and Robin smiles at him in return.

She nods hard, making her hair bounce with the stiff jerks of her head.

“I want to do something else too.” Eddie mutters.

Robin seems a little suspicious as she says “Good idea, but why?”

“This is kinda both a burden and a blessing. Steve’s been wanting it for a while, but it ultimately gives him more work to do.” Eddie points ponders slowly. He rolls over potential actions in his mind, seeing how smoothly they work before coming to a conclusion.

“Maybe just a nice night. Steve gets headaches and weed might help him relax. Or He’s been talking about hosting a game night forever, we could take care of everything and just let him relax.” Eddie shrugs, thinking through different dinner options and possibilities of what Steve would like.

“Ask Steve if there’s anything you can do to make his life easier. He’s selfless by nature so there’s probably something you’ve been doing that he doesn’t like.” Robin replies coolly. She then winces. “I should probably stop putting my feet on his dash.” She murmurs in a guilty tone.

“That’s a good idea.” Eddie nods.

“I gotta pack my shit, I’ll help you pack yours, you help with mine?” Robin inquires. The way she bats her eyes might’ve seemed flirty to anyone else, but it was evidently just effective manipulation. Because Eddie knew unless he was throwing all his shit out the window, she would immediately get bored and ditch him for a German dictionary.

News flash: she did.

…

Steve surprisingly did not get impatient as time trudged on. Eddie searched his face for any mark of displeasure, but failed to find any.

But, apparently Eddie just wasn’t the one seeing it. Something about Steve had changed a little bit, instead of backing down when challenged, he just dug his heels in. It reminded Eddie of the Steve in the upside down.

Allegedly Steve had been driving all the kids down to the new diner. Mike had been skeptical about Steve’s directions and had started loudly declaring that he had gone the wrong way.

“It’s not like you’re the intellectual authority on anything Steve.”

The breaks were hit so fast that all the boys jerked forward with the sudden stop.

According to Dustin Steve then yelled “WELL I AM THE AUTHORITY OF THIS GODDAMN CAR, GET OUT IF YOU HAVE AN ISSUE!”

Steve waited a few beats and when nobody moved, put down the parking break and the engine whined slightly as Steve shifted into first a little too violently and pulled out.

Mike was scared so badly that he just sat there petrified for the rest of the ride.

So, Steve was evidently frustrated.

Eddie went to visit Steve immediately after hearing what happened. When he found him, Steve was grumbling on his bed. Obviously still peeved about earlier, every few seconds he would reflexively rub his temples.

Steve nearly jumped out of his skin when he noticed Eddie.

Eddie didn’t say anything, he just pulled out a joint and handed it to Steve, who took it apprehensively.

“It helps with headaches.” Eddie weakly justifies, but it seems to be enough to convince Steve, who then leans forward and sticks his hand in Eddie’s pocket and extracts a lighter.

He lights the joint with little fanfare, like he was just having his third daily cigarette. He breathes it in easily before expelling the smoke through his pursed lips.

“This is a little different.” Steve comments, slightly more relaxed at the promise of a high that the joint brought.

“I swapped seeds with Argyle, I had sativa, he had indica. What you’re smoking, just indica, apparently argyle is trying to get the hybrid strain.” Eddie says in a blasé tone as he climbs into Steve’s bed.

“What’s the difference?” Steve asked before taking another hit, longer this time.

“It’s supposed to relax you more. Less high, but more relaxing.” Eddie loosely explains.

Steve hogs the joint a little, but Eddie honestly thinks he deserves it. When Steve finally plops his head on Eddie’s lap, he gets an idea.

Eddie sinks his fingers into Steve’s hair and slowly begins to massage his head. Steve immediately melted into it, muscles straining occasionally when Eddie dragged his fingers especially hard at a tender spot.

Conversation became less frequent as Eddie pushed his fingers into Steve’s jaw and massaged the tense muscles there. Steve made the occasional noise, a grunt or a strange trill that he seemed to find incredibly funny.

The tension and brewing migraine seemed to have completely melted off Steve, leaving him tired and happy. He giggled through half lidded eyes and smiled impossibly wide when Eddie left and came back with reheated leftover pizza from Steve’s fridge.

Eddie struggled not to focus on Steve’s face, his gaze traced Steve’s wide smile and the sparkle in his dark eyes.

“Kis’me” the words came from Steve with a slight lisp. An unwavering smile still plastered on his face.

Eddie obliged because honestly how could he not?

The movement caused Eddie’s face to feel like firecrackers were going off on his skin. The tingling sensation danced across his skin, warmth blooming from where Steve and him met.

Eddie couldn’t focus, incredibly overwhelmed by the assault on his senses of different textures and pressures. The plushness of Steve’s lips contrasted with the lean muscle Eddie’s fingers dug into.

Eddie pulled away when his lungs went tingly from lack of air. He giggled as Steve and him stayed close, puffing out breaths of air right next to eachother.

“Wish you could stay all the t’me.” Steve yawned out, stretching his back slightly like a cat and dipping further into Eddie’s personal space.

“I can.” Eddie replies firmly.

“Really?” Steve is smiling again, so wide that Eddie was worried it might hurt from pulling his lips.

“How’d you like that? I move in with you, maybe Robin too.”

Steve trills, making soft stringy vocalizations at Eddie’s proposal. Steve nearly seems to glow at the proposition.

“Youu move ‘n tomorrow?” Steve’s muscles jump erratically in excitement, his knees tapping and jerking like he can’t control it.

“If you still want me to in the morning.” Eddie whispered, stroking Steve’s hair.

…

When morning came, Eddie woke gently, the after effects of the high still cradling him and making him relaxed.

Unfortunately it didn’t last long as he heard a shrill whistle and the telltale thump of something falling and Robin’s witchlike giggles. Eddie reluctantly pulled himself out of bed and found the hallway scattered with boxes. He turned the corner and Will and El were both there, but not to make things easier. El had a little whistle she was happily blowing whenever someone passed her. Will seemed conflicted on whether he found it funny or entirely too disrespectful for him to take part in.

Unfortunately, the first time El did this, it scared Robin so badly that she nearly threw a box of her own clothes down the stairs.

And there Robin was, clothes halfway out of the box and engulfing her upper body. Steve was laughing his socks off which promptly led to a fistful of clothes being thrown in his face.

Eddie quickly decided he wanted nothing to do with this and quietly made his way back to Steve’s room.

Best to act like he didn’t know them for a few more hours.

…

When Eddie finally arose at a normal time (11:30am) he found Robin setting up the room across from Steve with her stuff.

“Heya birdie.”

Robin glared at him.

“I talked it over with Steve, he’s apparently thrilled enough to forgive me only after I cook gnocchi.”

Eddie makes a half confused noise.

“Potato pasta.” Robin paused. “And you’re helping.” Robin asserts, making Eddie grumble.

Eddie leaves without seeing Steve, opting to also grab his shit to move to Steve’s house. Luckily, he and Robin had already boxed up a majority of the room.

It was probably a good thing he’s moving, Wayne’s back couldn’t take the couch springs much longer.

He packed his boxes into the van, the summer sun making his sweat so much he was forced to change into one of his sleeveless tops.

When he arrived back at Steve’s the kitchen had been fully commandeered by Robin who was peeling steaming potatoes with her fingers. Eddie didn’t get more of a glance as he began moving his stuff upstairs, abandoning it in the hallway because he was a little unsure what room Steve would want him in.

During one of his trips back down to his van, Steve finally appeared. He was sitting next to the counter and stealing potato bits from Robin as she worked. He looked at home in his own house for the first time in a while. His eyes traced Robin carefully as she worked as if she’d disappear. When Steve noticed Eddie, his eyes immediately flicked over to him.

“Which room should I move my stuff in?” Eddie asked with false casualness.

“Mine.”

Steve made no move to help, which was honestly something Eddie fully expected. Instead Steve bounced his feet on the floor with a smile and stuffed another crumbling bit of potato into his mouth. Eddie had apparently failed to realize the two little gremlins sitting in Steve’s shadow. Will and Eleven similarly shoving potato bits into their mouths.

Eddie couldn’t help but smile at Steve’s happiness.

…

Later that night, with boxes still artfully scattered around the second floor, a train of children entered the house. Each carried either a food item to contribute or a housewarming present.

Max grumbled as she handed Steve the Apple pie that had evidently been made by the Sinclairs, judging by the streak of flower on the back of Lucas’s shirt.

Eddie was setting up ‘a game of things’ which he knew from experience would always wonderfully devolve into Regan jokes and idiocy.

Steve got to sit and relax as Eddie and Robin hosted the party, letting him play with the kids and receive their guilty apologies. Since they were still kids, Steve forgave them. Heck, he was way more self absorbed and dickish at their age.

When Eddie finished, he dropped behind Steve, putting his hands on Steve’s shoulders and beginning to rub into the tense muscles. Steve twitched occasionally when Eddie hit a knot, but otherwise seemed pretty content.

“Your metal music gives me headaches.” Steve says suddenly. “You play it too loud and it hurts.”

“Then I’ll turn down the music. You’ll never get a headache from it again.” Eddie affirms.

Steve just hums.

“I forgive you.”

Steve paused for a moment.

“But that doesn’t mean you can stop massaging me.” Steve snapped, head lolling back until it met Eddie’s arms.

AN: have a head massage while high, it’s the best thing ever.

Also, I just don’t understand grand gestures of love, they never made me feel good. Like thanks for the stuffed animal and candies, kinda doesn’t make up for you being a dick about my dead dog. How about you instead like make something that takes time and actually shows you give a shit or go out of your way to give me a good night. I don’t understand the fall in love fast thing a lot of people do. I cultivate my love by the light of the hearth, not the light of a firecracker.

Ps. If you want me to do a follow up where Nancy and him talk. Just let me know. It’s just I didn’t really see her as central part of this story. Thought it would be better to highlight the kids, Robin, and Eddie.

Tags @stripey82 @genderfluidbitch @mensch-anthropos-human @c4tharsys @scoops-aboy86 @breealtair @raleighrox @wannabe-edgy-grandpa @flustratedcas @shoujo-wizard @polysdoitforscience @exasperatedsighohmy @piemaker93 @tinyplanet95 @skepticalqueen @sharingisntkaren @scarletyeager @crypticcrytid @midnightskeeper @wheneverfeasible @ancientwormcivilization @fucjinf-whatever-dude @estrellami-1 @queenofshenanigans @grilledcheesehasfeelings <- get out of my walls

@ellietheasexylibrarian @live-laugh-love-dietrich @turinspeachjam @me-ig7 @revevivant @motherofpirates @xxfiction-is-my-realityxx @samsoble @legalmenace87 @thehanwen @bigspongey @thedragonsaunt @newagemyth @pentapoctopus @my-hyperfixations-hell-blog @bumbledoubletea @blackbirdflyflyfly @what-if-a-dragon @reddiandbyler4life @i-think-i-thunk @gregre369 @fiddledeedee85 @ladykailitha

You know the drill, rest of the tags in the comments.

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thewriteadviceforwriters · 13 days ago

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🔪 3 Plot Twists That Slap (and 1 that should be arrested) 🔪

hello and welcome back to me yelling on main about storytelling crimes. today we are talking about plot twists. specifically: the good, the god-tier, and the why-would-you-do-this-i-trusted-you tier.

let’s go.

✨ The Twist That Reframes Everything ✨ a.k.a. the “wait. WAIT.” twist. This is when you drop a twist that doesn’t just add drama - it recontextualizes the entire story. It makes the reader go back and reread earlier scenes like “was this character ALWAYS sketchy or am I just stupid??” It retroactively changes the emotional weight of everything that’s happened. Suddenly that offhanded comment in chapter three hits like a brick. The romance subplot becomes 500% more tragic. The villain’s motive makes SENSE now. Delicious.

✅ Best used when: the breadcrumbs are subtle but real. The twist shouldn’t come out of nowhere - it should feel inevitable in hindsight. Like Sixth Sense, Knives Out, that one betrayal in your favorite anime you still haven’t recovered from.

2.🧨 The Emotional Betrayal It’s giving: “i would’ve died for you” energy. This is the kind of twist that hurts. You thought they were loyal. You thought they cared. They did care - and still did it anyway. Or they never cared, and now you’re spiraling. This twist slaps because it’s not just about plot, it’s about trust. It stabs the characters AND the reader in the same motion. Bonus points if it’s a slow burn betrayal. Bonus bonus points if the betrayer feels genuinely torn up about it.

✅ Best used when: the reader is emotionally attached. Don’t waste this one on a side character we barely know. Save it for the love interest. The best friend. The mentor figure with dad energy. Make it personal. Make it RUIN lives.

3. 🧊 The “They Were Dead the Whole Time” but Make It Interesting Listen. This one’s risky. It’s a classic for a reason but also easy to flop. But when done well? Haunting. Creepy. Unhinged in a gorgeous way. It doesn’t have to be death either - maybe the character’s been possessed. Or they’re not real. Or the narrator’s memory is lying. The KEY is to not lean too hard on the shock. Lean on the vibes. Give it eeriness. Make it a slow unraveling. Give us dread. Give us melancholy. Give us psychological decay with a side of unreliable narrator.

✅ Best used when: you’re writing something surreal, gothic, speculative, or emotionally weird. This twist isn’t about plot logic, it’s about atmosphere and emotional rot.

🚨 The Twist That Should Be Arrested: “It Was All a Dream” 🚨 I’m sorry but. no. if I read 80k words of someone’s descent into madness just to find out it was their stress dream and now they’re normal again?? I will throw the entire book into a lake. This twist erases tension instead of escalating it. It invalidates everything the reader emotionally invested in. It’s the narrative equivalent of gaslighting. don’t do it. UNLESS - and this is a big unless - you’re doing it with INTENT. Meta intent. Dream-within-a-dream psychological horror intent. If you’re gonna do it, it better haunt me. It better RUIN me. Otherwise? Into the lake.

okay that’s all. go forth and commit plot crimes responsibly. bonus points if you use all three Good Twists in the same story and then look me in the eye like “oh was that too much?”

it wasn’t.

tag me when you emotionally destroy someone with it.

🕯️ download the pack & write something cursed:

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bitchy-craft · 26 days ago

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PICK A CARD: your next self-love improving exercise

Hello and welcome to this pick a card! In here I will give tell you what exercise you should do to better your self-love and through there be open to love from others. I hope you all find this fun and interesting!

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for the extended version of this reading and 80+ exclusive and extended pac's check put my patreon

Pile 1:

Stand in front of the mirror, clothed or naked doesn’t matter whatever you are most comfortable with, and look at yourself, truly see what you look like. Look at your eyebrows, your eyes, your nose, your lips, your chin, your jawline, look at all the wrinkles in your face and see all the years you have lived right through it. Look at your body, your neck, shoulders, arms and hands, look at your chest, your body, your hips, thighs, legs, ankles and feet. Look at every inch of your body in detail and truly take the time to take all of it in. Mention the things about yourself that you find prettiest about yourself, and if you find it hard to give yourself compliments mention the parts of yourself that you are okay with, or find the ‘least ugly’, whatever you wish to name it mention the most positive things you can tell about to yourself. Then, find the parts about yourself you are most insecure about, the parts you wish to avoid when looking at yourself, the parts you hide in your clothing and have tried to fix for years on end. Look at these parts of yourself and compliment them, compliment each and every part you find ugly or not worthy about yourself.

extended reading > paid readings

Pile 2:

Make a journal and think of a couple of prompts for you to write about regarding self-love and having to think of yourself in a positive light. You can do this once, try to keep it up for a week or maybe even a month. The more you do this the better your self-love will become. If you find personal prompts to be too big of a step you can also make sure to do prompts about the day you had to make that a bit more positive in the end; like naming five things you liked about today. If you had a very bad day doing this exercise can make you see the positive sides of it. When it comes to journal prompts regarding self-love they really don’t have to be that difficult; think of five things you like about your appearance or personality, think of ways you show others love and how you can use this on showing love to yourself, think of things you’ve forgiven yourself for, things you’ve overcome in your life, reasons as to why you’re strong and deserving of love, or things you would do if you truly believed in yourself and weren’t insecure about it.

extended reading > paid readings

Pile 3:

Catching yourself in bad thoughts is what you should try in order to do in order to really work on your self-love. You criticise yourself a lot, more than you realise, way more even. You do not notice if you call yourself dumb, insolent or a loser, you aren’t aware of any of it. You have to catch yourself cussing at yourself, calling yourself names, hurting yourself or do any other thing that talks down on you, your personality, your looks, or your skills. The moment you catch yourself try and reverse the way you think; of you call yourself ugly instead remind yourself that you’re beautiful. If you think you’re dumb call yourself intelligent. Find the positive things about the negative ones you’ve been thinking about. Other things that might also do you well would just be repeating affirmations to yourself mainly focused on self-love but can also be directed towards your overall insecurities. They don’t have to be too detailed or long; I am enough, I am proud of who I am, I am a beautiful person, I am intelligent and compassionate, I do not need to be perfect in order to be worthy of love, and I deserve as much as all those people around me I give so much to are just enough.

extended reading > paid readings

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lcriedlastnight · 8 months ago

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hihi congrats on 500 followers wohooo!!! i love your writing sm you deserve 500 and many many many more <3

for your special how about either oscar or lando (you decide bb) who always wants his best friend (reader) to come to one of his races and then that ONE time it actually works out he wins and instead of being normal about it the first thing he does is run to his bestie and kiss her ?? romcom vibes iygm <33

have fun with it lovie!! if you don’t want to write it don’t worry it’s just an idea ofc

my baby i love the bones of you! i love love love this idea tysm 💗

reqs are still open cuz my laptop is fixed!!!

1.2k words.

oscar didn’t mind that you had a life outside of him. he honestly didn’t. most best friends did. he himself had a life that didn’t revolve around you so why should he expect you to? his mother had told him that it was the part of him that was in love with you that wanted him to be the centre of attention. at first he was shocked by the very thought of being in love with you. but then when he saw you for the first time after that conversation with his mother, it hit him like a grand piano falling on top of him in the middle of the street.

since his realisation he had begged you to come to a race and cheer him on. it baffled you because for as long as you had known oscar he had never really bothered about you coming to watch him race, it’s not like he came to watch you type up a report at your office. so when he started getting on your case about it, well it made you wonder what exactly had changed.

“please! i am begging you to come with me. just this once.” oscar had pleaded from your couch. it was the summer break and he had decided to stop over at yours for a sleepover, having missed you while being away racing for the past god knows how long.

you rolled your eyes. “why do you keep asking me? you never cared before.” you retorted knowing that this would shut oscar up. it always did.

“i miss you a lot while i’m away. you are my best friend you know. face time doesn’t do it for me anymore.” oscar had pulled your feet to rest on his thighs as some stupid romcom played on your tv in the background.

you don’t know what tugged at your heartstrings this time, maybe it was his honestly and not shutting you out this time. or maybe it was the face that you really did want to watch him in his element. you would’ve killed to watch him win his first race, even under the circumstances.

“fine but you better win to make it worth it.”

this conversation plays in oscar’s mind the entire way to baku. you sat next to him nervously. it wasn’t your first time flying, but it was your first time flying in max verstappen’s private jet with your best friend, his teammate and the current world champion.

oscar’s hand makes its way over to your knee to give a supportive squeeze and both lando and max can tell that there is nothing platonic about the two of you. lando wonders when something will get done about it.

