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angel-kyo · 4 months ago

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Pay it no mind

Part XXV

In which reader confesses their feelings to Gojo, but it seems these are not returned (maybe?).

Warnings: reader is on the receiving end of rejection (kinda), and the fact that I'm obsessed with unrequited love is a warning itself. Drinking is mentioned, Satoru is ooc and a bit mean. Umm... I don't know. If you think of anything, let me know.

Previous: Part I, Part II, Part III, Part IV, Part V, Part VI, Part VII, Part VIII, Part IX, Part X, Part XI, Part XII, Part XIII, Part IV, Part XV, Part XVI, Part XVII, Part XVIII, Part XIX, Part XX, Part XXI, Part XXII, Part XXIII, Part XXIV

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“Are you sure you don’t want some company? You look kind of…” Haruki did not finish that sentence, but you could guess what he meant.

Affected? Dumbfounded? Hurt? I am, all of those.

After your argument with Satoru, both of you had returned to the table looking gloom and shaken, and none of you had had the stomach to try the dessert after all.

Out of decency, Satoru had not made any excuses to leave early. But his eyes did not meet yours for the rest of the night, alternating between Haruki, Shoko, and the dessert he would push around over his plate but would not eat. And just like you, he had lost all will to chat with the rest. Then he had said his goodbyes quickly and left you all standing on the street outside the restaurant.

After you accompanied Shoko part of the way in the direction of her house, Haruki had insisted on walking you home.

Now you were standing in front of the closed door to your apartment with concerned hazel eyes trying to decipher what was going through you head.

“I guess I could not impress your friends, could I?” he asked, testing your mood.

You still did not look at him when you replied “You didn’t do so bad. Shoko was quite pleased.”

It was true. Even if the mood had become awkward towards the end of the night, you could tell Shoko had apparently enjoyed herself for a while.

“But Gojo wasn’t… It must have been quite a chat if it let you both that quiet.”

You knew there was no hostility in his tone, but it still reminded you of everything Satoru had told you.

“Is it because…?”

“Why did you have to…?”

Both of you had spoken at the same time, but when Haruki’s eyes connected with yours, he knew the answer to the question he had not finished. “So, it is because of what I said that Gojo got so weird. Am I right?”

He sighed.

It was not like you to look for someone to blame, and in all honesty, you could probably blame yourself for most of what had happened, but…

“He got the impression you and I have something, and now he thinks I was toying with him.”

He figured it had been something like that. He had felt like Gojo was mentally throwing daggers at him when he finally returned to the table and set his eyes on him.

“I’m sorry...” Haruki’s eyes showed genuine regret. “I guess I got petty. The other night, when you told me you felt he actually likes you, and that you wanted to give him a chance…” He smiled sadly. “...I felt happy for you, really. But when I saw him tonight, and the way he looks at you, I realized I would have to let you go.”

He had never seen it up-close, the way you and Gojo orbited around each other; how any of you would say something and immediately look at the other as if waiting for their reaction, the looks and smiles between the two revealing the complicity shared, like a dance you were the only ones who knew the steps of, a synchronized waltz perfected through the years.

You leaned against the door and looked down. “He hates me now though.”

Haruki leaned his side against the wall, looking at you. “You know,” there was a slight change in his remorseful tone from before, “when I was in high school, I was working parttime at this coffee shop, and one day during cashier duty, I spotted this person in the line and immediately felt like I needed to know them. I could have just given them their order and taken their money, but I asked them about the keychain dangling from their bag.”

I remember.

“I’ve never once regretted it,” he said looking into your eyes. “They turned out to be fun and smart, and made me so happy during a time when I was so miserable at home. I even felt a bit jealous of the friends who got to see them every day, and of that Satoru they talked so much about, and who obviously had loved them long before I even met them.”

Right, even back then, you would constantly mention Gojo during your outings. You had thought it was just natural for friends to talk so much about each other, to be constantly reminded of your bond, to see something and wonder if Satoru would like it, eat it, what would he think of it, and the need to share anything you found enjoyable with him.

‘Satoru would say this is not sweet enough.’

‘Satoru likes this anime too.’

‘The other day, Satoru said…’

Looking back at it, maybe you had fallen for him long before your lips touched his.

“I am sure he still feels the same,” Haruki said almost in a whisper as he reached for your face.

Looking at you, Haruki wondered what would have happened if you two had had more time. Would he have had a chance if you had met at a different stage in life? Would you have still drifted apart if your time had not been cut short when you were younger? If only he had met you sooner or maybe later than that hot summer that persuaded you to enter the air-conditioned coffee shop where he was working to escape the heat for a few minutes, would things have been different?

No... It is unfair to blame timing.

Those few minutes making small talk with you stretched into one of the happiest seasons of his youth. He did not want to change it, and hoped you did not either, even if the period when he could hope for anything more than friendship had come to an undeniable end.

“And you and him will sure have many more happy seasons together,” he said before pressing a caste kiss on your cheek and embracing you.

To you and Haruki, this was his way of saying goodbye to the possibility of anything else between you and him, an amicable end to a bright summer.

Unfortunately, to the white-haired man standing farther away in the hallway, who had not heard his words but witnessed his actions, although unnoticed by any of you, it felt like the end of the world he had been living in for the last few weeks.

***

If anyone had told Yaga that hiring two of his own former students as teachers would make his life this hard, he would have decided against it from the start.

Gojo was MIA, and he had had to call a substitute to cover for him. And then, there was you, who while physically present before your students, did not look as focused as usual.

You had taken your class to the training grounds for an improvised training outside, or that was what you were telling to Principal Yaga.

“I didn’t think ‘improvised’ was your teaching style, [name],” Yaga said while observing your students. “That’s more like Satoru’s.”