★・・・・・・★

was it too ridiculous for oscar to hope for a only one room, only one bed situation? when he had confided in lando - he laughed in his face. so it was safe to say that it was but that didn’t stop oscar from hoping.

you end up in the room beside oscar, close but not close enough. you were oscar’s guest for the entire weekend, except thursday. that was your day to explore the wonderful city, this was such a long way from home and you were so excited to find some of the city’s most beautiful areas. this was an agreement you had made with oscar about your time here and he had begrudgingly agreed. he would rather with him the whole weekend but you knew how media days worked and if you were honest you could’ve be arsed with the whole hassle of it.

oscar wasn’t too fragile to admit that he did in fact miss you while you were off galavanting. he wanted to be there with you but alas, he had a job to do.

when you eventually did return to the hotel around dinner time, you sat with oscar and showed him everything you had seen that day while he listened intently with the biggest smile on your face. he owed his mum big time.

oscar does great over the practice sessions and you enjoy getting to watch him race around the track, getting a feel for the weekend ahead of him. watching him made you realise how much you actually enjoyed watching f1 as a whole. not even just your boyfriend- i mean your best friend. not that you wanted him to be your boyfriend or anything, that would just be crazy!

on saturday you watch oscar cross the line and qualify second on the grid and it makes you buzz with excitement. you wait for oscar in the mclaren garages to congratulate him. not really knowing where you should be during this time of celebration.

oscar finds you moments after his interview and pictures are taken like it’s his only purpose this weekends. you elect to ignore the raging butterflies the look in his eyes gives you when he finally spots you in the sea of papaya mechanics.

“hi! well done that was amazing! you were so fast!” you say through a giggle as oscar engulfs you in a hug that is worthy of the big screen. oscar mumbles something into your neck and all you can think is that you could definitely get used to this.

★・・・・・・★

the sight of a ferrari and a redbull colliding made your stomach sink. even when you knew both drivers were okay it worried you to no end, knowing that oscar puts himself in the way of that kind of danger multiple times a year and you had no idea just how dangerous it was until now. the chaos made your mind temporarily forget about oscar leading the race.

in what feels like seconds later, oscar crossed the finish line first and like a sheep you follow the mechanics to watch the podium.

what you didn’t know though, was that oscar had only one thing on his mind at the moment. and it wasn’t even getting his second win and proving all the critics wrong when they said that he wasn’t deserving of that win in hungary. he had to see you. his lucky charm. he raced like a god out there and in his love-struck mind he had no one else to thank other than you.

after stopping his car and almost sliding off of it he spots you waiting for him and his mind doesn’t take a second to think about what he’s about to do as he races towards you with what must be the biggest grin you’ve ever seen on him. his flushed cheeks and the pure sparkle of happiness in his eyes makes you light up with joy. he gets to you in record time and you don’t get to tell him well done or even let him know that his mum is a few people away because he is taking your face in his hands and he is planting the sweetest kiss on your lips. he doesn’t ask and even though it doesn’t bother you, you can tell he feels horribly about it when he pulls away and eventually spots his mum. with no time to talk about what happened you just let him run over to her with a grin that matched his.

there was plenty of time to tell him how much you loved him once he got down from the top step of the podium anyway.

neither of you were aware of the cameras on you during that (what should’ve been) private moment so when you show oscar a cute edit of the both of you, where the clip of what your first public ans actual kiss was played first he just pulls you in for another that was probably your fifth hundred.

#f1 imagine #oscar piastri fluff #oscar piastri fic #oscar piastri oneshot #oscar piastri x you #oscar piastri imagine #oscar piastri x reader #op81 x y/n #op81 fluff #op81 imagine #op81 x you #op81 x reader #op81 fic #f1 fluff #f1 oneshot #f1 x reader #f1 fic #f1 fanfic #lcriedlastnight 500 followers special

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wonderlandwalker · 2 years ago

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Nurse Nightingale | James Potter x Reader

Marauders Masterlist / Taglist / Inbox

Summary: Someone wakes you up in the middle of the night, when you realize it's James looking for help you don't have the heart to refuse him

Content Warnings/Tags: fluff, blood, bruising, cuts, mentions of violence, insinuations of smut

Word Count: 1k

A/n: I'm currently using the uni holiday as an excuse not to study so now I'm writing non-stop instead. Not quite smut but sorta if you're willing to squint

*Knock knock*

You turn around, looking at the clock on the bedside table. Who the hell is knocking on the door at 3 AM?

*Knock knock*

You turn onto your stomach, pushing your pillow over your head in an attempt to block out the noise.

*Knock knock*

It’s louder this time, more determined, and you hear someone speak: “Y/N, it’s me. Please let me in.” He’s rambling a bit, he sounds tired as well. A shiver goes through your body at hearing his voice, his voice always seems to mess with your head in a way nothing else can.

“What are you doing here James? It’s 3 AM.” You ask, through the still closed door, your voice dripping with sleep. “Just, please, open the door..” He sounds desperate this time, so you decide to do what he asks. You stand up, maybe a little too fast, making your head spin, and walk towards the door. You open it, meaning to step aside to let him in, but when you see him illuminated by the hallway, you freeze. He’s bleeding, a cut starting at his nose and going diagonally underneath his eye, he’s straightened his glasses but there's a crack in them, another bruise at his temple, one on his lips, those soft lips you always think about, even a bruise below his ear on his cheek masking his jawline. “What in Merlin’s name happened to you?” You hear yourself whisper, more at yourself than him. “It’s nothing..” he slures out “.. just wanted to see you.” You move aside to let him into the empty room and he takes the opportunity, walking towards the bed, but not before grabbing you by your waist and giving you a quick, but passionate kiss. He takes you by surprise with it, your mind still trying to wrap around what happened, and your body falls into him, making him hiss from the cut on his upper lip, but he doesn't seem to want to stop regardless.

He sits down on your bed when he breaks the kiss, and you turn on the bedside lamp to get a better look at him. Small bruises are forming on his arms, and his muscles seem strained, his exhausted body melting into the bedding.

“Lay down, I’ll be right back.” you mumble at him before moving to the other side of your room where you left your wand. After a little searching, you find it, but with how tired you are, you’re not sure how much you trust yourself with it. You remember the small first aid kit in your bathroom, and move to get it before making your way back to James.

You see him struggling to take his jumper off, and move over to help him with it. Once it’s off he moves to lie down, and you put some extra pillows under his head, making him sit up a little more before pouring the sterilizer on a towel. You look over at him again, and wonder about how you’re going to do this, when you see him stretch his arm out to you. You take his hand and he pulls you onto his lap, making you straddle him and giving me the perfect position to patch him up.

You look at his chest, covered in blooming bruises, and when the towel hits the few open wounds, he groans a little, instinctively moving his hands to your hips to ground himself. His eyes are closed, and even though he looks like he should be in pain, he seems relaxed.

He stays quiet the whole time, only the occasional hiss or groan leaving him. And when you’re done, having put everything back in its proper place, he asks you silently: “Can I please stay over” “Of course you can, I’m not letting you wander back in this state.” you tell him while moving to lie down beside him. He doesn’t seem satisfied though, and pulls you in even closer.

After a few more minutes of silence, you ask him: “Jamie, what the hell happened to you..?” “It’s, it’s nothing, really, just-" He seems a little hesitant, so you wait for him to continue. “There, there were these guys…” He sounds a little angry, but you still don’t know what he’s talking about. “Do you remember the party that was going on, earlier tonight?” “Of course I do.” you tell him. You had gotten tired early, and decided to head to bed while the others stayed a while longer. “Well, turns out some of the Slytherins had noticed you, and they were talking about you.” He seems even angrier now, you remember this look, it’s similar to the look he got when he lost the Quidditch house cup, except this seems more personal somehow. “They were talking about you, telling their stuck-up friends all the things he would do to you- calling you names and saying how he-” you see him clench his fists, his knuckles turning white. “He was telling them how he would-, bloody hell, I can’t even get it out of my mouth. But I couldn’t stand it anymore, so I, well, I may have punched him.” “You did what?” you ask him, not fully wanting to believe what he’s telling you. Sure, he get detention often enough, but never for fist fights, he doesn't get in fist fights. “I punched him, and I got into a fight with him and his friends.” The hesitance is back now, replacing his anger. “I’m sorry y/n, but I couldn’t stand him saying those kinds of things about you.” You smile a little, and he looks confused. “You got into a fight to defend my honour, Potter?” Your smile only growing. He only nods and you don’t hesitate to lean in, kissing him softly. You can still taste the blood on his tongue, but you don’t care, and he doesn’t seem to either.

You shift over, and he pulls you in to straddle his lap once again. You give him a quiet “I love you” in between kisses. He doesn’t need to say it back this time, his actions having spoken louder than words.

599 notes · View notes

ashisill · 4 months ago

Text

Ethereal

Josh kiszka x fem reader

He wants you until it starts to become a serious relationship. He’s found excuse after excuse not to make you his and you’ve had just about enough.

Warnings: (language, fighting, crying, smoking, drinking, friends with benefits, drunk and angry Josh, unprotected sex, overstimulation, f dom, vulgar language, subby Josh, and I believe that’s all)

AN: This might be my last fanfic for a while. I’ve been getting pretty discouraged recently which I try not to do. I’ve been spending so much time writing but not getting much out of it. I know I struggle with grammar a little but I’m trying to get better. I’ll still be active on tumblr but I’ll be taking a break from writing. I hope you all understand <3

Ethereal: extremely delicate and light in a way that seems too perfect for this world

It was a warm summer night in the middle of June. You should be home in your bed or relaxed smoking a J. Instead you’re naked in cold hotel sheets. Josh is standing on the balcony smoking a cigarette. If his brothers knew you were tangled in his sheets they’d surely give him a lecture. It’s not that you’re bad for Josh. Truth be told you’re the only person they want Josh to get with. It’s just that he’s convinced himself he can’t handle a relationship. He loves to play pretend like you two are together until it gets too serious. He drags you along but refuses to settle down. It’s not fair to either of you. Therefore they try their best to pull you two apart. He’s absolutely crazy for you but what is stopping him from making it official? It’s no secret. Everybody knows his feelings for you. Even though he tries to hide it from the guys. Jake’s the only one who truly knows about your secrets in the dead of night. Although it’s not that hard to assume you’re sleeping with each other.

“Josh you can’t keep fucking her”

“What else am I supposed to do Jake?”

“I dunno maybe take her out on a fucking date”

“ I don’t date. I can’t date. I don’t do ‘domestication’ you know this. I haven’t dated since high school. There’s a reason”

“And she’s about the only girl you’ve had sex with since high school. How do you think she feels being drug around from city to city for your pleasure?”

“My god don’t say it like that. She knows I cant settle down with her”

“She’s okay with being your fuck buddy even though you’re both hopelessly in love with each other? No Josh shes not. She tells you that so she doesn’t have to lose you”

“That’s not tru-”

“I’ve talked to her myself. She can’t wait forever and you’re going to continue to take advantage of her until she finds another. Then what are you gonna do?”

“She didn’t tell you that don’t you lie to me”

“Who cares what she said or didn’t. What are you gonna do when you lose her Josh? That’s what’s important right now”

Truthfully you can never see yourself moving on from him. Is it unhealthy? Absolutely. You both play pretend and act like best friends. Around the others it looks like nothing more than platonic feelings. They know better and so do the both of you. Except let the word ‘relationship’ get thrown around and Josh panics. As much as you try you just can’t understand. Why is he throwing you away? You’ve traveled the word to stay by his side. You take care of him better than anyone. You cook elaborate meals for him, you calm him down when he’s frantic, and you fuck him like a porn star. Any other guy would have jumped at the opportunity. Including his brothers but here you are waiting hand and foot for him.

“Josh?”

He’s sliding back the balcony door and walking towards the bed. He sits with his back facing you. “Yeah?”

“I bought a plane ticket back home”

“What why?”

He’s facing you now, hairs a wreck, and his eyes are bulged.

“Because I’m done Josh. I’m done being your fuck buddy, I’m done traveling city to city on a maybe, and I’m done with the excuses. Obviously you don’t want me because if you did you would have made me yours by now”

“That’s not true y/n you have to understand-”

“I’m done trying to understand you Josh!” You’re frantically throwing your clothes on and shoving the rest in a suitcase.

“You can’t leave y/n! Come on this is crazy”

“Do you know what’s crazy Josh? Spending this long waiting for a man who won’t even hold my hand in front of his brothers”

“Y/n I explained it to you. Just put the bag down and we’ll talk”

“Talk about what Josh? About how you’re ‘not ready’ and you ‘can’t handle a relationship’. I can’t keep killing myself for you to love me. Why don’t you love me? Why Josh why?”

“I-”

“What can’t talk your way out of this one?”

“I do love you y/n”

“Well that’s fucking big of you huh?”

“Y/n!”

“Can you tell me right now? Tell me that you want this? You want us”

He’s stammering on his words and staring into your eyes. He can’t form a sentence even with your threat of leaving. You look at him in shock and throw your hands up in the air. “Well then I guess that’s it then?”

“No y/n I do want you please. Please just stay”

“Us! I want you to want us! You’ve made it more than obvious that you don’t”

“Y/n please” he looks like he’s about to cry but you don’t care. You can’t care.

You grab your suitcase and open the door. Hes gripping your arm and pleading with you. “Y/n please I’ll change. Just don’t go”

“Josh let me go”

“No! God damn it y/n listen to me! Please I-”

He’s hurting you with his strength of his grip. You even debate on if it will bruise. “Ouch Josh let go of me”

“Y/n I can’t do this without you”

“Then you should have fucking thought about that before you treated me like nothing more than a fuck buddy”

You pull away and shove a finger in his chest. “goodbye Josh”

You slammed the door and turned down the hall. He’s laid up against the door pulling his hair. “Fuck fuck fuck”

You make your way to the hotel lobbiy and spot Jake sitting at the bar. You try to not catch his attention but who are you kidding. He’s now laid eyes on you and is very concerned as he waves to you. “Well well well what do we have here?”

“You don’t have to lecture Josh anymore because it’s over”

“Over?”

“I’m catching a plane back home so”

“Well hold on now. Come sit and have a drink with me”

He pats the barstool next to him and you sigh but join him. You order a drink to calm your nerves. “Wanna tell me what happened?”

“No” you throw back a shot.

“Might make you feel better. Get it off your chest before you leave”

Jake hopes he knows you well enough to convince you to stay. He stays quiet for a while giving you time to think. Just as he wished you start to open up.

“I told him I was leaving and asked if he was serious about us. Do you know what he said?”

“Do I want to know?”

“He said nothing Jake!. He just stared at me with that stupid face and his stupid brown eyes” you shout louder than you meant.

He’s the only person at the bar that didn’t give you a look of disgust. He smiles telling you to tone it down and continues.

“I’m not saying forgive him but you know he doesn’t mean that right?”

“Really Jake?” You punch his arm. “Sorry”

“Hey!” He laughs at your weak attempt of a punch. “I didn’t mean it like that. I meant he’s fucking stupid. When you force him to deal with things that way he freaks. I don’t know why but he’s always been that way. There was a time when we were kids were he couldn’t function without me during school. I was always there to pull him out of situations and find a solution to whatever was wrong. Now he’s gotten a lot more independent from me but he still depends on me for a lot. Hence why I always got a phone call after you two got it on”

“He calls you after?”

“Usually to bitch and moan about how bad he wants you yes”

“Why does he have to be so complicated?”

“Because he’s Josh and he can’t do anything without a struggle”

You sigh “I’ve noticed”

“Has he ever told you about Brooklyn?”

“I’m gonna need a lot more shots for this huh?”

“Well don’t get wasted if you going home”

“I don’t know what to do”

“Well you’re always welcome to crash in my room if you just need a break. Or if your determined to leave I’ll pay for your ticket and drive you to the airport”

You sigh “I dunno just tell me about Brooklyn”

“Well Brooklyn was Josh’s first love. They were together for two years, lived together, and it seemed just perfect. He loved her like truly loved her and we all thought she did too. Well Josh came home early from Europe and found a guy sleeping in their bed. She claimed he was drunk and needed a place to crash. He knew it wasn’t true and thankfully he left. For the next year she would do everything she could to fuck with him. She’d call him shitfaced and try to get him back. She would come by my house and try to talk to him. It was borderline stalking and I had to basically threaten her to leave him alone. Eventually she gave up after she met some other guy. Well now your here and he’s fallen in love with you and he’s terrified”

“But doesn’t he know I’m not her?”

“That’s what I’ve been trying to get through to him”

“I would never hurt him like that! Never would I be so careless with his heart. He’s become everything to me. So much so that I feel like a part of me is missing when he’s not around. That’s stupid isn’t it?”

“Stupid because it’s my dumbass brother. But I never see you smile with your teeth unless you’re with him. Both of your eyes seem to glow together. You don’t look at anyone the way you look at him. You’re in way to deep to just up and go home”

“I love love him dont I?”

“If love love means you can’t leave tonight then yes”

“I’m not going anywhere but he can’t get away with acting this way”

“Here”

He hands you his debit card and room card “you can order food and drinks from the room and they will bring it up. Take your bags and go get shit faced and I’ll fix this okay?”

You both rise to your feet and you wrap around his neck. You two have never hugged before so he’s a little confused. Jake’s not the affection type but you could tell you needed this. He pats your back gently and hugs you tight until you let go. “Thank you Jake”

“Anything for my future in law”

You shower in Jake’s hotel room and wrap yourself in a robe. You ordered sushi and a martini and your stretched out in Jake’s bed. It’s a lot cleaner in here than you thought and it smells of Jake’s cologne. It’s comforting in a way. You and Jake have gotten pretty close over the years. He’s saved you from a lot of stressful situations. Either you’ve gotten too drunk and he’s holding back your hair or you’re freaking out over something small. He’s always there to step in when the other guys give you a hard time. He knows your Josh’s and because of that he’s very overprotective of you. He’s the first to punch a guy for being to friendly with you. You’ve always seen him as a protector which is why you always go to him when something’s wrong. Even if you’re not trying to seek him out he’s always there. Tonight is a perfect example of Jake’s savior tendencies.

“Open the door you prick”

“I’m not in the mood Jake”

“Guess who I ran into at the bar?”

“Oh fuck” he’s swinging open the door.

“She left”

“She actually left!” he gasp.

“Josh she’s gone why wouldn’t you stop her?”

He’s being mean but he’s trying to teach him a lesson. He doesn’t want to be this way but he knows how Josh works. This is the only way to get through to him. You fight stubborn by being stubborn.

“I tried she wouldn’t listen”

“She’s probably tired of listening to bullshit”

“Jake do you not remember what happened last time. Do you not remember how bad it was for me? My god why dont you two get it?”

“Y/n isn’t her. You can’t use that excuse anymore”

“It’s not an excuse it’s the truth!”

“Fuck Josh. She’s not gonna hurt you stop treating her like she is. You tiptoe around her like at any moment it’s going to turn south. What happened to ‘fuck fear’?”

“I didn’t mean for any of this to happen” he runs his hands through his tangles curls. “I really do love her she’s all I’ve ever wanted”

“I know in your heart you mean that but you fucked up big time. She truly doesn’t think you love her because of how you’ve been treating her”

“Did she say when she was flying out?”

“As your brother it’s too late for that Josh”

“Fuck”

“I would say I’m sorry but you did it to yourself”

“Jake I can’t lose her!”

He’s pacing like a madman and his curls are pointing every which way. His eyelashes wet from tears and his cheeks pink. “Maybe this is good. Maybe you need to give her space. If there’s one thing I do know it’s that she loves you”

“Is that supposed to help? She’s gone!”

“Josh” he puts his hand on his shoulder.

“What am I supposed to do?”

“Go smoke a joint and calm down. You can’t do anything to fix it tonight”

“I would fight you but I know you’re right”

Josh heads to the balcony to smoke a joint and probably order a drink or two or three …

Jake swipe his card he sighs, shutting the door behind him.

“Well don’t you look cozy?”

“How’d it go with dumbass?”

“I told him you left and he’s drowning in self pity”

“Jake! That’s so sad! I didn’t say hurt him!”

“Y/n he’s lead you on for a year and you’re six hours away from home because of him. He was going to let you fly home I stopped you remember?”

“Right”

“Uh yeah don’t be stupid. Sip your drink and forget about him for tonight”

“That’s kinda of hard when he’s across the hall”

“Yeah yeah”

He’s laying beside you on his tummy. He’s stealing your sushi and also ordered a drink. This is the hardest you’ve laughed in months. You love moments like this with him. Purely platonic love. He’s the only guy you know that has never tried to get with you even when he’s under the influence. He’s sams got a little too flirty with you all in good fun of course. You’re both pretty intoxicated and the tv is suddenly the funniest thing ever. Both of you laughing and point at the stupidest things. Even the commercials are funny. You’re pleased to hang out with Jake all night. Your fun slowly started to fade away. When out of nowhere You hear a door slam which is odd for two in the morning. Next there’s banging on the hotel door. He rushes to the door and looks through the peak hole. “Oh fuck it’s Josh”

He cracks the door to find a very drunk and very angry Josh. “I was g-going to finda snack. I-I know that laugh. Y-you you prick”

“Josh go back to your room”

“Fuck you! You’re s-shirtless! Did you two f-”

“What the hell no we didn’t! Josh shut up its two in the morning”

“Fuck you!” He shouts louder.

Sam opens the door next to Jake’s room. “Josh shut the hell up?”

“He got to drunk and he’s accusing me of sleeping with y/n”

“Y-you lied to me! She-shes in y-your room!”

“Josh I just got her content and here you come with your bullshit”

“What is happening?” Sam asked shyly.

“Y/n said she was leaving, I calmed her down, offered my room for her to stay, and I tried to teach him a lesson by telling him she left. We’ve just been drinking and watching tv that’s all. Before you showed up we were actually having a pretty good time”

“Yeah so y-you can f-fuck her!”

Sam rubs his face “Josh I’m telling you to fuck off. You are beyond stupid if you think he would do anything with y/n. Go away Josh”

“No no no I need her! I need her!” He tries to push them out of the way.

“Joshua!” They shove him back. He attempted to throw a punch but Jake shoved him making him stumble. He falls back onto his hard hotel door and now you’re angry. Angry because he’s whining for you after he gave you away. Most importantly angry because they’re being so rough with him.

“Josh” you’ve appeared behind Jake making them all jump. His eyes widen and his breath has slowed. “You are a fucking mess”

“I know y/n” he looks down.

You hold back your anger with Jake and Sam because you know they were trying to help. You disappear back into the bedroom. When you return you’ve got your sushi plate and your martini. “Come on”

“What?” He’s stumbling around the hallway. You wrap an arm around his waist to steady him.

“Thank you Jake. Goodnight Sam”

He turns to cuss out his brother “yeah goodnight and fuc-”

“Shut up and get in the room”

You awkwardly shuffle in the room and he takes a seat on the bed. Neither of you look at each other. You live in painful silence before speaking to him.

“I guess you do love me huh?”

“Yes I fucking love you y/n”

“I never bought a plan ticket I just needed to clear my head”

“You didn’t have t-to scare me so bad. I thought I lost you” he’s still struggling to get the words out correctly.

“Maybe that’s what you needed to figure your shit out. Oh and I know about Brooklyn”

“Oh fuck y/n I’m sorry I-”

“Look I get it Josh but that’s doesn’t excuse the way you treated me”

“I can make it up to you I promise. Please just-” it chokes out of him. “Please y/n”

That noise reminds you so much of when he’s on the edge. As much as you hate it it’s turned you on. You test the waters carefully knowing he’s still fragile.

“Breathe … Can you make it up to me?”

You step closer to him and slowly undo your robe. “Oh fuck. Like this?”

“Like what?” You stand in between his legs. Your nails rake his shoulders gently up and down. He tries hard for his gaze not to wander your body.

He closes his eyes instead, leaning into your touch “mhm feels good”

“How drunk are you?”

“I can get it up” he smiles at you.

“M’sorry I scared you but you have to understand”

“I understand and I deserved it”

“Yeah you kind of did. Hmm. I guess you’ve been bad huh?” Your voice low and seductive.

A sly grin appears on his face. He’s enjoying this a little too much already. “So bad mama”

No words spoken you just point to the pillows. He rushes to obey you. “Good boy”. You straddle his waist and feel him through his boxers.

“Mhmm” he closes his eyes.

“Gotta stay with me baby”

“I’m here I’m right here. What you gonna do to me darling?”

“What am I gonna do? I’m gonna ride you until I’m done with you. And you gonna be a good boy and fucking take it”

“Oh fuck baby” he whines but you’re having none of it.

“Shut up”

You’re ripping off his boxers and stripping off his shirt. “Touch me. My god touch me”

“Enough”. You laid a hard slap to the side of his thigh making him shiver. He bites his lip trying to be a good boy for you.

He’s hard. Insanely hard. He’s swollen, bright red, and his tip aggressively leaks of pre cum. “So hard huh Josh? Oh so pretty for me sweetheart. Does your cock hurt baby?”

You’re speaking so vulgar it’s killing him. Normally it’s Josh doing all the dirty talk as he rambles on. Now it’s you and he thinks he’s fallen for you even more. Well if he could think about anything besides your pussy right now.

“Hurts so bad mama. So fucking bad”. He looks down at his cock with burrowed eyebrows. “Hm so hard”

“So hard”

You’re unbelievably soaking wet and you fight to stay focused. You start to slide your clit on his cock. “You’re so wet mama” it grunts out him.

He reaches down to feel you but you swat his hand. “No touching”

“But-”

“Am I gonna have to shove these in your mouth or are you gonna be good?” You tease your panties at him before throwing them his way.

“I’m gonna be good! I’m gonna be so good. So patient”

“Good boy”

He lives for your approval and gentle praise. He moans out without you even touching him. In an instant you’re sliding him inside of you and sinking down. It burns as he stretches your walls when he’s all the way in you cry out. He grips the sheets and gasp loudly. “Shit” he hisses through his teeth. His voice sounds the farthest thing from pleasure. His eyes squeeze shut and a string of grunts and moans follow.

“Josh?”

“Baby I can’t-”

“Gonna cry for this pussy? Gonna fucking cry Joshua?”

“M’sorry. So so sorry”

He’s moaning far too loud to be in a hotel room. He’s pulling at the sheets then he balls his fist and bangs them down on the bed. You let him cum as you rock back and forth. He starts to calm but you don’t stop if anything you speed up. He gasp out and reaches for you hips. “Didn’t I say no touching?”

“Y/n! Fuck! Please!”

“Oh you poor pathetic thing. Look at you Josh. Such a mess for me already? Fucking destroyed”

“I can’t-” it barely croaks out of him as you fuck yourself on his cock.

“Do you need your safe word?”

He shakes his head and you slow down a little bit. “You gonna let me cum?”

“Fucking use me y/n!”. Tears start to fall from the crease in his eyes.

“There’s my boy. Don’t cry baby I know how overstimulated this dick must be huh?” You say leaning down to wipe his tears.

You throw your head back grinding hard on his throbbing cock. He’s watching you in awe as if you were the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen. Because you are. You’re getting close and he can feel you squeezing him. Reminding him he’s not far from another orgasm. “M’close”

“I know you’re squeezing my cock so tight baby. Hugging him so good”

“You’re not far behind are you sweet boy?”

“Mhm gonna cum. Gonna cum so fucking hard”

Without another word because you both can’t form one. It’s intense and nearly impossible how hard both of you are cumming. His release starts to leak out of your cunt. Dripping down to your thighs. Your core and legs shake with pleasure. You’ve got him whining and whimpering out. He sounds so pretty and so fucked out. The noises that flow from both of you is nothing but a pornographic daydream. It’s the only thing you can focus on anymore. A beautiful filthy angelic harmony that only you two can understand. As he starts to calm you wonder how much he’s got left. You should stop. You should roll over and lay next to him, catching your breath. Whisper sweet things to him and cuddle up on his warm body. But do you?

Your hips start to roll and he looks terrified. “Y/n you’re gonna kill me!”

“Gotta empty that cock baby. I want it all”

“You’ve got it all mama please”

“One more pretty boy. Can you be sweet and give me one more?”

He looks like he’s in pain but he nods “of course I can”

Such a sweet and innocent response. You can see pure euphoria shimmering in his eyes. He’s gone yet he still smiles up at you waiting on your command.

You’re bouncing up and down on him. His eyes start to roll but you order him to focus on you. Every move you make is followed by a whimper and his body is nearly limp.

“I-I can’t. My cock hurts mama” he cries.

“Yes you can Josh look at me” You grab his face in your hands “I’m almost there my love. Take it baby can you take it?”

“Mhm I-I … I can take it” he whispered. He’s got a steady stream of tears down his cheeks. He reaches out to touch you and you allow it. He’s squeezing your breast and gripping your hips. He’s a complete mess just like you wanted. He’s so so so crazy beautiful like this. Sweat drips from his curls, his cheeks pink as ever, and his eyes glossy with pleasure and pain. You’ve never seen something so beautiful. Beautiful is a complete understatement. He’s … Ethereal. He can’t be real. You hovering above him but he can’t be. He’s so soft and gentle you can hold him like water in your hands. Too fragile for this rough and crazy world. He’s an angel that must have fell down from the heavens. It must be true he can’t be human. It’s few and far between when things in this world are flawless. Yet he lays before you completely perfect. His body sculpted from the gods. His personality built and crafted from all the things that make him Josh. That make him perfect. Tears are failing from your own eyes. You realize now you love him with every bone in your body. Every time your heart beats it beats for him. Your lungs breathe for him. You think without him you would just crumple away into nothing. You live for him. You love him. Your angel so ethereal. So wonderful and full of life. Your baby. Sweet sweet Joshua.

Your Joshua

“Oh Josh” you cry “you’re so beautiful my love. I love you Josh please don’t leave”

“I’m right here” he squeezes your hand.

His voice strained by whimpers as he speaks so gently to you. “I love you y/n. My god I love you”

“I love you too J-”

Your name is all he knows as he repeats it over and over. Like a prayer seeping from his lips. He can’t even warn you that he’s tipped over the edge but you know. A borderline screams rips out of his lungs as you cries for you. A hand reaches over his mouth as you whisper to him.

“So loud for me baby boy. So good … so” you start to trail off. Your own orgasm crashing down over you. You’ve collapsed on top of him you wish to stay there but know his throbbing cock needs a break. “Josh?”

His body is twitching and shaking. You fear you might have been too much. When he turns to you with a weak smile you feel better. “I know it’s supposed to be a punishment but I’ve never been fucked so good”

You smile at him lazily “I love you stupid”

“I love you and my cock definitely loves you”

“Hold me?”

“I’ll hold you forever my sweet girl. As long you let me”

“Good thing too because I’m never letting go. Took long enough to get you”

“You’ve always had me. I’m gonna be better to you okay? I’m gonna love you the way I should have in the first place”

“Can you start by ordering more sushi?” You tease playfully knowing the restaurant lobby is far from open.

He laughs the way you love so damn much. You rest your head on his chest, immediately being clouded by tiredness. His eyes are closed and a faint smile is present on his face. “Maybe tomorrow m’so sleepy”

“Goodnight Josh” you whisper.

He whispers back “Goodnight sweet girl. Pretty girl. My girl”

“All yours”

62 notes · View notes

blackhairedjjun · 1 year ago

Text

honesty - c.yj

pairing: choi yeonjun x gn reader | genre / tropes: angst, open ending, non-idol au, best friends to (potential?) lovers | word count: 818 | warnings: profanity, arguing, reader has a toxic ex, implied infidelity (from the ex not yj)

part of my 300 followers event (event masterlist)

prompt - HEAT: while engaged in a passionate argument with one another, sender, in the heat of the moment, blurts out “i love you!” to the receiver. think of like, that glorious trope where people have a huge argument and then suddenly sb drops the mic with “because i’m in love with you!” and silences the other person. u know the trope! (requested by anon - "maybe with a bf2lovers au ?")

author's notes: hi anon! tbh it took me a while to write this since i already did the heat prompt with a different member and i didn't want it to be too similar lol. the ending is more maybe-lovers than outright lovers, but i hope you still like it! <3

despite the calm of the river next to you and yeonjun, your circumstances are anything but. you tried to keep your voice low at first, but your emotions run so high that you’ve given up; you care little about the other people staring at you as they stroll past.

“for fuck’s sake, yeonjun!” you yell. “you’re my friend, not my dad!”

“and aren’t friends supposed to look out for each other?!” your best friend grips his hair in his hands as if to pull it out, then lets go. “i’m telling you to stop hoping for him to come back! he doesn’t fucking care!”

“shut up! you don’t know him like i do!”

“i know he broke your heart so bad that you locked yourself up for a week, and that’s enough!” yeonjun takes a few steps toward you, but you step back.

what was supposed to be a calm afternoon stroll with your best friend has now turned into an argument once you brought up the topic of dating your ex again. you open your mouth to speak, then press your lips together. a cool wind blows from behind you; in your silence you hear a young couple laughing by the riverside, and you envy them.

you know that yeonjun is right, but you refuse to give him the point.

“ he destroyed you, y/n. and now he’s pleading for you back when he’s been kissing others?! don’t you know any better than that?!”

“i do! so why don’t you trust me on this?! why don’t you believe me when i say he’s changed? you keep seeing him as the bad guy!”

“and why don’t you trust me?!” yeonjun’s own voice gets louder with each word, oblivious to the stares of others. “i’m not making it up when i say i’ve heard him flirting with girls, i’ve seen him make out with them at parties. i’m trying to protect you from more heartbreak!”

he sucks in a breath and his voice shifts from loud to trembling. again he steps towards you, but you don’t move away. you look down at your hands to avoid his gaze and find them shaking.

“he’ll break you all over again,” he says. “and i can’t let that happen to you again... i couldn’t stand it the first time.”

a voice in your head tells you that he’s not lying; your best friend has no reason to. you ignore it and root your feet to the ground. “and that’s none of your fucking business, yeonjun. just let me make this choice for myself! i don’t need you trying to tell me what to feel. why do you care so much, huh? why are you trying to control how i feel?!”

“because i一 y/n, you can’t be serious一”

“i am serious! why the hell do you care so much about this damn guy?!”

“because i’m in love with you!”

yeonjun’s eyes widen as he realizes what he just said and he takes a few steps back. you’re frozen to your spot, but you no longer feel rooted. instead you feel brittle, as if a single touch could send you crumbling. every nerve in your body feels primed to fall apart.

“shit, i never should have said that. god, i am so sor一”

“yeonjun...”

his name is barely a whisper from your mouth. you swallow hard, unsure what to say. you can do nothing more but stare at your best friend: the one you’ve told everything to, the one you trusted more than anything else, the one who held you in his arms when you cried after your ex broke your heart. the realization that he’s loved you all this time starts to sink in.

there’s an ache in his eyes now, one so strong that you look away. you take a deep breath and hold yourself together long enough to collect your thoughts.

“i am so sorry, y/n.” his voice breaks and you know he’s on the verge of tears. “i shouldn’t have said一”

“no, jjun.” his nickname weighs down on your tongue. “i... i just...”

you can see yeonjun’s shadow growing closer to yours. with one hand he reaches out for yours, trembling still; with the other he gently lifts your chin up to look at him. his eyes shine with tears, but the ache in them has lessened a bit.

you step forward and he collapses into you. you catch him as he stumbles forward, your arms finding his waist and his head buried in your neck. you hold him gently as you can, as if carrying a fragile treasure; his body shakes ever so slightly as he starts to cry and his tears wet your skin.

when you speak, your words are quiet and carefully chosen.

“i ran away from you, jjun. that’s why i tried to date him again... because i thought you’d never love me back.”

#txt x reader #yeonjun x reader #txt x you #yeonjun x you #choi yeonjun x reader #kpop x reader #txt imagines #kpop imagines #yeonjun imagines #txt angst #yeonjun angst #tomorrow x together imagines #txt fic #txt fanfic #yeonjun fanfic #bhj's 300 follower event 🖤#bhj: violet's works

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itz-skyline · 6 months ago

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"Back to another time" historical fanfic

a question to all napoleonic fans out there:

What should be changed or improved if a time travel were to travel back into the Napoleonic era?

So it's no secret of mine that I've been planning of writing a historical fanfic of a surgeon leonard dunard who's a pretty big napoleonic era nerd travels back in time during 1794 the siege of toulon. I've been kind struggling piecing this story together because of the not so many sources that I can go off

I just have alot of questions and not so many answers.

Now of course I'm not really thinking about giving napoleon the biggest W of all time there are going to be struggles but I think we can all agree that the peninsular wars and the attack to Russia can be avoided.

But I'm not only thinking of the way of how napoleon could've won but I was also think of how our modern surgeon Leonard could improve the medical field more.

I know that our boy larrey is definitely going to be involved since he was in most of the campaigns.

So I will just write down my questions under here and hope that some of yall can answer it I'll even organize it from which battle/chapter it would be used for you can ask me to explain further if some of it doesn't make sense.

Siege of toulon:

-how would a young surgeon inlist themselves into the medical field of the army?

-what was expected from a chirurgien sous aide major?

-what were the major issues the in the 18th century medical field? And how can they be fixed?

- how could dunard(oc) meet larrey? (So in what way could they have met eachother and stay in contact without napoleon introducing them to eachother)

Italian campaign 1796-1797:

-was is it common practice for surgeons to be in the midst of an active battle rescuing patients ?

-could a surgeon be given command to a battalion if it was needed?

-were nurses a thing in that time? And if not how could dunard incorporate them in the medical field?

-why wasn't there symbol for the medics to indicate that they're medical staff?

Egyptian campaign:

-how did the French army handle the spreading of the plague and could it be more improved?

-if the French fleet would have won at the battle of the nile against the British fleet would the British do more to sabotage the French army? Or would they just give up?

-> and would the Egyptian campaign only have taken 1 year to finish? Instead of 3 years

Italian campaign 1800

- what if desiax lived would he and davout been a unstoppable duo?

-if messena got navy support would he have continued fighting?

-should napoleon not have split his army that much in the battle of marengo?

Napoleons reign 1804-1812

-would it have been better if napoleon didn't become emperor?

-is it possible for a surgeon to become a marshal?

-could alot of the coalitions have been avoided if napoleon took the right steps?

Now I'm asking these questions because I struggle to find answers to these questions and I genuinely want to discuss more about my history fanfic so that I can maybe make fun fic to read that doesn't completely go of the rails i do kind what to keep it "realistic" if you know what i mean. so if your interested in it as I am I would love to talk about it more ^^

#napoleonic era #napoleonic wars #leonard dunard #time travel fic #historical fiction

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mscherub · 5 months ago

Text

Witchy Ways 🕸️

Reader is gender neutral, referred to as Prefect, Y/N, Henchhuman(by Grim)

Warnings!:

My writing cause what was I doing while writing this—

Swearing

Half proof read

Part 4: “The Umbrella and the Black Cat.”

Previous part here <3

Next part here <3 (TBD)

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Part 4: “The Umbrella and the Black Cat.”

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The thing to do now…hide away, maybe? With those readings you got, you’re put on edge, that prickly feeling on the back of your neck people usually get when someone is watching them, though, you’re not sure if you’re actually being watched or not. That’s also concerning. So, now this, and the fear of your own practice, it’s like this world you’ve gotten plopped in to is taunting you or something!

Feels like it for sure. And, you guess now knowing something else is coming your way in the future, things aren’t looking too bright. Up your protection spell magic maybe? It’d certainly be the most beneficial option for your safety right now…damn, having to think of your own safety in general is just a wild thing.

Part of you doesn’t want to believe the symbols you seen, instead of taking them as insightful ones, which is how they are supposed to be taken, they seem more like warnings…or threats, both are plausible answers. And going back to the whole idea of your magic acting up the way it is here, it’s safe to say you can’t just push the thought away or take what you got with a grain of salt.

To even attempt to get these raging thoughts to cease, you’re bordering the edge of the forest by ramshackle, foraging for certain herbs while, in hopes of even finding any, and dangerously close to just banging your head off a tree. Money was, as usual, very tight, so here you are poking around and trying to scrap together any herbs you can find to make your own little protection charms to carry around on you.

“Ahhh…what am I gonna do? Maybe not think about it? Like I could do that…this is really, really cumbersome…” As if talking to yourself would give you an answer, but it honestly helps to clear your mind a bit more and get your thoughts set straight. You carry a little satchel, messing with the drawstrings on the bag as you scout around.