“I suppose,” you agreed, trying to ignore the painful feeling hearing his name caused.

Yaga glanced at you from the corner of his eye. Your face was turned to the training grounds ahead of you, but a look into your eyes would easily reveal your mind was somewhere else.

As your former mentor, Yaga usually trusted your teaching methods and knew better than to pry on your personal business, so he opted for letting it is slip.

“Now, about Satoru, you wouldn’t happen to know where he is, would you?”

That question seemed to briefly pull your mind from wherever it was, and Yaga saw you focus on the kids running around in the field and shake your head lightly. “No, I haven’t heard of him.”

Nothing since that night.

“What a way to slack off,” Yaga grumbled. “I’ll have Ijichi pay him a visit.”

Despite your low spirits, that thought amused you.

Poor Ijichi; he had been your junior in high school, and while he had become a reliable assistant, still looked up to you and Shoko. You suspected he held some of the same respect for Gojo, and that may be why he put up with his antics so much. That did not mean that Satoru had stopped treating him as his underclassman, though.

Even if he can find Satoru, he will be lucky if he can talk any reason into him and drag him to the school.

“Right, why don’t you go instead?”

Yaga was looking at you, waiting for your answer.

Had you said that aloud?

“Me?" you asked. You? Reach out to Satoru, after everything that had happened? "I can’t.. I mean, I have to watch my students.”

Lame excuse, and by the way Yaga kept his eyes on yours, you could tell he knew it was just that, an excuse.

Of course, he probably was not caught up with all the drama between you and Satoru, so he did not see any issues with his request.

“You mean the students who are about to shot us an arrow?”

“What…?”

You did not have time to finish the question when indeed, and arrow infused with curse energy flew by between you and Yaga followed by the gasps and ‘watch out’ screams of the kids.

You looked at them in disbelief and yelled, “I said no cursed tools for now! Put that away.”

Their obedience probably was motivated by Principal Yaga’s stern watch on them rather that your scolding.

“Sure, you may need to keep a sharper eye on them.” The principal’s expression was a severe as always, but you thought you saw the ghost of a smile on his face. “Check on Satoru later, alright? And tell him that he should pass by my office when he finally decides to grace us with his presence.” Now his tone had been a bit more serious.

With that, Yaga left.

Only once he was out of your sight, he allowed himself to smile more openly, remembering a certain group of students who had done their own fair share of mischief back in the day. Not that he would not give one of them a good scolding for skipping work though.

***

“Hello?” you asked, cautiously stepping into Gojo’s apartment.

You had knocked, many times actually, but there had been no response.

He had missed the whole workday at the school; as far as you knew from the assistants, he not been sent on any missions, and even Shoko had confirmed not having communicated with him at all that day.

He had not responded to your texts or calls, so you did the one thing you had been hoping to avoid all day: going to his place.

After some awkward minutes knocking on his door, you decided the situation was getting concerning and took out the emergency spare key you had to Satoru’s apartment.

When you were finally in, the darkness was the first thing you noticed. The sun was going down and some light still filtered through the partially open curtains.

Maybe he is not home?

“Satoru?” you called.

You walked further into the apartment and saw Gojo laying down on the couch of his living room. You stepped closer and noticed he was asleep.

Carefully, you towered over him.

Is he sick or...?

Only then, you noticed the half-full bottle of vodka on the table. Since when did he have alcohol at home?

“[name].”

Satoru was laying still, looking at you with half-lidded eyes, and you took a step back, straightening up. “You’re awake.”

He sat up. “How did you get in?”

At least he does not look too drunk.

You raised your hand, still holding the spare key he had given you. “You did not come to the school. Have you been here the whole day?”

His focus shifted to his surroundings as if he was disoriented.

“Where is your phone? We have called you a hundred times. Yaga is pissed, and…”

“Can-can you stop?” His brows were furrowed, and he was pinching the bridge of his nose. “I have a headache... Why is it that you are you here again?”

You huffed. “Yaga asked me to come here. Are you drunk?”

You did not recognize the look he gave you and his eyes drifted to the bottle sitting in front of him, the recollection of the last couple of days slowly coming back to him. Him telling you those awful things in the restrooms, him going to your place because he felt bad for saying them, him seeing Ikeda getting all affectionate with you, his blood boiling at the sight and the ache in his chest that followed.

The rest was a blur.

He had bought that bottle and been hesitant at first about drinking any of it. No, he did not like the taste of it nor the burning feeling in his throat, but once the alcohol had settled in, it would numb his senses, and if he was lucky, he would fall unconscious into a prolonged dreamless sleep. At that moment, it looked exactly like what he needed. The only thing he had not considered was the pounding headache he would wake up with.

The place was almost completely dark, but the little light getting in shone too brightly. He closed his eyes.

“Satoru?”

With effort, he opened his eyes enough to see you were handing him his blindfold. He must had left it discarded on the floor.

He took it, and the way his fingers brushed yours did not go unnoticed by either, but he quickened to pull his hand back and cover his eyes as if it had not happened.

You let a soft sigh scape your mouth. “Can we talk?”

You looked at him expectantly.

“I think we’ve talked enough,” he said in a flat tone.

He knew you needed to talk. What had happened in the restrooms that day had hardly been talking. It had been yelling and accusing, mostly from his part. He had felt ashamed for exploding like that, but when he thought of Ikeda holding you in front of your apartment, he could not help but feel hurt and betrayed all over again.

“No, Satoru. I mean, actually talking, explaining, and…”

And telling you I love you.

“I said there is nothing to talk about, [name]. Please just leave me alone.“

You swallowed your words. He wanted alone time. That was understandable.

“Okay,” you agreed almost breathless. “I get you are not feeling well.”

You eyed the bottle on the table in front of him. “Don’t drink more, okay?” Your voice was soft, mindful of the headache he had.