“Weighing the options of safety…I mean for sevens sake, it’s never safe for me here anyways, but thats not…ughhh! It’s one thing after the other anymore.” You mutter again as you bend down and look at a plant…it’s spiky and an awkward blue color, and almost looks like it’s pulsating. This is definitely not a plant you’re accustomed to. Maybe it’d be easier to just go rob the Botanical Gardens because you are not getting too far over here. Though, you’d have to avoid the people frolicking around in there, like the science club kids, sevens forbid you run into Rook, you’re just screwed at that point, or Leona, but he probably wouldn’t care, scratch that, he wouldn’t. Just in and out for what you need, walk in like you own the place and people won’t question!

With a quick look around, scanning the area and deeming it safe to head off to your destination, you start off your little journey. There are easier ways to do protection spells, yes, but your magic is a little unpredictable so to speak, and maybe something like a little protection spell jar or charm would work better, and for a longer period of time for you. For now, however, just drawing a pentacle with your own saliva on the back of your hand should be enough for now, hopefully. You kinda know your own magic…kind of…

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The botanical gardens are always nicely kept, the plant variety that’s housed in here is definitely in the 100’s, and it’s always nice to come here and look at the various life forms when you quite literally have nothing else to do. You walk along the paths that twist and turn in search of the items you need for just a simple protection satchel…you didn’t have an jars left, so you had to make do with what you had, easy since that’s the way to go anyways!

The organization system of the whole place was usually followed to a T, the rest of the science experiments being done kept away in their own little section and keeping them from cluttering with the other plants. You find “row” R, and you walk down, looking for rosemary, which shouldn’t be that difficult to find. You know, it is kind of calming in the gardens, of course because of how peaceful it can be. You can see how Leona can fall asleep in here—

“Ah! Bonjour, Trickster! What a delightful surprise to see you here!”

Ignore him.

Just…pretend he’s not there. Can’t hear him. You stiffen up and you look down at the rosemary plant which you just managed to find…why now?

“Trickster?” His voice drops slightly and you nod, giving in and turning around to face him.

“Heyyyyy, Rook…” you force a smile. You have to stop thinking of situations in your head because clearly they’re gonna come true.

He smiles back and clasps his hands together, his eyes narrowing. “What is your reason for being here today, alone nonetheless? I see Monsieur Fuzzball isn’t accompanying you on this fine and gorgeous afternoon?”

“He’s just with the duo, like usual. He’s uh, I’ve been dropping him off there a lot lately, I’ve been busy…”

“I see, yet that still doesn’t explain the fact that you are here.”

Why is this man on to you in an instant? Can’t you just be left alone for once? In all reality you knew that couldn’t happen, but I guess it’s time to lie— again. “I’m just trying to get things for, erm— skin care! Yea! That’s it! Skin care, mhmmm! Rosemary is anti inflammatory, did ya know that? Also promotes hair growth…I was just gonna take a little is all. You know me, money is not my uh, not my friend cause it likes to avoid me. Yea.” Convincing enough.

“Ou la la! Why forage around for such items when Rou du Poison has the items already processed that you are in search of! I guarantee that his products will be better than any others, though it is just beautiful to see how hard at work you appeared to be while searching! Ah! Beauté how you try to conserve and take matters into your own hands!” He was as eccentric as ever, clearly.

He slips his hand to the upper part of your back and drags you along out of the gardens, conversing with you the entire time as he drags you off to Pomefiore grounds which never fail to be breathtaking, but also frightening since you know who runs them.

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“You never fail to surprise me.” Vil quickly states after he hears the reiteration of what you were doing from Rook, who, sits looking too happy at the moment, a smile wide across his face.

“Well, I apologize for not squandering my money off—“

“Exactly, you don’t have money to do that. But are you so humble that you can’t bother to ask help from others? Especially with matters that I expertise in, genuinely, Prefect, you are quite odd.” He sighs as he inspects his nails, uncrossing his legs then standing up. His heels click against the ground as he gets closer to you, his eyes critical as he looks over your features. You were stressed so if you looked a little off that would be why.

“What would you like? I can give you a rundown on your skin type if you’d like. Here, follow along.” And you’re dragged off again. Vil takes you to his room and sits you down promptly at his vanity and he begins to test multiple products on your arms and back of your hands like some guinea pig, but it was all in the best of interest for your skin, obviously.

“Which do you like better of the products? I have a lot procured to multiple skin types…I have to have them on hand for any of my dorm members. And now respectively you, of course.” He hums softly as he begins to take the bottles of products that matched and reacted well with your skin and he ushered you up and brought you to the bathroom to wash your face.

This was not how you intend to spend your afternoon. Not that you were fully against the entire situation, it just wasn’t ideal for the problem you have at hand, the one problem only you know about, but still! Out of all the things you said to Rook you had to say skincare. You could have said cooking and he’d have probably left you alone.

“Pat dry, don’t do anything else, it’ll disrupt and irritate the skin.” He chides as he strolls out of the bathroom and back to his vanity, spinning the chair to face your direction. “Chop chop.”

Toner first, he applies it and lets it sink into your pores while he gets multiple bottles of serums and lists each effect, but you don’t have the effort to actually listen in and understand the properties. Off of serums then on to eye cream, placed prospectively under the eyes.

“Have you been sleeping well? Your eye bags are rather defined. Drink more water and sleep a minimum of 8 hours. No less than that.” Was all this necessary? Coming from him you knew it was just Vil being Vil, helping those around him so they could achieve beauty just like him, but in their own ways, and he was good at it.

“Moisturizer. I’d hope I don’t have to explain this.” He dots some around your face before he moves on to squirting some sunscreen and rubbing it in.

“Done. Did you mention something for your hair as well? At least from what Rook had interpreted your story to say…”

“Actually, no! Haha, just skincare, I gotta go, but uh, thank you?” You quickly interject.

“I see. Take these products then, and come back to me when they empty. Stay on top of your skincare or I will find you myself and remind you of the importance with a lecture.” He smiles, though his reminder is enough to get anybody to not think twice about it. He pushes the little basket of products into your hands.

“Of course! I’m just— I’m gonna go. Ok, bye.” You stand up quickly and you leave his room. Your skin is now soft and bouncy, revitalized, but that doesn’t really change anything about your predicament.

“Prefect!” Epel shouts from behind. You turn around and look at him.

“Hey…”

“The hell happened to you? Oh. Another Victim of Vil’s…you’ll get used to it.” He sighs, nodding along to say he understands. “I just wanna ask you about that jar you made! You think you can make any others like it…but you know, with different effects and in a different container? I’d like to carry one on me for a spell drive game…I tired to do that and I opened the bottle you gave—“

“You opened it?” You tilt your head.

“Yea? I was just gonna try and put the contents into a little baggie but…it stopped working. I dunno what you had set in place on that.” He purses his lips, moving his hands behind his back and smiling again. “I dunno…I’d just…like another one. It was a really helpful thing to have on hand!”

“Epel…it doesn’t work anymore because you broke the wax seal, and another possibility is that…” your voice drops down to a whisper as you think, “I didn’t put much intention into the jars to last for more than just a few days…”

“Huh?”

“Nothing. Yea, just don’t break the wax seal is all…” you clear your throat.

“Why’s that, though?”

Why does everybody have to question you anymore? “It kinda…how to word it? Gets rid of the effects?” That’s barely any information on it, but it sounds plausible.

“Huh, ok then. Can you make me another then?”

“I’ll think about it.” You nod. Epel gives you a happy closed eye grin and nods.

“Thanks!” His face almost instantly contorts to some sort of evil look and he smirks, chuckling as he narrows his eyes. “If I get that then I’ll beat them RSA suckers next time we play em! I can’t wait to see the look on their faces, and I’d get MVP of the game.” He snickers to himself. Ok, buddy, have fun with that.

You nod one last time and you finally, finally leave. Second times a charm for the botanical gardens, maybe?

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With the basket resting in the crook of your elbow as you walk, not had having enough time nor care to drop it off at Ramshackle, you head back to the gardens, back down the paths, back to row R, and back to the damn rosemary plant. You crouch down and you pick off a branch or two and stuff it into the satchel, worrying about processing it all later. Now to section L, and lo and behold, in the middle a tall laurel tree, but fate throwing more problems at you and most likely dying of laughter as it watches you suffer, ironically enough, another thing beginning with the letter L is also there, but it’s not a plant.

Leona and his “clever” sleeping spots never fail to surprise anybody. Tiptoeing around him wasn’t an option, cause he’d hear you, and he’s kinda in your way of climbing up and shaking down a few leaves. Whatever, you’re not letting anything else get in your way now, and especially not for one of the most prominent ingredients you needed. Bay leaves, also widely known to be as equivalently lucky to a shooting star, make a wish upon a bay leaf then burn it, and give it back to nature after. You were gonna use it for its protective properties, however.

You walk up to the thick base of the tree and kick against the side of it, the action causing Leona’s ears to flick and his tail to twitch as he cracks open one of his eyes to, oh so nicely, glare at you.

“What.” He murmurs gruffly, definitely irritated already.

“For one, hello to you two, and secondly, since you’re like already kinda perched up there…get me some leaves off the tree…I need them for uh…cooking.”

“Just go to Sam’s shop and buy some.” He yawns, turning away from you to face the other direction. “They’d be better anyways…already dried out, too…”

“That’s…bro you know I’m fucking broke and can’t spend my money on that, so can’t you do a nice thing for me? I’ll climb up there myself and step on you, so choose the better option…” you meet him back with the same attitude.

“You’re annoying today, huh?” He scoffs as his tail gives a warning flick, but he sits up and glares at you as he grabs his pen and uses his magic to send down—

And now there’s leaves everywhere. He smirks and he slips the pen away and gets back into a comfortable position, falling asleep again almost instantly and leaving you alone to look at the mess of leaves and branches on the ground. Whatever, this still works…you grab what you need and flip him off as you walk away, even if he can’t see.

You manage to gather the other things you need without too much trouble, then being the easier items such as the lavender and sage, easy and not that questionable. Students gave you many quick glances and eager hushed whispers as they watched you “rob,” which technically in this case could be considered borrowing, from the plants. But honestly, who cares, so long as people don’t know your main secret, all you have to say to them is: Fuck em! You don’t have any more left to give today…

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Hammer in hand you drive a nail into the wood on the outside of Ramshackle. The makeshift stool you’re standing on is…well, not super stable, but it gets the job done. You hang the horseshoe you got just a day ago right above the door in the middle, and of course you cleansed it before you hung it up, it’s just basic protocol anymore from being so on edge.

“Well, let’s see those readings come true now thanks to this bad boy hanging up above my door! I think this is the first time I’ve been happy in a while—“

“Henchhuman, why’re ya talking to yourself, and what are you hanging up?” Grim pipes up as he looks up at you…but it’s also not just him. Ace and Deuce stand behind him, looking up at you as well, clearly a thing or two on their mind that they want to say to you.

“You guys weren’t supposed to be back for like another 10 minutes…”

“But here we are.” Grim sighs.

“This,” you say as you motion to the horseshoe, “cultural thing. That’s what this is, don’t ask anymore questions. Shut up!” You spit out as you step down, looking up at your handiwork. Ace lets out a puff of air and stalks closer to you, looking up at the odd thing.

“We didn’t say anything though—“

“I’m just saying don’t ask. I wanted a…touch of home from back home, exactly. Thanks for bringing Grim back, now byeeee, I’m busy.” You pick up the stool and heave it back inside, Grim shrugging to the two boys and following along behind you.

“So, what happened today?” You question him as you walk into the lounge and head over to the mantel, checking over a few things and dusting away a thin layer of dust that somehow already was managing to form.

“They just complained the whole time about those jars ya made, said they stopped working, and then they did a deep dive as to how they even worked…it was a painful conversation I had to sit through, and no compensation or payment of tuna, either!”

Huh? Deep dived into the topic?

“What did they say about how the jars worked?” You slow down in your movements and peer over your shoulder towards Grim who was laying lazily on the couch.

“Dunno, tuned em out, but they said some stupid thing that you had a student enchant it, but they’re dumb cause I didn’t trace a single bit of magic on em. Then they went off that and started saying you enchanted it yourself, which couldn’t be possible since you didn’t have magic. I told em that.” He hums.

“And…they believed you?” You murmur as you walk over to the couch and sit down. “I mean…I don’t have magic…”

“They’re iffy about it, said they don’t know your world so they don’t know what actually goes on there or what you know. They’re just big doofuses…anyways, I need tuna, I’m hungry.” He hoists himself up and goes into the kitchen.

He stops midway and turns to you again, “oh, and Ace went around mouthing away to people about everything again.” And then he goes off.

That’s a lot of information in one go, and in such a nonchalant way, as well. The black cat…gossip, and if you really look into all the things that happened today, the umbrella, difficulty while you were trying to get the simple shit you needed for a protection spell. Yea…

Ok, distraction time, you know an easy way to be protected, you just have to get a little creative. You get up and grab one of your notebooks before heading upstairs.

Incense is lit and you take a seat in the armchair and begin to draw out a circle and label it with letters going around the perimeter. You write down the words “Strong Protection,” crossing out vowels and repeating letters, being left with “Strngptc” as your jumble of letters. Back to the circle, you draw lines and curves from each letter, making a simplified sigil. It’s still a sigil and will work how you intended it since intention is key. You move on to another group of words, just for a boost of confidence to hopefully hide any evidence of stress, you write down “Beauty and Rejuvenation.” Easier said than done.

You slap these sigils onto the skincare package Vil gave you and go through every step in order that he had applied all the products to your skin. Wash, uh, toner, serum, eye cream, yea? Whatever, then moisturizer and then look in the mirror and— well damn.

You certainly looked a lot better now, and felt a sense of calm. Even after what Vil had done for you just hours earlier, you honestly thought that looked good and helped out just a tiny bit, but you just amplified the products by like 50% and also while adding in the bonus of protection…it’s like you’re a whole new person…glamour magic is no joke, huh? You’ve outdone yourself, props to you.

That’s probably enough worrying for one day…at least for now that is. Maybe distracting yourself isn’t the best way to deal with problems.

…idk where I was going with this one, I’m getting of track a little, I fear…this was kinda just plot progression and a lot of filler shit and also a way for me to mention Pomefiore…all dorms will have their major moments, like Octavinelle in the second part…I just need to find motivation to do it 👍

THANKS FOR PUTTING UP WITH MY WRITING, LOVELIES <3

Again, if you wanna be tagged just ask!

Master List

Please don’t steal or copy any of my work! You may, however, reblog if you’d want to!

Pictures belong to Disney Twisted Wonderland but are edited by me :)

Tag list <3:

@w0nd3rhoy

@biumg-ie

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goosewriting · 8 months ago

Note

I am a SUCKER for enemies to lovers

So hear me out, reader is part of the mantis crew as a healer and for some reason cal and them just don’t get along. at. all. And maybe like, they put their differences aside for the sake of getting the holocron first (not without some tension and snipping at each other) but after that’s over, neither of them have anything to take their mind off the other so they end up sniping at each other and getting into arguments a lot more often and eventually reader storms off after cal had said something particularly scathing and she maybe gets into trouble in some way? Like she’s not the best at fighting but then her blaster jams up and she thinks she’s done for but cal had followed her and saves her? Anyway, it all ends in a super heated kiss? Idk just a thought lol

(If you did write this, could reader be short? Like I’m 5’2” and I don’t see many fics where my height is represented? If that makes sense? And since I headcanon cal as six foot..)

Anyway sorry for the longish request! Just thought I’d drop in something lol

Have a good day/night!!

Can't Stand to be With(out) You

summary: after getting on everyone’s nerves with their bickering, Cal and reader are put in time-out to finally make up.

relationship: Cal Kestis x gn!reader

warnings: second hand embarrassment, making out

word count: 3k

A/N: to be frank, this was one of the hardest Cal fics to write. the request and idea in itself is great and i’ve been trying to come up with something since the moment you sent it in, but it’s been SO hard to find a way to convincingly portray cal like someone reader doesn't get along with because i literally love him sm i can’t imagine him ever being anything other than a sweetheart with the people he cares about 😭 so yeah i hope i did your request justice!<3 i love short!reader so please do send in some more for cal when i open reqs :’)

[all masterlists] 🪶 [star wars masterlist] 🪶 [ao3]

(english is not my first language. constructive criticism and grammar corrections are very appreciated!)

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Ever since the holocron was retrieved and destroyed, some deeper troubles seem to be coming to the surface amongst the Mantis crew. Or rather, between you and Cal specifically. Cere decided that the team should lie low for some time until comm chatter about them calms down again, so you currently find yourself on a moon somewhere in the Outer Rim.

Cal and you accompanied Greez to the local market to get provisions, and even in small things like these, you notice how much friction has bubbled up between you and the redhead.

If you’re being honest with yourself, you’re so tired of Cal’s way of going about things. The way he always goes in sabres and blasters-a-blazin’ instead of strategising a little more. That one time he literally jumped off the Mantis mid-flight on Kashyyyk? Absolutely insane.

Cal seems to think that stims or bacta will cure anything. He comes up so beat up sometimes that you’ve questioned his self-preservation instincts more than once. You give him a piece of your mind as well when he comes back to the Mantis like this, that he has to better take care of himself out there, as one day he might be so injured, he might not make it back in time for you to patch him up again.

He suggested that the solution might be to take you with him, and for a low stake reconnaissance mission he did drag you along, but you both quickly realised that that was not your strong suit. You know he probably didn’t mean to, but still, he made you feel like you were slowing him down. And you were pretty helpless against local fauna and enemies, still not completely skilled at shooting your blaster, since you had never had to use one before.

And if that didn’t make you feel pretty useless that day, then you had to swallow your pride and ask him to get some supplies from the top shelf, as you’re too short to reach. This was, unfortunately, not a rare occurrence. And while he never openly made fun of your height, this was just a reminder of yet another aspect where he was “superior” to you.

Bringing your focus back to the task at hand, you point to a basket of fruits, saying that you should get some. Meanwhile, Cal is looking at some pre-packaged food instead of fresh produce; he vouches for practicality, while you insist you should focus on nutrition. Greez rolls his eyes as you butt heads for what seems like the hundredth time today.

Merely seeing Cal’s face brings up anger in you now. Your mind trails off again as he goes on about ration bars, thinking about how insufferable he is. The way he thinks the whole weight of the galaxy resides on his shoulders; what’s up with that? He is so harsh with himself when something doesn't go as planned. And then the whole team has to deal with his sulking.

Having had enough of your antics, Greez sends you both back to camp to cool off while he takes care of the food.

“And by the time we’re back, you better be best friends!” he calls as you leave the market.

Cere is currently elsewhere with Merrin getting intel. As you’re both walking side by side in spiteful silence, Cal takes out his comlink, hitting up Cere and asking if he can join her. The gall of this guy! You shoot him an incredulous look. Cere says no, however, and in a hushed voice makes it clear that she, too, is fed up with your bickering, so you should make up already. Then she hangs up.

The whole walk back, Cal is restless and frustrated. He claims to be stuck on the moon, and he feels like they’re losing time, that he could be doing something.

You stop dead in your tracks, and he looks back at you questioningly.

“You're always going on about doing more and more. Why can’t you take a break and be happy about what you’ve already accomplished?” you blurt out, unable to hold back any more. “You’ve saved all those kids on the holocron list. In the past months, you’ve almost died so many times I’ve lost count. I understand the cause, but you’ve neglected yourself for too long. Heal and rest properly so you can still go out there to do… whatever it is you do.”

You regret your poor choice of words the moment they come out of your mouth. You didn’t mean to downplay Cal’s actions and the danger he gets himself into to save people or get intel. But at the end of the day, you don't actually know exactly what he does and how. You only see the end result in the state he comes back in.

“‘Whatever I do’?” he repeats incredulously with a scoff. “What do you think I do? I’m sorry I can’t stay inside the ship all the time playing nurse.”

Whatever intention you had of backtracking and rephrasing is thrown out the window. His words sting.

“Playing…?”

You haven't told him about the nightmares plaguing you, where you see him over and over, bleeding out, falling to his death, unable to rescue him. He dies in your arms every time.

But you’re not about to tell him that. So you storm off. Where to, doesn’t matter, you just need to get away from him.

You can hear Cal calling out to you as he tries to keep up with your hasty pace, navigating through the maze of narrow passages that make up the village. At some point, you manage to lose him after squeezing through a rather small opening in the wall, and you stop to catch your breath. Your mind is reeling, and there are so many things you want to tell him but know will get you nowhere. The team wants, needs you to make up to function properly again, and you know it. You’re aware it’s not just him but you as well who has become extremely irritable, causing the team morale to sink considerably.

Leaning back against the brick wall, you groan in frustration. Why does it always have to be you to give in, and swallow your pride and words for the sake of a moment of peace on the Mantis? It’s not fair.

As you’re mulling over this, you don’t hear the steps quickly getting closer. By the time you realise what’s happening, a bandit is standing in front of you, holding a knife in his hand. You don’t really have anything to give him, so you quickly push yourself off the wall and make a run for it. Turning around mid-run, you try to shoot at the bandit, but of course your blaster gets jammed, so you throw it at him instead. The guy easily dodges the weapon, quickly closing the distance between you two.

When he inevitably reaches you, he harshly grabs onto your arm, bringing you to a forceful stop and slamming you against the wall. There’s a blur of lights as Cal appears out of seemingly thin air, fighting off the bandit, who quickly escapes with a yelp of fear.

You shake your head at Cal’s actions, so much for “lying low”; here he is, yet again, sabre out.

“Put that thing away before someone else sees,” you reprimand him, looking around the passage, but luckily there’s no one.

Cal retracts his weapon, clipping it back to his belt, hidden under his coat. He looks around one last time to make sure the coast is clear, then turns to you with a frown, surely to scold you, but whatever he was going to say dissipates, as does his anger, his face instead morphing into worry.

”You’re bleeding,” he points out, his hand coming up to your temple. But you swat him away, hissing as you touch the wound caused by getting slammed face-first into a brick wall. You look at the blood on your fingertips accusingly, like it’s to blame for this whole situation.

You walk back to camp in silence, not without retrieving your blaster that you threw a couple streets further back. Cal follows a couple of steps behind you, and you don’t look back at him once.

When you arrive, you’re glad to see the rest of the team hasn’t come back yet. You get your things and go to the refresher to use the mirror to patch yourself up. Cal wants to help, but you swat his hand away for the second time that day. So he leaves you alone to clean your wound and apply some bacta, then you place a little gauze over it.

When you come back out, you find him sitting on his bunk, and he calls you to him, so you sit next to him, both of you surrounded by uncomfortable silence until he speaks.

”About what I said earlier–“

“Don’t,” you cut him off, shaking your head. “You’re so concerned about the entire galaxy out there that you forget the people right here with you.”

“What do you mean?” He looks at you, offended.

The sound you produce is something between a scoff and a groan of frustration, starting to turn away.

“I don’t forget about any of you!” he remarks, gently holding your shoulders to make you face him. “I couldn’t do this without you, and if anything, we’re doing this also for ourselves. Because we can, and others out there don’t have the chance to fight back.”

“Ugh!” You free yourself of his hold and stand up, pacing up and down in front of him. “You’re like, this all powerful being of legends, moving stuff with your mind, effortlessly picking your enemies off, while I'm back here, worrying about you to the point I can't sleep. All the time, but especially ever since we destroyed the holocron, you go around picking fights, going after imps without thinking of the consequences that could have for the rest of us!”

He looks at you, and you can feel your whole body shaking.

“Is that what you’re worried about?” he asks. “Nothing will happen to any of you, I’ll protect you.”

“But what if you can't!” Now you’re close to tears, sitting back down on his cot, looking up at him almost pleadingly. “What if you don’t come back?! Do you know how terrified I’ve been every time you left and I didn’t know what state you’d come back in, if at all?”

“Wha–”

This time, it’s your hands that come up to his shoulders, and you shake him back and forth lightly to emphasise your words.

“You say you’ll protect us, but who’s protecting you, Cal? I can’t go out there with you, we’ve already established that. But what if you need me? What if I can’t get to you in time? I could never forgive myself.”

“You’ve got it all wrong,” he says, taking your hands in his and giving them a reassuring squeeze. “The reason I can go out there in the first place is because I know you’re safe, and that you’ll be here when I come back.”

“That’s not sustainable at all,” you say with a huff.

“It’s worked this far, though, hasn’t it?”

There is a moment of silence as you hold each other’s gaze, and while you’ve seen his eyes a million times, for the first time you realise just how deep of a blue they hold. Were they always this beautiful?

“So all this time, you’ve been worried about me?” he asks almost shyly.

“Obviously,” you answer.

“I thought you disliked me. Some days even hated me.”

“What? No. I mean–”

He raises his brow questioningly, and as you’re trying to formulate an answer that encompasses that some days you can’t stand him but he, in fact, means so much to you, you look down at your hands still in his, and he holds onto them even tighter, as if scared that you might let go.

“I mean, I, uhm,” you stumble over your words, looking back at up him, aware of the heat spreading on your face. “We’ve been part of this crew for a while now. I guess I’ve become rather… fond of you. As a colleague, you know.”

“Colleagues, huh,” he says, and a grin spreads on his face, an adorable blush adorning his freckled cheeks. “That’s too bad, because I think I just realised I, uh, like you. A lot, actually.”

You can’t help but laugh at the timing of such a confession.

“To think that all this time we were giving each other such a hard time,” you say, shaking your head.

“Maybe it’s better that way, though.”

“How so?” you ask.

“Had I known back then, it would have been infinitely harder to leave for missions. I know it certainly will be from now on.”

“I could still join you,” you joke, and you both laugh, knowing that that’s a bad idea for a multitude of reasons.

“Absolutely not. I’m not putting you in danger,” he says, his hands momentarily letting go of yours to gingerly run up and down your arms as he looks lost in thought, cherishing this moment. Then his eyes snap back to yours as if he suddenly remembered something.

“You said earlier you're so worried that you can’t sleep?”

“Ah, well, yeah,” you say with a slight shrug, trying to brush it off. “I’ve been having some nightmares, but nothing serious.”

Cal gives you a deadpan expression.

“Yeah well, you know,” you try to come up with an explanation that holds the least amount of detail as possible. All the while, his soft caresses seem to light your whole body on fire. “You’ve come back pretty bruised at times. I was, am, scared that one day I won’t be able to patch you back up.”

“Believe it or not, I do know my limits. I wouldn't ever put myself in actual danger if I knew I was in over my head.”

“And I believe you. What I'm worried about is your ability to assess the situation.”

“Ouch,” he chuckles. “Maybe I can just see more from where I stand.”

You narrow your eyes at him.

“Do you mean through the Force, or are you actually calling me short right now?”

He grins.

“Oh, you better watch out for your kneecaps, young man, they might go missing one night!”

“Yeah? I’d like to see you try… shortie.”

“Oh, that’s it!”

You play wrestle him, and he scoots further back onto the cot, so you follow, throwing half-hearted swipes at him, until you realise that you ended up climbing on top of him.

��Ah, sorry–” you apologise, trying to lift yourself off of him, but he holds you down, bringing you closer by your hips so you’re straddling him, and he sits up with you on his lap.

“It’s not just blind arrogance, by the way,” he says, bringing his hand up to run his knuckles over your jaw. “I trust the Force and my Master’s teachings more than I trust myself. They haven't failed me yet. I'm here. I’ll be here tomorrow, and the day after. So please, the last thing I want is for you to lose sleep over me.”

“I’ll try.”

Cal properly cups your face with both his hands now, and you place yours over his, leaning into his touch. Your faces start inching closer, like a magnetic force is pulling you together.

“It might help if you’re there when I fall asleep, though,” you whisper, lips ghosting over his. “Just a hypothesis.”

“I’m sure that can be arranged.”

When he finally kisses you, it’s like all the pieces of a puzzle fall into place. Everything makes sense now; the tension between you two, which had been there from the very beginning, was and had always been attraction. Disguised as snarky comments, arguments, glares and grumbles; in the end, you’d always find yourselves together, seeking out each other’s company.

As this realisation hits you, you feel a weight being lifted from your shoulders. But there’s a different weight on you now, one that you welcome, as Cal pushes you onto your back on his cot, climbing on top of you. He kisses you with desperation, as if making up for lost time, and you pull him closer, but it’s not enough. Everything you feel, taste, and breathe is Cal, and you don’t want this moment to end. He breaks the kiss momentarily for some much-needed oxygen, and attacks your throat instead. You bring one hand to your mouth in an attempt to stop the sounds threatening to escape, but it doesn’t work, and they only spur him on. Bringing his lips back to yours, his tongue finds your own. He snakes an arm around your back, further arching into him.

Suddenly, Cal flinches in surprise and pulls back, leaning on his elbows on either side of you.

“W-what?” you ask, out of breath.

“Cere is outside,” he merely says, a violent blush going from the tip of his ears all the way down to his neck.

“How do you…?”

“She was, uh, checking in, to see if we were here,” he says, unable to look at you.

“Well, can you tell her to… wait a bit longer?” you ask, running your fingers through his copper hair. His eyes find yours again and he tilts his head to the side, a smug smile starting to spread on his lips.

“Hm… You’re cute when you’re needy,” he says.

“Shut up,” you say with no snark whatsoever, chuckling.

“Maybe we can take this somewhere else,” Cal proposes, leaving a trail of small kisses on your jaw. “There’s a pretty good spot up by the hills, it has a nice view.”

“Should we pack some dinner too?”

He takes a moment to look down at you underneath him, then smiles with hungry eyes, towering over you.

“Good idea, I’m starving.”

— — — — —

Meanwhile, outside: Cere pinching the bridge of her nose with a groan, Greez giving her a confused look, while Merrin looks strangely proud.

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writersdrug · 2 years ago

Text

Ghost x Konig x Reader: I Don't Need You (Ch. 6)

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Summary: You (surprisingly) get more comfortable with Kortac, and slowly let yourself connect with the team. You subconsciously tether yourself to Konig, who is more than willing to help you fit in. The pain of the past begins to fade into the back of your mind like the end of a long chapter of your life.

Additionally, Konig starts asking the hard questions - it unearths a piece of you that you'd hoped would remain buried, but you still share the memories with Konig.

Chapter warnings: Mentions of violence, mentions of rape, cursing, google translate German, shirtless Soap, very EXTREMELY watered-down mentions of sexual themes (we ain't there yet, boiis)

Notes: Sorry it took so long, I've got a lot cooking in the kitchen now and I'm hoping to pump out a lot this week!

Additionally, I've had some comments on this work not being an x Reader. First off, I never want to mislead anyone. I label this as an x Reader because Bonnie is not an OC of mine. I've seen other x Reader fics include callsigns that refer to the reader, so I assumed using Bonnie similarly would be alright. I also mentioned a name ONCE in chapter 3, "Jane Morris," which I thought to be a very generic name, and I haven't used it since and don't plan to. I have a personal preference of writing longer, chapter-by-chapter fics in first POV because it feels more natural to me than second POV. The same goes for using y/n - I like to avoid it if I can because it feels unnatural.

Again, those last two thing are a personal preference. I'm not bashing any fics that use these things at all, I enjoy both ones that do and ones that don't, and I don't enjoy one over the other. When I say one feels more natural than the other, I mean it feels more natural to write, not to read. I'm debating changing the name I used in chapter 3 to just y/n l/n to make this a true x Reader. If you still feel like I should change this to an x OC please let me know and I'll be happy to adjust the tags, titles, and descriptions. Again, I never meant to be misleading, and I hope I didn't make anyone angry. If a mistake has been made I am happy to learn from it. Thanks!

Konig had cracked the code on me. He figured out that after a case of American beers and a long drive, away from the crowd of new faces, my outer shell began to soften.

There was still a wall that I was holding up between me and everyone else, even though it was significantly smaller than usual. When Roze and Castillo approached me at breakfast, I didn’t get up and leave. And when Juno used the empty spot in the gym room right next to me, dropping his bag on the floor and giving me a cautious glance as he set up for his routine - I didn’t grab my things and move to the other end of the room. That was my first instinct, but I fought it. Instead I huffed, facing the mirror in front of me and focusing on my sets.

I’d started going to the common area more often – maybe not every night, but often enough. We’d make it a habit to play poker on the nights I did show up. I was better than most of the group, since none of them were quite used to my mannerisms yet. However, Konig and Horangi still took the lead as the winners, despite most of us arguing that they shouldn’t be allowed to play if they were going to wear their masks. The argument would eventually turn into a casual conversation – I didn’t engage in it too often. I preferred to sit and listen, using the time to slowly learn more about the team. I typically planted myself between Roze and Konig, keeping my legs crossed on the seat and nervously fiddling with my Yuengling bottle.

Although I was ashamed to admit it, Konig had become a conduit for my interactions with the rest of the team. The way he engaged with their activities, yet still managed to stay reserved, struck a chord with me. I respected the fact that it could sometimes be difficult to find him on base, and that at the same time, he was always there when I started to feel overwhelmed. I didn’t need him, no… that was a stretch. But sometimes I felt grateful that he was so eager to accompany me places – especially when he invited me to go on “perimeter checks” with him, which mostly consisted of long drives off base.

I don’t know how I had grown to appreciate him so much – maybe it was because he felt similar to me, in the way that we both needed our alone time, and with how we often found ourselves slipping out of the common area around the same time, with the original excuse being that we were tired. Half of the time, we would sit in the mess hall and talk until the early hours of the morning.

“A sniper?” I asked on one particular night, fiddling with the mouth of my beer bottle. “You’re way to big for that – no offense.”

Konig chuckled. “And that’s what they initially told me.” He took a swig of his (nasty) German beer. “But, despite being handed other opportunities, I proved them wrong. I’m sill a damn good sniper.”

I huffed. “Nah, you should be happy you got promoted to Colonel; you’re lucky, you get to avoid being in the trenches – at least, as much as the rest of us.”

“Lucky? No…” Konig said, shaking his head. “I do not like being a Colonel. I’d much rather be doing the dirty work of soldiers than writing these stupid reports.” He slapped a large hand over the manilla folder that sat on the table next to his beer. “It keeps my head busy, and I don’t have to listen to myself think.”

I nodded while sipping my beer. “I completely get that – If I’m not actively doing something with my hands, my brain gets too loud. Like – like there’s a mini me in my head, and the only way to drown her out is by physically doing something. Anything, really.”

Konig laughed – almost a snort – “‘A mini you’. I like that, that’s good.”

I huffed a laugh through my nose, turning my head to hide the smirk on my face. Despite being a large, brutish man, he had a youthful essence about him. It was hidden deep beneath the thick exterior of a war-hardened soldier. But, every now and again, it rose to the surface, touching a part of my soul I hadn’t allowed to be seen in a long time.

I pushed my stack of bills into the middle of the table. “All in.” I said nonchalantly.

Gaz narrowed his eyes, leaning back in his chair and looking down his nose at me. “You’re bloody stupid…”

“Or really smart.” I retorted. I folded my arms over my chest, not wavering under his intimidating gaze.

It was unbearably hot in the room – whether that was from the tension of the game or the broken air conditioner (Price eternally insisted it would be fixed, “… by next week…”), I didn’t know. I was donned in my sweatpants and sports bra, Gaz was in a wife beater and sweats, Ghost was covered head to toe in a sweatshirt and jeans (one could ever rarely catch him wearing anything less), and Soap… well, Soap was Soap. Completely shirtless, with only a pair of gym shorts on. Typical for him to be so shameless.

Ghost looked at his cards, his jaw clearly tense underneath his mask. He wasn’t very good at hiding his unlucky hand – it was almost like he wasn’t even trying. Which was a possibility.

“Fucking hell… I fold.” He tossed his hand onto the table, revealing his sour bunch of cards. He walked to the fridge and cursed under his breath, rummaging through the contents.

“Jesus, you’re a load of dry shite.” Soap commented, leaning against the wall adjacent to Ghost. “You could’ve at least tried to intimidate ‘em.”

“You could try shutting your fucking mouth, alright?” Ghost snapped back. Soap raised his hands defensively, leaving Ghost by the fridge.

He flopped onto the couch near me and Gaz. “Miserable sap…”

I did my best to tune out their bickering. I stared down Gaz, tapping my fingers on the edges of my cards. I was relying on the river card – I had a chance at a four-of-a-kind, praying the last card on the table would be another seven.. It was risky, and Gaz was probably right in calling me stupid. But I was never one to back down from a challenge. I craved the thrill of it. Most of the time, I ended up getting lucky.

Gaz chewed his lip. He cocked an eyebrow, slowly pushing all of his cash to the middle of the table. “Call.” He said.

And I heard it – the telltale sign of his bluff. A fraction of a second where his voice had waivered, followed by him grinding his jaw. I knew I had it in the bag.

I was savoring the moment of triumph, watching Gaz stare at his cards, when I felt a hand on my back. I nearly spun around and yelled at whoever touched me, until I saw a gloved hand place a Yuengling bottle to my right, the lid already popped off. I faltered, staring at the bottle, feeling the hand on my back rubbing a thumb back and forth over my spine.

I glanced behind me, looking up to meet Ghost’s eyes. He was looking down at me with an empty gaze. His eyebrows twitched for a brief moment as he continued rubbing his thumb over the skin of my back.

I knew what he was suggesting. What he was asking. Put a woman on a compound with broken, touch-starved men, and eventually one of them will succumb to the temptation. Even so, I was shocked that it was Ghost. I would say he was showing a weakness here, no matter what he decided to call this – it was an admission that he needed something – something from me, specifically – which I never thought would happen.

He continued staring at me for another few moments, waiting for an answer. Keeping my eyes locked on him, I took the bottle and drank; my reply. He gave the tiniest nod, walking away and sitting down next to Soap – who was shuffling the remaining deck of cards, eyes narrowed at Gaz. He knew he was bluffing too.

I turned back to Gaz, smirking as he revealed the river card.

“You ever think about what you would say to those kids now?” I asked, tapping my beer bottle. “The ones who bullied you.”

Konig hummed. “Mm… not really. I don’t hold too much resentment.”

I chuckled. “If only we could all be a saint.”

“Well, it all happened so long ago.” Konig tried to justify himself. “We were only kids, bored and trying to stay on the surface. They just wanted to look tough so that no one would pick on them. Of course, I wouldn’t understand that as a kid. Maybe then, I would have admired what I’ve become, and I would have wanted to boast about it. But now that I am a Colonel – Ich habe besseres zu tun.”

I sarcastically rolled my eyes. “And that means?”

“Ehh…” he groaned, squinting his eyes. “How is it said… ‘I have bigger fishes to cook.’”

I sputtered, turning my head and laughing. Konig glared at me. “Gibt es ein Problem?” he asked, which I sort of understood. He sounded irritated, that much I could tell.

“No, Konig…” I said, standing up and giving him a pat on the shoulder as I walked by. “Just keep up the English lessons, ok?”

He scowled. “Verpiss dich… Start learning German and maybe I will.” He retorted, and I waved at him dismissively from behind my back.

I stuck my head into the fridge, grabbing a Yuengling and one of Konig’s beers. I walked back and placed them both next to him. Like instinct, he took each one and hooked their lid onto the edge of the table, then smacked the side of his hand down on the tops, sending the lid clattering to the ground. He opened my beer and handed it to me, then repeated the process with his, before reaching down and collecting the lids. He added them to the pile, totaling six beer lids so far.

If someone had shown me this image a year ago – Konig and I, sitting up late into the night, chatting like we’d known each other for decades… not to mention the fact that I was so unusually open with him… I would have been insulted. I would have laughed. No one would have been able to convince me that I would become so attached to anyone else after what had happened with the 141. Yet, all of this felt so natural. It was beyond how I felt that Konig and I were kindred spirits… it really did feel like I’d known him before. Maybe, he reminded me of a part of myself that I tried to bury away.

Or, maybe, I was just submitting to loneliness and trying to justify how quickly I clung to the first available soul. That was also an embarrassing possibility, one that I would rather not admit to.

“I have a question for you.” Konig’s voice and the clink of his beer bottle on the table brought me back to reality.

“I might have an answer.” I replied.