You wanted to stay and look after him, just as you always did when he was not feeling well, but his rigid posture and the way his face was turned away from you, was a clear sign that he would not be receptive to your presence now.

“And call Yaga," you continued. "He wanted to know if you’re coming to the school tomorrow or if he will need another substitute.”

The slight nod he gave you was the only confirmation that he had heard you.

“Okay,” you nodded back and turned to leave.

“[name]?”

You halted at the mention of your name and walked back, hopeful.

Satoru was still looking at some invisible point in front of him instead of your face, and the fact that his blindfold was on, and the room was almost completely dark made it only harder to read his expression.

“I’d like you to please leave your spare key.”

Huh?

You blinked once, twice. Your throat was closing. Why did you suddenly felt like crying?

Was it the foreign courteous tone in which he had request it? Was it because he was asking you to return a symbol of your friendship and trust in each other?

Perhaps, it was the underlying meaning behind such action why your hand trembled slightly when you placed the key on the table in front of him.

If he noticed the tear that landed on his carpet when you bent forward or if he was tempted to stop you and comfort you, you could not tell because you had never walked out of Satoru’s apartment faster.

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Note: Sorry for any typos, errors, etc. I'll proof-read later... at some point...someday.

For now, I hope you are all well. <3

Thank you for reading!

Next: Part XXVI

@mavs-stuff @witchbybirth @crookedlyaddictedone-blog @tqd4455 @maybe-a-bi-witch @mo0nforme @maliakealoha @zacatecanaaaa @blushhpeachh @astriarose @missesgojosatoru @ba-ks @sukunasleftkneecap @songbirdlully @cole-silas @heijihattorisgf @chokesonspit @hersheyzzz @smolbeanzzz @luciledreamz @avidreadee123 @moonmalice @ratscandaler @sadmonke @allie-jay @username23345 @spin-garden @ashehateaccount @kayzens @blehtotheblehtothebleh @stellasloth @bloopsstuff @cheesemachine44 @tetsuski @rosellerinfrost @catowru @bi-narystars @wondermilka @fortunatelyfurrygiver @shrxui @cc1306 @chili-paste

#gojo satoru #gojo x reader #jjk #gojo x you #gojo x y/n #jjk fanfic #gojo fanfic #jujutsu kaisen #gojo satoru x reader #satoru x reader #jjk x reader #light angst #pay it no mind

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irisintheafterglow · 3 months ago

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there's one week out of the entire year iwaizumi hajime loathes: back to school week at the gym.

as an athletic trainer? sure, he's happy for all these new students stepping out of their comfort zones and trying out their campus' amenities. as your boyfriend? he's one more lingering look away from hurling a kettlebell at whoever stares at your body for too long.

"haji, my love. you're scaring the new kids," you chide, setting the squat bar with your warmup weight back on its hooks.

"not my fault they've got wandering eyes," he grumbles, his usual approachable demeanor nowhere to be found. "how many plates, babe?"

"i'll do one for now, but grab me two ten's just in case. i'm trying to take it easy today, but not too easy," you request after a sip from the water bottle he'd gifted you for your first anniversary. a gold volleyball charm the size of your fingernail dangled from the side on a keychain, identical to the one hanging from his car keys.

"you can do two plates in your sleep. i'd say three is where you start to struggle," he points out while rolling you the weights, ever the cheerleader in testing your strength to its limits. "but do what you feel's right for today. don't worry about those assholes who keep lookin' at you." as you work through your sets and add on plates, you vaguely hear your boyfriend's firm mutters of warning as fresh faces pass by.

keep it moving.

eyes elsewhere, buddy.

look there one more time and i'm gonna call security, newbie.

maybe it's because he's preoccupied with playing security guard, or maybe it's because you want to show off, but you end up sliding on a bit more weight than you can handle on your best days. your legs wobble on their own, the strength in your quads gradually fading as muscle failure sets in. you shake away a few beads of sweat that drip from your forehead and will yourself to dig deeper.

"there you go, baby. that's it," hajime murmurs encouragingly, the note of awe in his voice evident. "doing great. just a few more."

"haji, i don't think i got this one," you chuckle nervously, your chest heaving with deep, hurried breaths. "might be...fuck...a little too close to the sun, here...shit."

"say the word and i'll get you, honey," he reassures you, smirking at your colorful strings of curses that you only said when you were really pushing it. his eyes scan your body for any inkling that your form is deteriorating; like he promised you the first day he convinced you to go to the gym with him, his number one priority will always be your safety. whether that be creeps who keep stealing glimpses at your legs or attempting a new pr, he vowed that he would be there to protect you. "two more, baby. you're killing it."

you better back the hell up before i make you, he quietly threatens to a duo of freshmen that were inching closer to you from a blindspot in your vision. as he's glaring daggers, you're blinking away dark spots in your vision and trembling by the time you finish your last rep.

"haji, babe, you got me?" your body feels like it's frozen in a squat, unable to push yourself back up no matter how much you tried. maybe this is how atlas felt when he was holding up the world, you think to yourself. hajime's definitely gonna tease you for that one, later.

"you need me?" he's behind you in an instant, enveloping you in warmth and positioning his hands next to yours. the smell of his cologne and the familiar shape of his body behind yours give you a surge of energy, enough to force out one more word before your final push.

"please." he shoots one last look of warning to someone behind him before effortlessly helping you place the bar back on the hooks, kissing the top of your head once you've let your muscles relax. "thanks, baby."

"it's what i'm here for. i'm proud of you," he murmurs, brushing his thumb against your cheek when you turn to face him. he holds your bottle for you as you sip, your lower body still shaking even though you're only standing.