He looked off to the side, perhaps wondering whether or not he really wanted to ask the question. “Who did you kill? And why?”

Just like that, I felt the walls being built right back to where I had them. Bonding time’s over. Back to square one.

His inquiry caught me off guard. I froze, my bottle hovering in the air before I could take a sip, my eyes glued to the table. Just the mention of the incident brought the painful memories up to the surface, like claws scraping at the dirt, digging up the deepest roots.

“Lots of people.” I said, deflecting. I took a swig of my beer.

“You know what I mean.” He scoffed. “Why did you end up in military prison?” He leaned over the table – clearly not planning on letting the topic go.

I sucked my teeth, staring at him defiantly – moments ago, it was pleasant talking to him. Now, I was fighting back the urge to leave him at the table and go to my dorm. I felt ambushed at how he had changed the subject so abruptly. Like he had been waiting for me to carelessly stumble into the trap, and now he was watching me snarl from within it.

He leaned back with a sigh. “You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to. I just thought we were getting somewhere here.”

“Oh?” I said dryly, cocking an eyebrow. “’Getting somewhere?’ What’s that sup-“

“Hey, it’s ok.” He raised his hands defensively. “I get it. I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.” His words were forgiving, but his eyes said something else – I knew what he was thinking.

Weak.

I gave him a hateful stare. Fucker know how to play his cards.

“I killed a sergeant.” I admitted. “My lieutenant’s right-hand man.”

That got Konig’s attention. He leaned forward again, putting his bottle off to the side. “Why?” he asked again.

I inhaled deeply, then exhaled, as I leaned back in my chair. My eyes fell to the floor as I forced myself to recall the memories. “In Egypt, a while back. Don’t ask when because I won’t tell you.” I warned Konig, and he huffed – but obliged.

I continued. “We were going in to retrieve a hostile target. Everyone was jumpy – me included. It was dark, and we didn’t know what to expect. After the hostiles started to engage, we were scattered. I got stuck in one tower, so I went upstairs to try and make a foxhole.”

I paused. It was now my own hands, covered in dirt, clawing at the roots of the memory. Each word I said was painful, yet somehow felt overshared. Like I was trying to get Konig to pity me. Except I wasn’t – I just wanted him to listen.

And that’s exactly what he did. No comforting shoulder pat, no soothing words… he just listened. He knew that if he stepped on the wrong spot, it would break my openness, like a branch breaking under his foot would disturb the silence of the woods.

“The sergeant – ‘Flare’ – he was up there, too. I thought we’d had the same idea, but… holy fuck…” I ran a hand down my face, feeling my heartbeat grow faster. “At first, I didn’t know what he was doing, I just heard him making those sounds and I thought he’d been hit, but… he was taking advantage of this – this woman – and with her kids right fucking there… she was probably just trying to hide, to hide them, she had to be so fucking scared… he didn’t even stop when I found him, I don’t know if he even heard me screaming at him.”

I paused, almost waiting for Konig to say or do something, but he remained silent. Despite my eyes never leaving the floor, I could see his blue ones watching me carefully. Concerned, patient, and calm.

“I didn’t know what else to do.” I said, my voice faltering the slightest bit. “So I shot him. In the head.” I unintentionally shivered. “Probably traumatized that poor woman and her kids, but… quick decisions aren’t the best ones.”

I ended my rant with a heavy sip of my beer. Konig continued watching me with wary eyes, which I ignored. I didn’t need consolation, or sympathy, or whatever he might try to offer. Somehow, he seemed to understand that.

“I would have done the same thing.” He commented.

Would you?

After a moment, he exhaled. “I don’t understand… I’d say you were in the right. Why did they put you in prison for that?”

I chewed my lip. “There was… some speculation, that I was jealous of his position. We’d been close throughout my time with the team, and when he got the promotion to second-in-command, I was a bit envious at first. People thought I was taking my anger out on him in what seemed like the perfect opportunity to lie.” I took another sip. “But I was happy for him. He worked hard, and he deserved it. But then the pressure got to him – Lieutenant was always depending on him for too much, and Flare couldn’t handle the responsibility. If he slipped up, it was a lot worse than if one of the rest of us did. I guess… the pressure is what got him in the end. Made him crazy in the end. He didn’t have any morals anymore.”

More silence. It felt uncomfortably loud – Konig’s stare seemed to make my head ring, making me fidget and bounce my knee. I wanted to snap at him. What are you looking at? Why are you asking so many fucking questions? But I was able to keep my anger at bay, justifying the situation by assuming his questions were fueled by nothing more than curiosity.

I figured I had said enough for the night, and finished off the rest of my beer. I slapped my leg, the telltale sign that I was getting ready to turn in.

Konig ignored it, or seemed to not notice. “Why did you kill him?” he asked.

I narrowed my eyes in confusion. “Why did I? What do you mean?”

“Why kill him? Why not just… disable him for the moment, and let your commander deal with him later?”

I opened my mouth to speak, but my voice was a second too late. “Again… in the heat of the moment, you don’t make distinctions like that. You think: ‘shoot,’ or ‘don’t shoot.’ And shooting him was the choice I made.”

Konig’s gaze became scrutinous. He knew I was lying about something… he was hellbent on figuring out what.

He’s going to have to wait a long damn time.

“Goodnight, Konig.” I said flatly. I collected my bottles, getting up from the table. With a clang, I tossed them into the bin by the exit, walking down the hall and leaving Konig sitting alone in the mess hall. I feel tears stinging my eyes, but that’s all they did. It’s all just water under the bridge, y/n. Get it together. You’re alright.

-----

Taglist: @igotmajordaddyissues @princekonig @vixionix

#konig x reader #konig x reader smut #konig cod #konig smut #call of duty #cod x reader #ghost x reader #ghost x reader smut #ghost cod #cod #konig #ghost #simon ghost riley #simon riley #simon riley x reader

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thereoncewasagirlnamedjane · 2 months ago

Text

MORE THAN WORDS (4).

PAIRING — writer!steve rogers x librarian f!reader

CONTENTS — miniseries; alternate universe—modern setting/library/small town; second chances at love; angst with happy ending [*tw: grief, mourning, illness, character deaths]; eventual fluff; book spine poetry (kind of).

SERIES SUMMARY — It’s been five years and he’s lost his way. Steve Rogers has taken a hiatus from his writing career and moves to the small town of Westview to escape the memories of a love lost. He unexpectedly finds a kindred spirit in the local librarian, and something compels him to begin communicating with you using the only way he knows how—by using the spines of your books.

WORD COUNT — 6.9k

NOTES — please note that this is me posting some of my old work, and also, i’m not playing around with those warnings. i wrote this as a response to my own experience with grief, and it’s not always pretty. if you are experiencing the same thing, as we all inevitably do, please know you are not alone. reach out to your loved ones; tomorrow is never guaranteed, after all. take care <3

✩ series masterlist ✩ masterlist ✩ library blog

They had only ever discussed books, but what, in this life, is more personal than books? —GABRIELLE ZEVIN, “The Storied Life of A. J. Fikry”

You should have known something was up when you walked into the main lobby and saw the Maximoffs grinning at you like total creeps.

If you didn’t know any better and if they weren’t your friends, you might have already called the cops.

Instead, you ignore their leering and roll the returns cart next to the front desk, after really taking your time putting books away. It was already almost the end of the work day.

Wanda is excitedly waving you over, Pietro smirking as he busies himself wiping down some of the tables and computers. When you approach, she links her arm through yours and pulls you closer.

“So, there was this guy who came in earlier and he asked me to give you these.” She points to the stack of books at the corner of the front desk with a flourish, and for a moment, you’re confused. But then she kindly explains, “read the spines, in order.”

Book Girl by Sarah Clarkson Nobody Will Tell You This But Me by Bess Kalb It’s OK That You’re Not OK by Megan Devine In Fact by Lee Gutkind It’s a Long Way Down by Ian Canon

You aren’t sure what to make of it, at first. You look up at Wanda, and she’s looking at you expectantly, her eyes wide. A huge smile breaks out across her pretty face, and she’s obviously waiting for a reaction of some kind.

“Well?!” She presses when you don’t say anything.

“Well, what?”

“What do you think?” She asks impatiently.

“...I don’t know. What am I supposed to think?”

“Don’t you think it’s really... special?” She offers, shrugging her shoulders. Bending forward, she rests an elbow on the desk’s surface, her cheek fitting in the palm of her hand. She sighs dreamily. “A stranger saw what was in your soul and reached out to you.”

She says, looking over at the books with affection. She had always known they were capable of many things, but this is a new one. Suddenly, she straightens and grins widely at you.

“You should make one for him, too.”

“You’ve gotta be kidding me, Wan.” You scoff. “Plus, now I have to go and put these back! It was inconsiderate of him, if you ask me.” You grab the books and start to walk off.

“Noooo,” your best friend whines, trying to take them back from you. “I think it would be kind of fun, don’t you? Like book spine poetry, but a little bit different.” She then gets a thoughtful look in her eyes. “He looked sad. Maybe he needs someone to reach out, too.” Despite this, you decide to brush it off again.

Besides, what would you even say back to him? You don’t know this person.

“Forget it. Now, I’m gonna put these back and then we get ready to close up.” You move to leave the lobby, but Wanda declares that this stranger signed up for a library card that morning.

“His name is Steve Rogers.”

“As if that’s supposed to mean anything to m—” But before you can finish your sentence, it’s like a lightbulb goes off in your head. Steve Rogers? Hang on. You’re pretty sure you do know that name.

Turning to the front desk again to point a warning finger at Wanda, who watches your retreating figure with deflated shoulders, you pretend like you’re heading back to your office when, in reality, you’re ducking somewhere between the shelves of the literature department.

You find several novels written by one Steve Rogers. You flip absentmindedly through the pages of one, a harrowing but beautiful love story. There are quite a few of his books here, in your library, and most of them were published a while ago. You read through the back covers, discovering he doesn’t write for any particular genre.

In fact, he’s kind of all over the place. You pick up another one, and this one has an about-the-author section on the inside flap, and curiosity gets the better of you. You debate with yourself for a few minutes before opening it up, a photo of the man you saw earlier that day smiling back at you.

You’re transported back to the moment you first saw him, to when you had wanted to say something to soothe him, to try, even for a moment, to take away his pain. You hadn’t, but this stranger, Steve, had seen what was in your heart, too. With trembling fingers, you touch your hand to the photo, as if by doing so it would provide you with all the answers you need. Nothing. Instead, you read through his short profile.

Steven Grant Rogers is the New York Times bestselling author of You’ve Ruined My Life , a book he began writing shortly after graduating from Columbia University. Now a full-time writer, he and his wife Peggy call the Brooklyn area their home. You can visit Steve online at www.steverogersbooks.com or on Twitter (@StevenGRogers).

Brooklyn.

You wonder what brought him here, to this tiny little town that’s so small you have to zoom in practically a million times on Google Maps in order to even see it. And he has a wife; does she have something to do with it? Is she the one Steve remembers?

Your heart hurts, because you can’t imagine what that would be like. Your parents were together in death, and never had to go a moment without each other in the end. Did they have a family? You shake your head; as if it could be less tragic just because children weren’t involved.

Life really is so unfair sometimes.

As you glance down at the photograph in the open book in your hands, trying to reconcile the image of this younger, happier man with the one you met the other day.

His smile in the photo is sweet and innocent, but his eyes sparkle with just a touch of mischief. The man you met last week was the same, but older, and wiser. His eyes are different now, too, blue-green pools of regret and sadness and pain.

It’s been a while of you standing here staring at the books, so you decide it’s time for you to get back to reality now. You make a note of the location, before reluctantly putting Steve’s novels back on the shelf and returning to your depressing office to finish up your work for the day. You go to leave, but instead, you quickly step back and pull a copy of You’ve Ruined My Life off the shelf, taking it with you to read over your lunch break.

By the end of the week, you will have finished the rest of his novels.

Later, at the end of the work day, Wanda is tidying up and getting ready to go home. However, she comes across a new stack of books on a shelf near the front doors. They are tucked away in its own little corner, lying flat, arranged in very particular order, on the “This Week’s Recommendations” shelf. Wanda smiles at what she sees.

Hello Stranger by Lisa Kleypas I Can See Clearly Now by Peggy Doherty DeLong We Are All the Same in the Dark by Julia Heaberlin With Gratitude by Marala Scott Book Girl by Sarah Clarkson

A week later, Wanda is thrilled when Steve stops by again. He, on the other hand, is a little nervous. It’s been four years since he’s had any normal interaction outside of his usual social circle, so he doesn’t know the etiquette for this kind of thing. Was it inappropriate? Did you find it creepy? Would he be banned from the library forever?

He hadn’t done it for any particular reason, but he wanted you to know that he saw your pain. Steve had already failed his neighbour, his new friend; he’s not ready for the knowledge that he could have helped someone else only to walk away having done absolutely nothing. If not for his own conscience, then at the very least to avoid disappointing Peggy.

Steve enters the library almost cautiously, like he’s a wanted man and there’s a poster with his name and photo on it taped to the wall somewhere. He carefully peruses the shelves of the history section, when he sees the girl from last time. Wanda. She’s putting some books back on one of the shelves when she makes eye contact.

“It’s you! Hey!” She rushes over and beams up at him, and Steve has no idea what to do. His social interactions are limited to pretty much just Thor, and his friends from New York whenever they visit. “How’s it going?” She asks when he doesn’t say anything.

“Um, good,” he says, turning back to the book he’s pulled off the shelf: Ask a Historian by Greg Jenner.

“Ooh, that’s a fun one.” Wanda says, peering at the cover. “Normally, I’m not really a non-fiction reader, but I’m trying to broaden my horizons, you know?”

Steve smiles at this, because it reminds him of how Peggy used to say she only read mystery novels, but since she married a writer, she would be willing to try out the other genres. Wanda watches as Steve smiles, wondering if she should tell him that she knows he’s a writer.

She decides against it, as it would probably just make him uncomfortable. He seems pretty skittish already. “Have you seen them?” She asks instead.

“Seen what?” Before he can get another word out, she is smiling widely and pulling him by the arm. He closes his book, allowing her to drag him to the shelves right in front of the main doors. With a flourish, Wanda points to the stack of books in its own isolated corner.

“She... She replied?” Steve asks, surprised to say the very least. He looks over at Wanda, who’s smiling wider than he’s ever seen—not just on her, but on anyone else he’s ever met.

“Yeah! At first, she was all moody, like ugh, now I have to go put these back where he found them!” She says, imitating your voice and the scowl that had been on your face. Steve finds himself chuckling under his breath, because Wanda reminds him of Rebecca, Bucky’s younger sister, bubbly and cheerful.

“But then,” Wanda continues. “She secretly went and selected these for you. She tried to be all stealthy about it, but I found them just before we closed up that day. I made sure they stayed so you would see them... even if I wasn’t sure you were coming back.”

Steve doesn’t know what to say. He hadn’t expected a reply from you, let alone one like this. You had seen his pain too, just as he had seen yours. It makes him ache, this connection to another human being who isn’t someone from his old life.

“Are you going to do another one?” Wanda asks, staring at the books. She thinks about you, her friend, so unlike yourself in these past few years, because you had been put through the wringer once, had barely survived, and now the universe was asking you to do it all over again. Nothing Wanda could say made you feel better, and you confided in absolutely no one. Yet, somehow, you’ve made a connection with Steve, a total stranger.

Wanda believes it’s too special to let go of, so she will do her best to make sure you don’t. “Something made you do it once, why not do it again?”

Yes, Steve thinks. Why not?

After about an hour of searching, he finds what he’s looking for. He doesn’t know if it’s too personal, but he supposes he’ll just have to see what your response will be to find out. Leaving them on the shelf where you had left your books, he looks over his shoulder at Wanda, who gives him a thumbs up.

When he leaves, Wanda sends Pietro over to the shelf with his phone. Her brother takes a quick picture before strolling back to the checkout desk. When they look down at his screen and read through the message, they wonder if this may be something more than just the unorthodox beginning of a new friendship.

Maybe Next Time by Christina C. Jones When I See You Again by Daryl Banner Tell Me Three Things by Julie Buxbaum

A few days later, Steve puts his phone away before entering the library. He just got off a call with his editor, proclaiming his desire to write again. He couldn’t promise he’d have anything ready right away, but he was trying.

He actually had written some things in the last five years, but he took no joy in it. But maybe, now he could find something else that he could write about. Maybe, he can rediscover the pleasure he used to get from writing, from putting pen to paper.

He sets up at his usual table, the one just steps away from your office. Glancing over at the front desk, Wanda gives him a thumbs up with a smile. They have come to an agreement of sorts; she would watch over his table as he wandered the aisles, having discovered what he did for a living when she found more than a few of his books over in the fiction and literature department.

Over the past week or so, he’s definitely grown a soft spot for the young brunette, something about her sweet charm reminding him of Peggy.

As he walks away with a wave to head to the second floor, he passes by the corner of Wanda’s desk—the new spot now unofficially designated for the book exchanges that you and he had started the last time he saw you.

The two of you decided to put your books in a safer spot, where the other patrons wouldn’t accidentally take them. Your books still rest where you left them; you had responded to his request to tell him three things about you with titles that showcased a sense of humour.

Smooth Talking Stranger by Lisa Kleypas If You Must Know by Jamie Beck I Will Judge You By Your Bookshelf by Grant Snider The Girl with the Lower Back Tattoo by Amy Schumer Will My Cat Eat My Eyeballs? by Caitlin Doughty & Dianna Ruz

Steve has to muffle a laugh at the last one, lest anyone complain about him for it. Also, you have a tattoo? On your lower back? Steve feels his cheeks warming at the mental image before trying to shake it off. He quickly takes a picture of the cat book to send to Bucky, who has a pet of his own. He then heads up the stairs to the second floor.

He browses through the philosophy section, not really knowing what he’s looking for. He pulls random ones off the shelves, flipping through them hoping he’ll find something of interest. Occasionally he sees a particularly compelling passage in an otherwise dull book, but sometimes that’s all he needs.

Not today, however. Nothing seems to stick. He considers using the digital catalog to try and search for something, but ultimately decides against it as Steve doesn’t even have a particular topic in mind. It wouldn’t be of much help anyhow.

Instead, he wanders from shelf to shelf, getting lost in some of the newer titles. He comes across a title that he’s already finished but decides it’s good enough to read again. He sits on the floor, back up against the shelf, falling back into a familiar world, being pleasantly surprised when he finds something he missed the first time around.

Someone turns the corner and stops when they see the aisle is occupied, and Steve thinks he’s in the way. Looking up, he’s about to apologize for taking up so much space, but then he sees it’s you. Steve gets to his feet, realizing it’s the first time he’s seen you in person since that first day.

“Hello, stranger,” you say, repeating the first words you ever spoke to him. Smiling to yourself, you remember that, actually, he’s not really a stranger anymore.

“Steve Rogers,” he corrects, quickly introducing himself, not knowing that you are already privy to this little detail. When you tell him your name in return, he repeats it to himself under his breath, willing it to memory. The two of you then just stare at each other in awkward silence for a moment, not knowing how to start a conversation.

You return a book to one of the shelves and Steve gets a glimpse of the title— God: An Anatomy. Silently, you think to yourself that you aren’t sure whether to curse or thank Wanda later for giving you a chance to speak to this nice new stranger in town, as she had been the one to place the book in your hands, asking you to put it back for her.

Did she realize that you were her boss? Now you know why she had been smirking when she asked. You swear, if you didn’t love her so much...

“So, it’s your turn, I believe.”

“My what?” Steve asks, the book still laying open in his large palm.

“I told you three things. It’s your turn.” It would have been easy for you to turn around and walk away after putting the book back, but you find that you like his voice. He’s not at all what you would have expected from a big shot writer from New York. Steve Rogers is kindness incarnate. You can feel it oozing out of him, laced into the deep timbre of his voice, like he can’t help it, like it’s a part of his very nature.

“Oh. Right now?” It surprises both of you when he breathes a laugh. The sound is foreign to Steve’s own ears, catching him off guard. You find yourself following his lead, causing Steve to grip his book a little tighter; your laughter is as clear and as pretty as the sound of a bell.