"alright." you smile once you've had your fill and re-racked your weights. you spot a pack of girls eyeing your boyfriend from the treadmills and stifle a laugh that he catches anyway. "your turn."

"what're you laughin' about?"

"it's nothing. need help with your plates?"

"i'm good, just stay there and look pretty. i'm gonna be wondering what you're laughing at for the rest of the night, though." he shrugs passive-aggressively and you roll your eyes. he follows your eyeline, zeroing in on the group batting their eyelashes at him like sirens. "hmm. friends of yours?"

"never seen them in my life," you reply. "guess it's time for me to play guard dog."

if you enjoy my writing and would like to support me, you can buy me a coffee on my ko-fi! commissions and nsfw requests can be sent through my fiverr! you can also check out my full masterlist here :)

#iwaizumi x reader #iwaizumi x you #iwaizumi x y/n #iwaizumi hajime x you #iwaizumi hajime x reader #iwaizumi hajime x y/n #haikyu x you #haikyu x reader #haikyu x y/n #hq x reader #hq x you #hq x y/n #hq fluff #iwaizumi fluff

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grabowskibeepboop · 2 years ago

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Can someone please make a cute design of maybe a keychain that is a heart that's either being stabbed with an arrow or dagger by little Wednesday, or is being nibbled on by a teeny tiny hyde, or both at the same time? Because if you did that I'd totally buy it

#tylorpe #tavier #tythorpe #xavier x tyler #tyler x xavier #wenclair #wednesday netflix #wednesday x enid #enid x wednesday #wenid #wednesday show #wednesday series #netflix wednesday #wednesday addams #tyler galpin

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callsigndragon · 2 years ago

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Fic title game again!

Forever?

The Bonnie To My Clyde

Worth the Risk

Feeeeeed meeeee all the brain babies 😍

And here we HAVE MORE TITLES FROM MAMA MAY! Let's see Let's see

Forever?

This makes me think of Jake and his (apparently) fear of commitment. Jake and his girl have been together for two years now, and she is starting to question where the relationship is going, if he has intentions to take it to the next level, or if this is all she’s gonna get from him. Don't get me wrong, she loves Jake. But she can't see herself munch longer in this relationship. They still live in separate houses, which would be totally cool if Jake didn't drastically change convos whenever she mentions living together, as he spends more time in her house anyway; if he didn't roll his eyes everytime a guy proposes in a movie, telling how it was so cliché that the couple won't make it to the end of the year and would get a divorce really soon.

Signals are there and she starts to think that this is all for Jake, that he doesn't want anything more of this relationship and she.... she can't be with him if this is all she's gonna get. She wants to live with him, at least. She can comprehend him not liking marriage, it's not that important... but the house... yeah, she's not gonna let that one go.

So one day, when she's ready to tell Jake that she wants to end up things, he appears and tells her that he has a surprise and blindfolds her. She feels bad, and thinks that maybe she can wait a bit to break up with him, because he seems super excited about this surprise and doesn't want to break his heart even more. Jake takes her to this mysterious place, helps her get put the car and then takes the blindfold away. Standing in front of her, it's a beautiful house, the exact same one she complimented once as the house of her dreams! Only once, though, which surprises our girl a whole lot.

"It's our house if you want it," he says, softly pressing the keys in your hand. "If you want us."

"Us?" You look at the keys, noticing that in the keychain, there's a shiny, brand new, diamond ring.

"I have been planning this for a while now, heard that the owners wanted to sell the place and came as soon as I heard to make an offer. I couldn't tell you, though. I didn't want you to get your hopes up and then losing the house. When they told me the house was mine, I realized that... I wanted to move in with my future wife here. But I hadn't proposed yet, and I needed to find the perfect ring, which took me a bit more than I thought. I know that it's taken me a bit but darling... Do you want to love me and live with me here forever?"

"Forever?" She repeats, with tears in her eyes.

"Forever."

Needless to say, she accepts and they live happily ever after!

The Bonnie to my Clyde

This one is for Mickey. He has this friend, well, more than that. His partner in crime. They've been together since the academy days and she is always encouraging Mickey to prank the rest of the Daggers.

One day, the Daggers want to return those pranks, but they don't know, however, that if they mess with Mickey, Bonnie, as Mickey calls her, is going to mess up with them.

And in between the biggest prank war Top Gun has ever seen, Bonnie and Clyde Mickey realize that they've been in love for as long as they remember.

(Short but sweet)

Worth the risk

This happens during the Uranium mission. After Mav gets hit and Rooster crashes his plane to go find him, Raven's plane F-18 starts malfunctioning. She has to eject, far away from the place where Mav and Rooster had crashed. Raven sees the copters and a few 5-gen planes going around, so the best thing she can do is hide.

At the same time, Jake, against direct orders and knowing that this is gonna cost him his entire career, flies to where Raven has crashed. But he's not gonna let his girl alone. He had asked her to marry him the nigh prior, and when he said he wanted to be with her until death pulled them apart, this wasn't what he meant.

"Hangman, this is your most crazy stunt to date and you could be kicked out for this!" Natasha tells him over the comms, wanting him to come back because Raven is gonna be so mad when she hears what this idiot is doing.

"It's worth the risk, Phoenix." That's all he says before turning off the radio.

He arrives to the crash site, ejects, and walks for hours until he finds her hidden in a small cave. She yells at him, they fight a bit, but in the end she's glad to not be alone.

Less than twelve hours later they're being rescued and taken back to the carrier.

(I liked this one too, hehe)

#made up title #top gun maverick fanfic #jake seresin x reader #mickey garcia x reader #mayhemmanaged 💕

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whataphantasia · 1 year ago

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oog i keep forgetting to post here,,, i did a really big oc x canon promptlist on my alt twitter acc like, last year, and i like the stuff i did for it so im posting it here :3

day 1: dancing

needed to draw this for the fic where they dance at prom and a destroyed universe respectively ^_^

day 2: stargazing. the thumbnail image at the top :D

day 3: phone call

day 4: (not so) sneaky glances

ely sits inbetween these two in class. they have to deal with them staring daggers at each other. very stressful sorry ely </3 here's the doodle from like 2019 that made me wanna draw this

also like there's this moment in the fic where eadr is watching mysterious mysteries together and..... HSHSBDHSHDGDHDHS

day 5: "i'm proud of you"

THESE TWO NEED VALIDATION SO BAD RAGHHH don't @ me about the lighting on zim IK ITS REVERSED,,,

day 6: music/playlist. i didn't make any art for this but i did show off my playlists for zaeadr :D i will not elaborate here bc I Don't Feel Like It.

day 7: whispers

this is actually a redraw... :3c specieswap eadr! so cute :)

day 8: closeness

ok i didnt actually make any new art for this i just posted two old ones from 2021 LOL

day 9: protectiveness (CW blood)

dib and zim r dangerous to have as love interests come on ely 😔

day 10: "how was your day" (CW blood as well)

ely needs to tell him to stop tracking blood into the house.....

day 11: one wish

WOW something NOT ely related?! anyways ana and ad's whole love arc is kinda like... they both have responsibilities and unrequited feelings. moreso than my other oc x canon pairings. i think them a lot

day 12: matching accessories

cove jumpscare. IDK I WAS THINKING ABOUT THE MATCHING KEYCHAINS HE BUYS FOR MC... this is reiner btw i was playing as xim in my like 3rd playthrough >_< xe's fond of spoiling him with gifts, more than my other mcs...

day 13: nightmare

it took me 13 days to break and make sans x shelby art SJWKDJWJ anyway. shelby doesn't meet him pre-corruption but whatever i think they're cute

day 14: makeup

I HATE THIS DRAWING RAAAA but ely likes asking to do his nails ^_^ even tho theyre terrible at it but he doesnt mind :3c

day 15: "you are my happiness"

ok uhh my bad this isn't oc x canon LOL. but... erfi and ana... have a lot of angst like halfway/early in their arc bc erfi sees her as a beacon of light/savior, especially due to her current relationship with the ppl in her life.................... they get better dw!!! ad goes through a similar arc so i think that was how i tied it into the oc x canon promptlist LMAO

day 16: indirect kiss

SODA BOTTLE... IF YOU KNOW YOU KNOW. i've talked about this scene in the fic NON STOP to my close friends.... its when dib realizes he has a crush on ely...... i drew this like in 2021 SHWJSJW

day 17: morning cuddles

SORRY i just think it's a super funny possibility that zim becomes domestic. idc if it's out of character thats why its funny U_U!!

oh and uhm yea i have a fankid 4 these guys... have i talked abt her... i dont think i have... but ive drawn her a lot... maybe ill post more art abt her later...

day 18: photoshoot

uhhhmmm im gonna crop this for my tumblr.... yea.... anyways i love the possibility that when they're adults they become super popular, like in dib's wonderful life of doom X)

day 19: voicemail. THAT ONE THING I POSTED!! yes it was a shelby x error thing. i was listening to pick up the phone by fir at the time, which like, its not the errorshelby dynamic at all they're not toxic, but. the vibes... in the fic after shelby leaves the anti void he has a massive crisis... thats what the drawing is...

day 20: "what happened to you"

BRO I HAVE SO MANY IMAGES RELATED TO THIS FOR ANA AND ADAMAÏ... the images explain everything idc read them instead

day 22/23: hand made gift, late night drive

ummmm sooooo theres this chapter in the fic where they go to an echo flower field on the surface at night........ this is that.... DIES

that last one i never posted on twitter :0c and uhm thats all i did of the 30 day promptlist! it was fun! i got to draw so much... yay :3 thats all. explodes in embarrassment

#ph_art #ph_ramb #ph_iz #ph iz:ss #ph_ut #ph_wakfu #zaeadr #phoc_elycrowe #phoc_reiner #phoc_anastasieteilun #phoc_shelbyquill #phoc_erfi #ah yes ive madeANOTHER long ass post my FAVORITE

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glacialdeath · 9 months ago

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@orangeshinigami asked: Tosses a bunny keychain at her head. "Yo. This made me think of you."

Her instincts perk up at his typical short greeting, making her turn her head and catching the small object between her hands with a echoing clap just in time. She sends a suspicious look of daggers at Ichigo before revealing to herself what she's caught in her hold and her usual cold face melts into rare affection and awe.

"Oh! He's-- He's very cute!" Pokes his cheek with her finger with a sing-songy giggle. Before she gets too engrossed in adoration, she peeks up at him, still smiling. "Maybe you do have a good eye for things sometimes." A brief compliment conveying her approval.

#;from 5ever ago asdf-- but v cute! haha #;deathanswers #orangeshinigami #;she gonna take that little guy home and show him off to too many people

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dreaming-for-an-escape · 2 years ago

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A is for Apartment:

This literally how I imagine his apartment to look like!

B is for Baggage:

I’d say he only packed the essentials. So gold and jewels for sure, maybe a dagger. And a satchel with a few of his clothes but not so much because he knew he’d have to change in order to blend.

C is for Clothes:

His go to outfit in the modern world? Easy. Jeans and a black/dark tshirt. Add a leather jacket because why not ;) if he’s feeling fancy, a nice dark suit.

D is for Drink:

Dude is tea drinker. So he’d love all the different teas there is. He’s gotten to like black coffee. But he’s more of a tea drinker. Also, he wouldn’t admit it aloud but he’d like pink lemonade.

E is for Electricity:

‘“This is what Adrian’s father works with? Gods…how peculiar but useful!”