“No, not right now. Or at all. Only if you want to.” Silence falls between you for a few moments, and you think that’s probably your cue to leave. But before you can turn and wave him goodbye, you hear him speak.

“I’m from Brooklyn. I’m married. My wife died.” The words come tumbling out before Steve can stop them. The last three are a surprise, because he realizes he’s never said them out loud before. In fact, if he really thinks about it, he’s probably been avoiding every possible scenario where he’d have to use those words.

By not saying them out loud, he could pretend like Peggy was anywhere in the world. Maybe on a business trip somewhere. Maybe vacationing on a beach in California. Maybe learning a new language in Europe. Now, however, all of that comes to an end.

He looks over at you to gauge your reaction, but you simply stare back at him. Your eyes tell him everything he needs to know; all the patience, understanding, and empathy he never knew he needed is reflected back at him. And acknowledgement.

Above everything else, all Steve had wanted was for someone to see his pain; he didn’t need them to understand it. Nobody ever would, not really; his relationship and love for Peggy had been unique, just as everyone else’s had been. How could they know how he felt? They could have some idea, but what they imagined wouldn’t even come close to reality.

Steve wants to ask you the source of your pain then, but realizes it’s a very personal question. Despite what the two of you share, this strange new kinship, he’s afraid of saying the wrong thing. Because he knows that, while there’s never a right thing to say in situations like these, there’s always a wrong thing to say.

He writes for a living, he prides himself on being able to use words to his advantage, to tell a story... but he finds himself having a hard time with them now. Somehow it’s different when you’re talking to a real person, sharing tales about actual life-altering events. Is it a talent that ebbs away after years of nonuse? Can you lose the gift of writing?

Having been through the loss of a loved one yourself, you decide to skip over the usual comments. The I’m sorry for your loss’s , the how are you doing’s , and the give it time’s, because you know none of it will make any difference.

The last one would probably just hurt his feelings, because they had always hurt yours. As if a little bit of time could ever make you feel better about what happened to your parents. You feel that even if you lived to be a hundred, you would still look back and the pain would still feel as fresh as it does today, as it did ten years ago.

It wasn’t enough that your parents had to die, but the thought that their last moments had been ones of fear and panic? And Loki, the love of your life—how he had suffered! And that’s the thing that threatens to do you in. The knowledge of their agony.

And let’s say that it is true that time is what you need; what if the amount of time left in your hourglass simply wasn’t enough? What if you needed much more? Centuries, or millennia even? What then?

Then, the phrase “time heals all wounds” is no longer a comfort, but a prison sentence.

So, instead, you glance over at the book you just returned to the shelf. “Do you believe in god, Mr. Rogers?”

“Steve,” he corrects instantly, bringing a small smile to your face. “And I... don’t know. I think I did. Before.”

“Then what do you believe in now?”

“That’s a good question.” Maybe a pile of books could tell you better than he could, despite the fact that he’s supposed to have a way with words. “I’ll have to think about that one.” He promises, finally cracking a smile at the prospect of returning and, hopefully, seeing you again.

You find his response a few days later, smiling to yourself as you discover one more side to your new friend.

I Believe in… by Pearl Fuyo Gaskins The Idea of Justice by Amartya Sen The Power of Empathy by Arthur Ciaramicolli The Kindness of Strangers by Katrina Kittle The Course of Love by Alain de Botton

And thus begins a change at the Westview Library over the following weeks.

Your book exchanges with Steve happen more frequently, and it takes you a few times to realize that occasionally, he’ll just drop a book off at your usual spot, the corner of Wanda’s desk, the one that’s up against the wall. It’s not a message, but just a recommendation.

You would inhale whatever he left you, even if you thought it wouldn’t be what you expected. Even if you had previously read one of the author’s other works and decided you didn’t like their writing style. Steve seemed to know what you would like, and every time he left a single book in your special little corner, you wouldn’t even have to rush to finish it.

You started leaving suggestions of your own, too, a little bit afraid since he’s a professional and all. What if he thought your tastes juvenile, especially since one time you suggested a YA novel, but he told you that it was one he read back when he was in college—and it changed his life.

One day, you cheekily left a copy of You’ve Ruined My Life, his book, in the corner. He couldn’t look you in the eye the next time you saw him, making you laugh out loud, earning a few glares from the other patrons who were trying to concentrate.

“You do this for a living, Steve. Why are you embarrassed?” You asked him, still trying to stifle giggles.

“I don’t know. It’s just weird.”

“Your friends haven’t read any of your books?”

“If they have, they’ve never said anything. And I prefer it that way.”

“But you’re so good!” He flushed bright red at your praise, bowing his head and avoiding your eye for the rest of the day, which you found quite endearing. He is handsome, kind, talented, and modest. Some might say Steve Rogers is the whole package.

Occasionally he would pepper in something totally different into your exchanges, asking you questions about your life as if he could no longer hold back his curiosity.

Before You Go by Clare Swatman Tell Me by Olivia Cunning Only If You Want by Rachel Noelle What Happened to You? by Bruce D. Perry

You had stared at the last one for a really long time, wondering if there was a book out there that could answer for you. Despite your budding new friendship, there are still some things too difficult to voice. For a while, you thought you’d ignore it, maybe start a new topic, or maybe stop the exchanges altogether. But then you saw him one day, sitting at his usual table, reading quietly. A strand of his blond hair had fallen out of place, but he made no move to brush it back.

You realize then that you really liked Steve. He was uniquely kind, shown by the way he reached out to you when he really didn’t have to. He could have done what anyone else might have done and walked away, forgot all about you, and went on with his life.

If anyone could understand what you went through, even just a little, it was Steve. Before this, he had never asked you about your past, despite him never hesitating to share about Peggy when you mustered up the guts to ask him. He would later admit that he liked talking about Peggy, even if it hurt.

He likes telling people about what she liked, things she did that made him laugh, things that only she would do. He liked sharing that part of her with others. It made him feel like she was still around, in some way.

But he didn’t feel like he could talk to his friends about it, even though some time has gone by since her passing. His friends avoided the subject like the plague, either out of their own grief or in an effort to spare him from his. Steve thought it was a shame, because he wanted to talk about Peggy with people who had known her, people who had loved her like he did.

Spilling his guts out to a therapist was fine, and sometimes even cathartic, but there are times when that isn’t what he needs. But he didn’t know how to bring it up, not even with his best friend Bucky, who had ultimately decided to sacrifice his own chance at happiness out of fear.

You had never thought about things that way before. Talking about Loki was still too painful, even to Wanda and Pietro. But when you think about sharing stories about him, sweet things he used to do for Wanda unprompted, or the way he and Pietro would revert back to being teenage boys whenever they were together, it makes you ache but in the best way.

You only ever know a person one way, or maybe two if you were lucky, but it is only when they are gone that it really hits you that they might have been someone else to others. There were sides of them you would never know... would sharing that be sort of like discovering someone new?

You had always chosen to take the coward’s way out, opting not to speak when it really mattered. It had cost you everything. Maybe this time, just this once, you could take courage.

The Orphan Daughter by Cari Noga A Love Story Starring My Dead Best Friend by Emily Horner Sorrowland by Rivers Solomon

Steve didn’t press you for more. Instead, he just responded in his usual compassionate way.

I’m Sorry by Gina and Mercer Mayer I Wish I Had… by Giovanna Zoboli A Manual for Heartache by Cathy Rentzenbrink

The subject was never broached again. Steve was probably waiting for you to decide when you were ready to share, if you ever would be. He went back to leaving you book recommendations, or asking more mundane, sillier, funnier questions.

It then went from recommendations to this game you would play. You made a comment once about how a lot of books were inspired by song titles or lyrics. Now, there is a growing pile of books with musical names. Wanda and Pietro knew not to touch your exchanges, and you never made a move to put any of the books back, unless they were specifically requested and you had no other copies available.

How to Save a Life by Sara Zarr Since You’ve Been Gone by Morgan Matson Chasing Pavements by Neha Yasmin Norwegian Wood by Haruki Marukami (Don’t You) Forget About Me by Kate Karyus Quinn Jesse’s Girl by Miranda Kenneally Never Let Me Go by Kazuo Ishiguro All the Single Ladies by Rebecca Traister Heartbreak Hotel by Jonathan Kellerman Message in a Bottle by Nicholas Sparks

Steve sits across from you now, at his usual table, his laptop open in front of him. He’s typing away, but then he’ll heave a sigh and hit the backspace button over and over again in frustration. The crease between his eyebrows is so deep that you’re a little worried the wrinkle might become permanently etched into his skin.

It startles you when you catch yourself trying to memorize the lines of his face, perfectly symmetrical and imperfectly interesting all at once.

You tell him you’ll leave him to it as he falls back into concentration. You whisper a goodbye, before heading back to your office. You’ve been spending less time in there, which you suppose is a bad thing, but it’s not like you can’t get your work done elsewhere. All you need to do is unplug your laptop and you’re free to roam the premises, and answering a flurry of emails doesn’t require that much privacy, after all. Sometimes, you would sit with Steve as he wrote, you doing your research and responding to messages, the two of you working in comfortable silence.

Well, besides, this time is usually a slow period for you. People are just returning to school after the holiday season, and papers won’t be due for at least another month or two. Professors and students aren’t really spending much time at the library in the first few weeks of the semester. Westview is small, so you can’t really afford to put up as many events as you would like, or invite any of the big name authors for book signings and such.

Wanda had suggested asking Steve, but you would feel a little weird doing it. Besides, he’s working on a new novel right now, and surely doesn’t have the time for anything of the sort.

Your day drags on, and given your improving mood lately, you find it a little less difficult to venture into Loki’s office today. Only a little. Ever since that first time, you started coming in here often, as if by sitting in this empty room you could somehow be closer to him. Heart wrenching, you rummage through the packed-up boxes again.

Maybe you should have just left everything out where it had been, because with how often you’ve been going through his things lately— just one last time, you’d tell yourself—it seemed counterproductive.

When you initially packed all of this stuff away, you had wanted to get it done as quickly as possible. You didn’t pause to take in all the things he kept in his drawers, to really take in the photos he kept on his desk—ones from his trips to the UK, back when he was still healthy and happy. How strange it was that you couldn’t conjure up images of him from back then without help, even though you had years with him before he got sick.

Each time you searched through his things, you found something new—a scrawled note on the back of a photograph, the dark green ribbon you had used to wrap one of his birthday presents, the ticket stub from when the two of you went out to the movies one day, after deciding to meet for the very first time outside of work.

Today, you discover a wad of paper stuck between the pages of a book, breath hitching when you unfold them to see his neat cursive handwriting. You look away for a moment, as if you had found his secret diary entries. He had tucked them away for a reason; perhaps you shouldn’t read it. But curious and dizzy with longing, you can’t resist the urge.

They aren’t diary entries, but poems. You smile wistfully to yourself as you read through them, most are short and sweet. He describes the tranquility of an autumn morning, the unexpected comfort of returning to his hometown, the peace that can be found between the pages of a book.

He’d even written a cute one about Ollie, complete with an excellent drawing of your cat in the top corner. The next one, however, despite your earlier good mood, sinks you back into darkness. Fifty Words for Love, he’d called it, with your name printed neatly at the very end of the list.

You grab a pencil from another box, scrawling in his name next to yours. Tears burn at your eyes, prompting you to bite down on your lip hard enough that you think you might draw blood. Don’t do it, you tell yourself. Crying solves nothing! But the dam is beginning to burst, and you let out a small whimper when the tears flow free and splatter onto the page.

The sound of someone calling your name has you scrambling to wipe them away. You turn away from the door, despite knowing it’s too late—whoever it is has already seen you. Embarrassed and still sniffling, you slap a smile onto your face before looking up. It falters, however, when you are met with the desperately desolate eyes of your friend Thor.

You haven’t seen him in months. Eight months to be exact. Not since he left Westview shortly after the funeral and began ignoring your calls. He had then sent you a single text message before months of radio silence: I need time. I’ll be back.

Thor looks different, just like Pietro had told you. He looks nothing like the person you had known since high school. Your first instinct is to hold him close, to try and take the pain from him, but white-hot anger burns in your chest.

You hear the first syllables of an apology, but you pull back. He doesn’t let you. He wipes at your tears and you can’t help but sigh under his touch. Despite your anger, you’ve missed him. You’ve worried about him. You still do.

“Thor—”

“I’m sorry.”

“Why did you leave?” But it’s a silly question. You know perfectly well why.

“I’m sorry,” he repeats.

“I needed you and you left me.” It was unfair and you knew it. Thor and Loki were cousins, but it would have been more accurate to describe them as brothers. Thor was allowed to leave, to take time away to grieve and process everything that happened. But you were also allowed to be angry at him for leaving. Both things could be true. Nobody did anything wrong, and the situation was just helpless all around.

“I won’t leave again.” Thor promises, wrapping his arms around you. You let him for now, just needing to be near someone who had loved Loki just as much as you do, if not even more so. Some of the time, that alone is enough to bring you back from the pits of despair.

If anyone had ever told you that this is how your friendship with Thor would play out, you would have laughed in their face. You used to always say that it was impossible to stay mad at him, and he knew just how to make you laugh even when you were pissed. Not anymore, though.

Unfortunately, both of you have been irrevocably changed.

Thor had been a happy and eager spectator as your story with Loki unfolded. He began introducing you to people as his cousin, much to others’ confusion.

“Oh, sorry,” he would then correct himself with a teasing grin. “My cousin-in-law.”

Loki would flush pink, whacking Thor in the chest before turning to you with a small smile, rolling his eyes.

You pull away from Thor now, the betrayal of his abandonment coming back full force. If he had known how much Loki had meant to you, how could he have left? You know the answer already. If you had the same option, you would have taken it without question. You would have left this place, eager to outrun the pain of a love lost.

Your rational mind is not in play right now, however, and you shove Thor away a little more harshly than you had initially intended. Nevertheless, your heart swells with a twisted sort of satisfaction at the hurt that flashes across his features.

“I said I’m sorry.”

“And I don’t forgive you. Not yet.” You spit at him, taking large steps back from him to return to your office.

“I’m angry too, you know.”

“I know —” You begin, because you do know. It would be a surprise if he weren’t. Nobody watches someone they love die, watches them succumb to an illness that took a tiny part of them away every single day, only to emerge unscathed. But apparently, that’s not what he meant.

“Why didn’t you just tell him?”

“What?”

“He said he loved you. You said nothing. Even if you had to fucking lie—!” Thor’s voice breaks towards the end and he stops, rubbing a hand over his face as he exhales harshly in frustration. His outburst surprises you, because Thor usually isn’t one for profanity. You think you’ve only heard him swear a handful of times in the years you’ve known him, and none of those times were ever directed at you. “Even if you had to lie, why couldn’t you just say it? He was dying anyway!”

“Oh, screw you. You know it wouldn’t have been a lie,” you say, raising your own voice, indignant. How could he accuse you of such a thing?

“And yet you said nothing. He was dying, and you didn’t say it back! For all you know, he died thinking you didn’t feel the same.” You shake your head at this, heart shattering, because that simply could not be true. Loki knew. He had to know. He had to, even without you having to say it. “And maybe I left because you were the one I was angry at!”

Thor’s chest is heaving by now, fresh tears shimmering on his lower lashes. You hear him swear again, and he buries his face in his hands at the whimper that escapes your throat. This isn’t how he wanted this to go. He wasn’t supposed to be saying all of this. He was supposed to be making things better, not worse.

Thor puts his hands down to make eye contact, slowly shaking his head, as if trying to tell you that he didn’t mean it. But you know he had. All this time, he had been angry at you, and he could never bring himself to admit it until now. How hard it must have been for him to try and hold it back.

The knowledge, strangely, brings you relief. Because the thought had crossed your mind more than once that Loki should have gotten angry at you too. You would have been, if you were in his position.

Even faced with a ticking clock, even though you were very well aware of the fact that you were running out of time, you couldn’t manage to say three little words to him? Not even his dying could convince you to be honest with yourself?

More than regretful, it left you feeling ashamed. Your love for Loki amounted to so much more than the situation you created, but this is the legacy you’ve chosen. As the saying goes, you’ve made your bed. Now you must lie in it. But you are convinced that you may never sleep again.

Thor is crossing the room again, now holding his arms out in a silent plea before he touches you. Your face falls, knowing that you’re the one who should be asking for forgiveness—but your words fail you one more time.

Why is it always so difficult to say the things that matter?

With no answer, you once again opt for being a coward. Once again, you leave words unsaid. Once again, you feel you’ve made the wrong choice.

But at the very least, your actions can speak for you. You reach up to wrap your arms around him, allowing him to come close and rest his head on your shoulder. Thor’s sadness radiates off of him in waves, seeping into your skin and settling into your heart. The words you leave unspoken, you hope, somehow, can reach him in the same way.

I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.

We may be plenty fragile, but we are also the only ones who can decide to change. —ALI BENJAMIN, “The Thing About Jellyfish”

to be continued.

© 2025 by thereoncewasagirlnamedjane. do not repost, translate, or copy to third party sites. no part of this work may be fed into any AI software or websites. minors are asked not to interact with my blog; you are responsible for your own media consumption. blank/ageless blogs will be blocked.

#series: more than words #steve rogers au #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x f!reader #steve rogers x female reader #steve rogers x you #steve rogers x y/n #steve rogers fanfiction #steve rogers angst #steve rogers fluff #steve rogers series #steve rogers x asian!reader

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hebuiltfive · 16 days ago

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WIP Wednesday!!!

Trigger Warnings: implied sex and sexual acts; mentions of prostitution; unhealthy romantic relationships; romance (not really but will tag it as it's in the same vein). Nothing is graphically or explicitly described but please do not read this if you are easily triggered by the above!!

This one is a looooong wip wednesday (it could almost become it's own chapter) because I was finally inspired last night for new bits for my regency au, but I'm not sure how it reads, so I wanted to use it today to gauge opinion (and yes I am nervous so I'm hoping any comments will be kind - I don't usually write this sort of thing, but it flowed and it fits so I've given it a go).

Not sure who the woman is yet. Not sure how it will end either yet. It feels like it could be the new beginning to the story, but I do like my original chapter.... So idk 🤣

This won't be everyone's cup of tea so please make sure you've read the trigger warnings up top before proceeding! <3

The rain did little to stifle the sound of hooves racing through the cobbled streets of Soho. When the heavens had opened not five minutes before, frantic screams from a few remaining pedestrians caught out by the downpour had echoed through the unholy alleyways. The gas lamps, already far and few between, barely lit a decent path, but anyone passing in these parts would have surmised what activities were being interrupted by the sudden shower.

He walked briskly, a man on a mission. The running pedestrians, trying to find shelter from the rain, paid him no mind.

The silver tip of his cane sparkled whenever the rare shine of a gas lamp hit it. Normally, that sort of opulence would have had him the centre of attention as he strolled down these partcikuar streets. Normally, he'd have done his best to hide his identity, for fear of his visit being mentioned in the latest edition of the gossip rags.

His top hat, now utterly soaked with a steady drip of rain water falling from the brim, would have certainly stood him out from other patrons on the street.

No other gentleman he'd passed had been wearing one. No other gentleman he'd passed had been wearing attire as fancy or as fitted as his, not by a long shot. In fact, no other gentleman he'd passed had been a gentleman at all.

He shouldn't be here. He had promised himself hat he'd do better. He never should have opened up her letter, let alone allowed himself to be convinced, once again, by her words.

One last night.

It was always one last night when it came to her. Scott could barely remember how many times he'd read those words, so beautifully scrawled on the parchment with curving, seductive, addictive lettering. Three times? Perhaps it was five. Maybe he couldn't even count the number on one hand anymore.

He knew it was selfish and reckless and entirely stupid, that he should have instead been at home with his family, resting up for his sister's big day tomorrow.

But his knuckles rapped against the door regardless. He noticed the paint that was peeling from the frame in sorrowful crumbs; a fine example of the state of this part of London.