F is for Food:

Aemond strikes me as the type to like sushi. Idk why but I see him ordering all kinds of rolls. He’d go to restaurants where they have the conveyor thing where you can grab whatever roll you want.

G is for Grateful:

That finding someone is fairly easy all thanks to technology 😅 how he quickly becomes the next Joe Goldberg.

H is for Hair:

He cuts and dyes his hair! 😭 but after that he starts buying all sorts of product and his hair grows back out again!

I is for Invention:

The computer and car! He’d want to learn how to drive (somehow lol) but would be cautious because he remembers the car accident Adrian told him she was in.

J is for Jamming:

Dude becomes addicted to rock. All sorts of rock. Alternative, soft rock, heavy metal, punk. That’s all him.

K is for Keys:

After getting to know Isabelle more I imagine his keychain to be filled with pins and maybe even stickers if they can stay on 😅

L is for Leisure:

You mean other than spy on Adrian and his daughters? He’d be learning how to use a computer properly and learn more about the modern world. He’d definitely go to a library. He can’t check out books (hello no ID) so he’d read there and catch up on history.

M is Map:

Europe. Y’all know he’d rather be in Europe.

N is Name:

He’d stick with his first name.

O is for Objects:

The object that brought him to the modern world. Which I won’t say what it is ;)

P is for Pets:

His apartment wouldn’t allow any pets but he’d definitely get either a grumpy cat or a scary looking (but a total sweetheart) doggie.

Q is for Questions:

Oh so many things. This is a brand new world for him. The questions are endless!!!

R is for Routine:

Wake up, shower, drink coffee, either skip or has a quick breakfast, follow Adrian and his daughters. Wander around the city, check on Adrian and his daughters from afar. Leave to do some solo stuff like research/learn and then return to Adrian and his girls when it’s nearing the end of the school day and Adrian leaves her job.

S is for Social Media:

Dude, he’s an old man when it comes to social media. He’s the boomer in this equation. But he’d make a insta or Facebook with a fake name so he can follow Adrian and by extension also Julieta so he can see what she has up on the internet.

T is for Toilet:

That the toilet saves a lot of time and is more clean. Plus toilet paper? He loved that stuff.

U is for Upbeat:

Y’all his family. I’m telling you he’s determined to be in their lives.

V is Vehicles:

After he learns how to drive he would buy a motorcycle. A fuckin’ Harley. I can’t picture him driving anything else.

W is for Weather:

It’s fairly the same as King’s Landing. But he’d like it more when it rains. Unlike Adrian who likes the sunshine.

X is for X-Ray:

If he’s alone then he wont be shy to walk around in his birthday suit. This is his new home after all. He needs to feel comfortable living there.

Y is for Ying and Yang:

Being with his wife and daughters. Thomas who? Oh he’s gone…or he likes to think so.

Z is for Zzz:

Since he only has a mattress at the beginning the couch is where he sleeps before he gets the rest of his furniture.

Aemond in the Modern World (Alphabet!)

@dreaming-for-an-escape

A is for Apartment: how does it look like? What are its distinctive features?

B is for Baggage: how much did he pack before coming to this world?

C is for Clothes: what is his go to outfit of choice?

D is for Drink: his favorite drink that he came across?

E is for Electricity: what was his reaction to it?

F is for Food: his favorite food in the modern world?

G is for Grateful: what makes him grateful in this world?

H is for Hair: what is going to be his new hairstyle?

I is for Invention: what kind of modern invention intrigues him the most?

J is for Jamming: his favorite music genre?

K is for Keys: How do his house keys look? Did he add any cool keychains to it or did he keep it simple?

L is for Leisure: What does he like to do in his spare time?

M is for Map: what place, city or country would he like to visit personally?

N is for Name: Does he go by another name in this world?

O is for Objects: what is something that he never parts with?

P is for Pets: would he ever consider getting a pet?

Q is for Questions: is he still unsure about certain things?

R is for Routine: what is his day to day routine?

S is for Social Media: does he struggle in that department? Does he know how to look people up on Instagram, Tik Tok, Facebook, etc?

T is for Toilet: what was his reaction to it?

U is for Upbeat: what keeps him happy and energetic?

V is for Vehicles: what is his typical mode of transportation?

W is for Weather: what does he think of the weather in this world?

X is for X-ray: does he walk around nude in his apartment or does he put something on when he's alone?

Y is for Yin and Yang: what makes him feel complete?

Z is for ZZZ: where does he sleep? Is it comfortable?

#my heart my body my soul #aemond targaryen #adrian nova reyes #hotd modern reader #house of the dragon #oc

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orcelito · 2 years ago

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"I have an axe on my display case" is probably less weird than "I have a machete in my bed frame" but since this one is out in view it feels weirder

In other news, I updated my dice display. I now have 79 sets of dice.

#speculation nation #dice #i wanted to display my fancy new axe but i dont rly have a good place to put it :(#that wouldn't also be a risk to the cats lol #the cats dont go up here & it's typically not jostled. too out of the way.#so it's unlikely to fall. and thus the safest place i could think to display it #maybe someday i can get an actual thing set up for it #at the very least it has more attention here than my machete and spear and 6 other big blades stuck in the closet #also my assortment of pocket knives and throwing knives and keychain knives & daggers #also the thing i think is a carving knife. maybe.#there r also cooking knives but those dont count. even if my fancy cooking knife is probs the sharpest one #those are for UTILITY. these r just to look cool.#an aside. i wore my stray kids crop sweatshirt today. which is great! love how it looks #but it also means i bought a literal axe while wearing a sweatshirt that says 'maniac' on the front #and well. that sure is a look huh.#it's ok i also bought a cat hat. i think that skews the perception of me away from serial killer vibes. maybe.#LISTEN MAYBE I HAVE SOME 50 ISH BLADES i am never violent with them. i just think theyre neat!#i got weapon collector gene from my dad but at least i collect cool blades & not guns lol

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kim-poce · 2 years ago

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Kingdom's Sword 10 - By Heart

Previous | Next

Masterlist

CW: touch started whumpee.