The woman who opened the door, though she was familiar to him at this point, wasn't the women which he'd come to visit. She was blonde and far too slim, with eyes so dark they contrasted her exceptionally pale complexion in the cruellest way. She greeted him with a curious eye.

The first time he'd landed on the doorstep of this sordid house, the woman in front of him was as new to this as he had been. Now, she was experienced, with tales that would have made the ladies Scott usually kept company with blush and faint.

The neckline of her bronze dress drooped low and the large, dark pendant that hung from her necklace clung to the top of her bossums like an enticing, deadly temptation. Scott never took the bait. He was always loyal (whatever 'loyal' meant in a place such as this bordello) to his friend who resided on the second floor.

He shouldn't be here.

"You know your way, mist'a." His greeter smiled, all charm and dazzle. Her lips were painted the slightest shade of rouge, another attempt to coerce weak-willed men into spending the night in her sheets.

He passed her by without a word, instead nodding his gratitude as he squeezed past and made his way down the narrow hallway. The lighting inside was not much better than that in the streets, but Scott found his way to the staircase easily. He'd visited enough times to know his way to her boudoir blindfolded.

That wasn't a comforting thought.

The wooden panels of the stairs creaked as he ascended. Fits of high-pitched giggling, coupled with soft moans and a scattering of satisfied screams filled the cathouse, a sullied reminder of where he currently was.

He shouldn't be here.

Her boudoir was on the second floor where it had always been. Nothing about her life here changed.

Her armoire was always exactly five paces into her room from the landing.

Her small writing desk was always tucked away in the corner of the far side of the room, beneath the tiny window that was pointless in letting in air or light.

Her tattered armchair was always in the opposite corner, covered with satin gowns and scarves, the finest cloth a woman of even her standing could attain.

Her bed was always to the right of the entry, open and ready for whatever games they wished to play that night.

He shouldn't be here.

She was sat at her desk, arm draped over the backrest with that seductively easy smile gracing her features. It was a smile he'd fallen for time and time again. It was a smile he was certain would forever haunt his dreams and his nightmares.

"You got my letter?" Never one to hide her satisfaction, she spoke the question more like a statement.

He shouldn't be here.

"I did." Scott confirmed, his voice a little dry and hoarse.

#wip wednesday #thunderbirds fanfiction #five fics #fic: the Illusionist's labyrinth #<- it's the new name for the #regency au #tw sex mention #tw romance #tw unhealthy relationship #tw prostitution

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mullermilkshake · 6 months ago

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The rose garden - Chapter 8

I will be uploading the whole thing here, it's just going take a little time, but if you want to read more right now, there's more on my AO3 <3

Summary - You are just an author wanting to put your writing out there and carry on with your life, but when two people end up murdered, things you write about seem to be more real than just pure fiction.

Pairing - Yandere!Suguru Geto x Fem!Reader / Detective!Satoru Gojo x Fem!reader (Sort of one sided)

Word count - 3.5k

Tags (master list for the entire fic, will add TW for significant tags) - DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT!!! PLEASE READ THE TAGS!!!,NSFW,SMUT,NO USE OF Y/N,Yandere!Getou Suguru, Graphic depictions of violence, major character death, Porn With Plot,Porn with Feelings,Established Relationship,PleasureDom,Codependency,Murder,Torture,Conspiracy,Cunnilingus,Orgasm Control,Multiple Orgasms,Minor Original Character(s),psychiatry,Medication,Power Imbalance,Vaginal Fingering,Disembowelment,Manipulation,Gaslighting,Rimming, Praise Kink,Grinding,mentions of blowjobs,Dry Humping,thigh riding,Dark,Autopsy,Aftercare,Hunting,Guns,Perceived infidelity,Body Horror,Smoking,Vaginal Sex,Misogyny,Public Stimulation,One sided sexual tension,Invasion of Privacy,Strangulation,Reader-Insert,Serious Satoru Gojo,Orgasm Edging,Obsession,Accidental Voyeurism,Angst,Questions of masculinity, stabbing, shooting

Hunting is best when things are quiet.

Suguru goes hunting.

Tags for chapter - thoughts on murder, Suguru fluffy stuff over reader, yandere,

Hello,

I just wanted to say, amazing work darling. How do you do it? How did you come up with one of the most thrilling plotlines I have ever read? My friend wants to write and I told her to read your book and I am sure she’ll find the inspiration.

Please look after yourself, we don't hear much from you. Keep up the good work!

—

Suguru should have gone fishing this morning, getting up at the crack of dawn was nothing new. He knew he should have gone against his better instincts and left you in bed to your dreams and wistful waking thoughts instead of warming his cock inside you as you writhed underneath him.

He should have left you to eat your breakfast and resume your writing, you were just far too distracting. Tantalising to send him wild, insane enough to rip his hair out from his scalp if he couldn't see you happy. You were far too innocent to realise just how alluring you were, sat there in your pyjama shorts and loose fitting shirt over his thigh like one beautiful writhing mess. Suguru lived purely to see the exasperated expression pull at your lips whenever he sent you over the edge.

He survived just by the scratch marks you left etched into his back.

He thrived on each orgasm until you begged him to stop.

He held out on the way you cooed his name when you were satisfied, which was frequent.

He sustained himself by pushing your boundaries until you only wanted him.

His words. His fingers. His cock. His come. It wasn’t just sex, it was your craving for him, just as much as he adored you.

Suguru loved you and you really were distracting.

He smiled to himself and shook his head, slipping on his boots and collecting his fishing gear in the tool bag and cooler coupled with the rifle over his shoulder. It was too warm to wear a hat just yet, so he tied his hair back fully and went on his way leaving you to do what you did best.

You were a fantastic writer, and Suguru was your biggest fan. He loved how you smiled at those letters, counting each one and packing them away in a small box as though your heart melted and placed it inside alongside them for safe keeping.

It took Suguru ages to write all of those letters. His hand cramped more than once. Still, he didn’t write all of them and he was sure he recognised the handwriting somewhere. But that was a thought for another day. Suguru was adamant he’d catch you a fish from the stocked lake down the way. Maybe some bass would do well for dinner?

Poached? No. Fried in flour with a deep soy glaze, vegetables all buttered and salted. Perfect. Suguru could already see the gleeful smile on your face when he brought a fish back to cook. That and a deer if he was lucky.

His fishing spot was as close to the house as it could be, within a few minutes walking distance, and he’d drag that baby all the way to the front door triumphantly with its tongue hanging clean out of its mouth. It was getting colder now, a deer was enough to prepare and toss into the freezer and take back to the house. The vacation was over in a few days, and with each passing hour, Suguru contemplated suggesting staying here and making the hour plus journey back into town for work. The lanes were in between, so the commute to his office wasn’t a problem.

He knew you would miss the house though. You would probably crucify him if he made the bold claim that it was important he sell it while the housing market was at its peak during the year.

Suguru’s mind always wandered back to you, right to the point he didn’t even realise that his phone was ringing. Was it you? Was there a problem?

Not you. But Mananmi. “Mr Geto?”

He’d only just sat down in his little pop up chair, slipping the phone between his ear and shoulder, trying to fiddle with the fishing lure. “What is it Manami, are you alright?”

She was clearly on edge. It was unusual for Manami to get so shaken up. “I’m fine, but there’s an officer here with a warrant asking to look at the security footage and patient records.”

Shit. He didn’t anticipate that a warrant would have been granted this quickly. It couldn’t be helped though. “It’s alright. They can have them if they have a warrant but only give them the patient list and confirm who they’re looking at on the camera footage. We can’t release any more than that. If the detective tries to give an issue, call me back and I can talk with him.”

“Alright, I will.”

Satoru Gojo was an audacious one, wasn’t he? Suguru knew, but he wanted that confirmation. “Before you go. Does the officer have white hair?”

“No, he's a brunette. Why?”

He paused everything. “No matter, just call me if you need me.”

“Bye.”

It wasn’t the Detective? Suguru did not assume the worst. There could have been a whole slew of reasons why Satoru Gojo was not at his office.

Perhaps he was taken off the case for instance? Suguru would have sat back and relaxed in his chair whilst throwing his lure into the water if that was the case. Yet something settled on top of his stomach that told him that was not the case.

It was pretty clear that their first and only meeting together set the little red whistles in his head off so that they were grating on his mind. Satoru could not know about Mr Simmons’ reason for being there that day and force Suguru to commit the unthinkable that would land him in more shit.

But if the good Detective worked it all out with proof before he got his hands on the other killer, that would equally be just as bad.

Would you visit Suguru in prison? Would you even believe the police after you found out that he had committed a crime in the most gruesome way to keep you safe? It was for you after all and he’d do it again in a heartbeat to each and every person he had killed.

Every person was linked to that book of yours in some sort of capacity. People who affected your confidence and ruined your chances of a decent shot, because the publishing world reeked of superiority and idiot children buying their way in for a failed shot of success.

You merely saw it as hurdles.

Suguru saw it as a horrid travesty. Pure ignorance of those who actually had talent.

Yeah. He would choose to do it all over again. Everytime.

For the time being, it was Satoru he needed to be wary of. One mistake and it was all over. You would be all alone out here, he simply would not allow it. What if Satoru Gojo decided to make a move on Suguru’s behalf and un-fuck everything he had put into into you? The mans words held weight and he could just see those very words cast doubt in your mind.

That was not going to happen.

Again, Suguru shook those negativities away and sat quietly facing the distant mountains waiting for a bite for over an hour. Just simple bliss in nature, where Suguru felt most at home.

The two sisters were a mountainous anomaly, pairing together in a mirror image and it was all on his doorstep. Snow capped year round and equally as stunning at the peak of sunset. One of many he had seen set with you, one of which when he proposed.

God, you were amazing. He thought of you way too much, and even that wasn’t enough.

A tug on his line was one of pure focus and strength to rip him from his thoughts. The vibrations in the water shifted and struggled until there were bubbles and thrashing from one beautiful freshwater bass bobbing in the water like it wasn’t there to play.

Suguru was. That was your dinner and he was certain if it cut loose he’d swim in the plummeting temperature and wrestle that fish to land if need be, but it came towards him after growing weary like it was meant to be.

“Perfect.” Suguru should have taken it back home, but he wanted to see whether he could get a trail on a deer before heading back.

He dropped his rod and sorted the fish out, prepping it for storage in the little cooler by his feet and set off towards the tree line for any evidence. Now Suguru wasn’t adept at hunting as others were, not by any match, it was only a pass time which provided for you.

The wind filtered lazily through the regimental trees around the edge, the cabin in view in a picturesque verge of two worlds. Suguru waited. He waited for a sign, a hoof print or crack of tree bark as an indicator.

For ten whole minutes he stood in silence, waiting and waiting. But it wasn’t a deer he noticed, it was a car coming through and pulling up alongside his vintage car, blocking his view to it.

Suguru held up the rifle and watched the car roll to a stop through the enhanced scope. “The warrant at my office was a diversion, huh?”

Satoru Gojo climbed out of that car and moved around to the back of the other car, peering through the window and taking a generally close look at the grill and side mirrors.

“You won’t find anything there, asshole.”

The Detective was idiotic enough to give him warning to remove any further microscopic incriminating evidence which was more than he could ever ask for.

The scope was on him, the crosshairs directly aimed at his head and Suguru was tempted to pull the trigger.

“He just came at me, officer, I thought he was an animal.” Like that would actually work. It did not stop Suguru from wishing it so.

He continued to watch him, observing him pull out his phone from his suit jacket pocket and put it to his ear. He fiddled with the bolt action and charged it slowly, the hunt had already begun, the bait already taken.

Just a slight pressure on the trigger and Satoru Gojo would be no more.

No more.

No more… Just wait until he puts that phone away.

Movement. Suguru’s scope shifted a fraction to the left. You were right there, standing close by all wrapped up in your blanket waving him over. Satoru held his hand up as though to pause you.

That bastard, who did he think he was making you wait for him? Suguru wanted to shoot him and watch his head explode all over his car window, though there was no way on this dear earth he would do it now with you having to witness it.

“Shit… Go inside, sweetie.” You were standing there with your arms folded and wearing a confused frown. “Please. Go inside. Don’t let him in.”

Satoru put his phone away and pulled a piece of paper from his other pocket and approached you, speaking something that made your face drop and read it.

A fucking warrant no doubt.

Your eyes darted towards the lake, in the direction of the fishing spot and said something. Suguru was certain that your lip trembled. Satoru shrugged and pointed you into the house.

“Fuck.” Suguru stopped for a moment and dropped his rifle. “Think… Think.”

He knew what to do. Rushing to his right pocket, Suguru yanked his phone out and tapped away, flicking to the right app and opening it without waiting for anything.

A live view of the living area and kitchen. The camera overlooking the rose garden was not the only camera Suguru decided to put in. These determined clear and clean alibi’s. They also provided Suguru with the privilege to watch over you. Either way, they would keep you safe.

Suguru noticed the Detective approach the sofa as he did the last time he stepped foot inside the cabin. “I apologise for the inconvenience this causes. But I won’t keep you, I’ll go find Suguru after we're done talking.”

You perched yourself on the edge of the sofa and held the blanket close. “Right…”

“So uh, I read your book. I must say, I think I’m a big fan.”

Your tune changed immediately. “Oh… really?”

“Yeah.” He drawled. “I read that thing in two days, I couldn’t put it down.”

“It’s nice to see someone enjoying what I’ve written. Is there anything you liked in particular? It might help me write my next book I’m having issues with.” You didn’t make eye contact. You never did when someone complimented your work.

“Nonsense. Inspiration is everywhere, you just gotta find it.”

Where was Satoru going with this? It was clearly obvious you were uncomfortable and yet he was ramping up for something. If he had a warrant, then why wasn’t he asking you questions you didn't know the answer to?

“I suppose you’re right.” The stagnant pause was uncomfortable. You shifted and brought your knees closer together. “So that warrant, what do you need from me exactly? It’s probably better if you talk to Suguru, I’m not really sure what you need.”

“What I’m after is the truth and this warrant allows me to take his car for testing, and I have an associate currently at his office collecting data. Y’see there was an incident on the lanes and we think his office’s security camera might give us some clues as to who it was.”

You tilted your head to the side, eyes narrowing at him with suspicion. “His office? But it's a stationary camera. I doubt you’ll find anything on there, the lanes go for miles. I don’t think there’s any cameras around there now that I think about it.”

Satoru was about to speak but you didn’t let him. Always off in your own world. “Though you have a warrant, it can’t be helped, right?”

“Right.”

Suguru noticed you lean over to the coffee table, picking up a small note pad from underneath with your little dangly pen and placed it on your lap. A twig snapping behind him made him look away for a second, a strong gust making a branch shake.

He watched on and this time you appeared eager. “Listen, I didn’t think I’d get to see you again if I’m honest. Suguru deals with all of this and there’s something important I need to ask you. I realise it will most probably be a ‘no’, but my curiosity is far too strong to ignore.”

What was your angle here?

Satoru didn’t seem to know either. “Sure…”

“I already know there was second body, Suguru explained to me after you left, but I’m curious to how they were found. I wanted to know what the bastard did to her and why she suffered. Then I realised that it was for my own morbid curiosity.” You shuffled uncomfortably in your seat, probably kicking yourself for even asking. You even looked him dead in the eye it looked like.

“You read my book so you know the sort of things I write, but my mind is in overdrive all the time and I just… What I’m trying to say is that I’d really like to know the details before it goes public.”

Satoru shook his head slow enough to almost be considered condescending. “I honestly can’t give that information out. But I can tell you this.”

What was he going to say? Should Suguru run in before he could spill his assumptions to cloud your mind? Or stay put until the web further spun itself? You sat eagerly on the edge of your seat, pen at the ready because Suguru knew exactly what you wanted to do now, he almost slapped his own face. You wanted true and raw inspiration. Oh christ.

A systematic characteristic that Suguru both admired and condemned when it was all at the wrong time. True crime was something that came with you as a joint package, watching countless hours for a small pilot light to spark and flicker that sick little twisted flame in your brain.

And Suguru loved it. But not when you were sitting opposite a Detective who had a warrant to check Suguru’s car that doubled as evidence in vehicular homicide.

Jesus christ.

Satoru grinned and leant forward in his seat. “There’s some things in that book that really seem to apply to this recent case actually.”

He was baiting you.

Suguru held the phone in his left hand, took the rifle in his right, covered his ears how he could and set off a round into the air. On cue, Satoru Gojo stopped and shot up from his seat.

“That’ll be Suguru, he went hunting today.”

He held his hand up to you as though to dismiss you and make you sit. Suguru kept his eye on the screen and made his way towards the rest of his stuff to bring back in a slow rush. He never took his eyes off of that live feed.

Satoru Gojo was on the back burner for now, just until he could make his way back to that front door. “I thought you said he went fishing?”

You nodded. “He did, he’s been out there for a few hours, he usually takes the rifle with him in case he sees a deer while he’s fishing. We usually take one back with us to the house to stock up the freezer- sorry is there a problem?”

He didn’t peel his eyes away from the direction of the gunshot that echoed around the curved bowl of the tree line. “No problem. It’s just a reflex I guess.”

You watched him settle himself back down though now he was clearly on edge. “Anyway, where was I- oh right. The bodies were something pretty much out of your book, like they were plucked from the page-”

Suguru jammed his key into the lock and jiggled it, closing the app and slipping his phone into his pocket and prayed the door swung open before Satoru could spill anything else that could implicate you.

He didn't plan to make Mr Simmons’ body anything like what you had written, his attempt was to make it look tasteful, artistic. Not with any direct correlation to your book, which meant either meant the other body was or his subconscious appreciation of your book had screwed him over.

This was not good.

This was not fucking good.

“Sweetie, I got a nice bass for dinner-“ When the door came open it left Suguru in a huff with direct eye contact on the Detective himself. “Detective Gojo, what a surprise.”

“What was that gunshot?”

“My aim isn’t as good as it was, and it was a pretty big rabbit too.”

Satoru's silence slashed through the tension. “Let’s talk.”

“Alright.” Suguru turned to you with the sweetest smile he could muster. “Could you take this into the kitchen, please? I’ll be back in just a moment.”

You nodded and took the cooler from his hand so that Suguru could at least calm himself enough to face the detective.

Just like before, they waited until the office doors slid shut softly into the silence.

“You’re here for my car, I take it?”

“Why do you think that? Maybe I just fancied a chat.” He was in a cocky mood today.

Suguru shook his coat off and hung it over the coat rack. “I didn’t expect you back until you had a warrant, I doubt my fiancé would have let you in otherwise.”

“I am here for the car.” Satoru leant against the wall with his hands in his pockets.

Suguru recognised the scent of his cigarettes in the enclosed space. “Perfect. If I can just see that warrant, it’s all yours.”

He rummaged through his desk drawer and fished the key out, letting it jingle along with a keyring of the photo booth you and him sat through with tongues poking out.

Satoru did his best to hide his frustration though Suguru saw straight through it. “Here.”

“Great, make sure you double pump the clutch, she’s old and can take time to get used to her, but don’t choke her out.”

“You haven’t touched it since the other night?”

“Of course not, I knew you were going to come back for it, I wouldn’t want to affect the validity of whatever tests you’ll no doubt run.”

He did. The other night when you were sound asleep, even if Satoru asked you, you were none the wiser. The car was clean and fixed just as it should have been.

“I’ll decide that when we’re finished. Otherwise, thank you for your time, Suguru.” He called him by his first name.

“If you tow her instead, be gentle. She can be quite delicate as a golden oldie.” Suguru had to suppress his laughter as Satoru ignored his advice and closed the office door harder than he probably meant to.

Suguru couldn't help himself but throw some bait for that slippery fish on the deck. It seemed he took it too.

Speaking of fish, Suguru checked his watch.

I better get dinner on.

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(Master list)

DISCLAIMER - I do not own any of the characters of Jujutsu Kaisen. This is a work of fan fiction and is absolutely not representative of the views or intentions of the original creator(s).

The side characters and advanced plot is my own work. A gift for @vampir-queen and original idea for this fic is their own.

Also please don’t post any of my work without permission thank you!

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