=-=

The blanket Harriet gifted him was back there, he didn’t allow himself to acknowledge the fear he had of never seeing it again when the soldier took it away to wash. The glove was still there too, carefully folded near the spot he sleeps; he didn’t allow the soldier to take it away at all.

Usually Sword would touch them, trying to feel some long-gone warmth from the fabric, but today he didn’t need to, not when Commander Harriet was just in front of him.

“So, if i got this right,” She said, Sword was paying attention closely while enjoying her touch on his cheek, he was firmly holding her hand close, almost as if he wouldn’t let go if she simply asked, “Doesn’t matter what I order you’ll obey, right?”

“No,” he answered emotionless, always emotionless.

“How come?” Harriet frowned in confusion at the answer that goes against all she heard and witnessed up until then.

“I’ll try to obey, Ma’am, but if you order me to do something impossible, all I can do is try, not truly obey,” he explained. Ignoring the memories of the impossible-to-follow orders, memories of his body trying so painfully hard to obey, even when the mind knows that there is no use.

“Makes sense,” Harriet said, letting go of him to reach for a keychain she brought with her. “In this case: You can move as you wish, as long as you do not escape or try to hurt someone. Understood?”

“Yes, Ma’am,” Sword said, listening to chains falling, feeling the air in contact with his wrists and neck, where just before the iron cuffs were, “Thank you, Ma’am.”

Harriet smiled at him, “I still don’t know what I’ll do with you,” she admitted, “Her majesty will still try to get you, the nobles too, but there is just no way she will let any of them ‘own’ you. Maybe she won’t allow even me to keep you for long.”

Sword listened, there were no questions or orders between these words so he said nothing, he almost allowed himself to hope to stay with Commander, but his heart was cracked and hurt, and no hope can survive in there for more than a second. With the hope dead, he just decided to enjoy while he can, and wait for the day his life will get worse.

“Do you know how to read?” Harriet asked, pushing the ‘Sword’s future’ subject to another day.

“Yes, Ma’am.”

“Would you like me to bring you a book? To pass time?”

“Ma’am, you could bring me a dagger, order me to stab myself and I would still like it because it’s from you,” Sword said unwavering, no emotion in his voice contracting with his words.

“...Is this… because of this power?”

“No, Ma’am.”

“...Okay… I’ll bring you the book then… I won’t be asking you to hurt yourself, you don’t need to do this much for me, or anyone on that matter.” Commander said, shaking her head lightly, “I’ll be busy for a while, if you have any complaints, say it now.”

“I don’t like it when you are not here,” he said, and Harriet knew he didn’t want to say that, it was a private feeling, one that he preferred to keep hidden, one that she forced out with her orders.

“Sorry,” she said, not getting any response. “I’ll be back as soon as I can, okay? Until then you can read the book, maybe we can talk about it when I’m back?”

Sword’s eyes widened in excitement for half a second, and Harriet smiled at the rare expression. “See you,” she said, caressing his hair for a bit before leaving.

Later that day a soldier brought the book, it wasn’t long, a story about a child and a tree, full of metaphors Sword didn’t quite understand. He read it once in the first day, and again in the second, he managed to read twice in the third; not sleeping meant more time to read and the more he read, the more he would have to talk to Harriet.

He only stopped reading to eat —he didn’t want to stain the book with food—, he soon went from ‘sleeping a bit’ to ‘sleeping nothing at all’.

When Harriet was back, over a week later, Sword had dark circles under his eyes and every word in the book memorized by heart.

=-=

Taglist: @wolfeyedwitch, @cupcakes-and-pain, @whumpcreations, @whump-for-all-and-all-for-whump, @extemporary-username, @whump-me-all-night-long, @clickerflight, @latenightcupsofcoffee, @rose-pinkie, @kira-the-whump-enthusiast, @morning-star-whump, @whumpsday, @inpainandsuffering, @extrabitterbrain, @redwhump, @professional-idiocy, @whumpyzombie, @neverthelass

#whump #knight whump #war #prisoner #caretaker #conditioned whumpee #Kingdom's Sword #my writing

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tootiredmotel · 3 years ago

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spoiler alert: she keeps it

A coda fic of my beloved 10x20 "Angel Heart" bc Cas and Claire are my everything, for @emeraldcas 's celebration!

Prompt: meaningful moments

1.2k words – read on ao3 or below

First, it's a matter of where.

Dean says that the mall is a safe bet, and he’s probably right. It has options, a wide array of stores with near endless possibilities, so Cas asks him for a ride to the nearest one.

As Dean pulls into the parking lot, he asks "You really think you'll finally win her over like this?"

"I'm not trying to "win her over", Dean." Cas air quotes. "It's her birthday. A present is customary, isn't it?"

It's not a rhetorical question, and Dean seems to understand that after studying Cas's gaze on him.

"Yeah. Yeah it is, buddy."

Once inside, the number of options becomes overwhelming rather than comforting. Hundreds of people bustle about, bumping into them with reckless abandon. Cas pauses a few steps from the entrance, breathing heavily and looking every which way, trying to figure out where to begin and coming up blank.

He’s never been to a mall before.

Dean, staring daggers at the back of someone who almost trampled them, puts a hand on Cas’s back. “C’mon. Let’s try this way,” he says, leading him down the hall to their right.

They walk for a while. Cas quietly studies every store they pass, while Dean speaks up every two minutes with a new idea. Tech store? A new phone. Clothing store? A jacket, hers is looking a bit worn. Shoe store? Do you know her size? We can get her some boots or something.

“Dean,” Cas finally says, stopping in his tracks and grabbing Dean’s arm. He's grateful for the ride, and he's grateful for Dean’s suggestions. Really, he is. “Thank you, but… This is my gift to her. I need to choose on my own.”

Dean starts doing that adorable thing where he can’t decide if he wants to shake his head or nod. “Uh, yeah, no. No problem, angel. You got this. I’ll shut up.”

Right now, Cas is less focused on the gift itself and more on finding a store that feels fitting, one that Claire might pick out on her own. He puts his hands in his pockets and scans the stores in sight. Further down the hall, one storefront stands out. The walls are black, the windows dimly lit, and the sign is made of backlit block letters. It feels… edgy. She’d like it.

“There.” Cas nods toward it. “The Hot Topical.”

The other thing is the matter of what.

Luckily, the Hot Topical seems to have a bit of everything. Dean sets off on his own soon after walking in, saying something about some Star Wars character or other. There's an overwhelming amount of pop culture merchandise, most of which Cas now recognizes. But he's not sure what kind of shows or movies Claire likes, so he opts against those.

Walking deeper into the store, he comes across the jewelry displays. Claire might like some, maybe stud earrings or a necklace, nothing too frilly. But if she's going to keep hunting, and she is, it's not very practical to wear things that can get caught and slow her down. He keeps walking.

The music section is mostly t-shirts. This is where he finds Dean, eyeing the wall curiously, but not looking like he's going to buy.

“Find anything?” Dean asks when he feels Cas next to him.

“Not yet.”

“You will. You got this," he says again, and Cas greatly appreciates the vote of confidence.

Dean turns his attention back to the shirts, and Cas, who isn't all that sure about Claire’s music taste either, goes over to the furthermost wall.

The back of the store is where they keep the miscellaneous things, apparently. One half of the wall is full of small, bobblehead-ish figurines whose heads don’t bobble (as Cas discovers when he picks one of the boxes up and shakes it). The other half of the wall has quite a few things: bags and backpacks on display, a few accessories such as mesh gloves that wouldn’t keep one warm in the slightest, and unnecessarily intricate belts. At the bottom of the wall, however, he spots some shelves with plushies.

That’s where something catches Cas’s eye.

Dean is already at the back of the line when Cas gets there. He's buying an enamel Scooby-Doo keychain and says it's because Baby's is old and he needs a new one; the unbridled delight in his eyes gives him away, though.

"A stuffed animal?" He asks when he notices what Cas is holding. There's no judgment in it. A bit of amusement and maybe, just maybe, a hint of fondness, Cas thinks.

Cas holds up the cat for Dean to take and examine. "It's an... inside thing."

"Right," Dean says, and hands it back.

Dean asks if he even has any money, to which Cas doesn't answer, realizing he doesn't. Dean happily pays for both items.

---

"She kept it, y'know," Dean says behind him, the next day. He pats Cas's shoulder, then heads back to the car, keys jingling against the new keychain.

Castiel stands there for a second, watching the cab roll completely out of the parking lot and out of sight, and he's wishing he could have hugged her longer. Despite having him and the Winchesters and soon Jody Mills, despite knowing she'll always have them… Claire is more alone now than she's ever been. Cas knows she's tough, tougher than she should've had to be, but she's still a kid (as much as she insists she's not).

He… doesn't pray. Not anymore. But he hopes. He hopes for her every day, hopes for her wellness and safety, hopes he'll be able to see her face again and not just read her words or hear her voice through a phone. And right this second, he's also hoping that his present to her, (which she kept, Cas thinks fondly), will be able to serve its purpose. That it'll be a small source of comfort if she were to ever need it.

---

That night, as Claire settles into a motel bed, she gets a text from Cas. It's a Grumpy Cat meme, one of many cat memes she's received from him since they agreed to stay in touch more. In this one, the image is the cat lying in bed with that face of his, and it says "How many people got trampled on Black Friday this year? Not enough".

After having cried herself out in the backseat of the cab, she actually smiles for the first time all afternoon; it's not a wide or toothy smile but it's a smile, and she lets out an amused exhale through her nose, so that's something.

She texts him haha and the eye roll emoji.

Are you safe? Cas shoots back.

She double-checked all the locks on all the doors and windows. She's got a knife under the pillow and a gun under the bed. She's all set to get to Jody's by tomorrow. She breathes deep, squeezing the plushie tighter against her chest, and texts back.

I am. Night Cas

She doesn't have time to put the phone down before it dings again.

Good night, Claire. Sweet dreams.

They probably won't be all that sweet. They haven't been sweet in years. But at least now, when the bitter dreams inevitably wake her up, she's got something to hold. Or maybe strangle. Depends on the dream.

Plus, she's got an angel-dad watching over her, too. In a sense.

Claire lets the dryness in her eyes and the heaviness in her body take over, and she falls asleep. Grumpy Cat in hand.

---

Fic taglist: ask to be added or removed! <3

@casismymrdarcy @youcaneven @zorelle @spooky-floral-cas @lilcasx @oh-in-italics @theehunterhusbands @knifelesbianjo @spoookycastiel @shakespeareintellectualbadass @stressedtaco @aniridescentdreamer @mishacase2003 @spookymixtape @dykekingofhell @evermorecastiel @autumncastiel @nightandwine @doyouhearthedestielsing @all-or-nothing-baby @hauntedrederadean @ciderdean @blue-eyed-cutiepatootie @heres-to-evil-skanks @wormstacheangel @the-boy-kings-crown @10x02 @the-moon-loves-the-sea @ghostlynatural @one-more-offbeat-anthem @spookynightdeancas

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abovethesmokestacks · 3 years ago

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we go crashing down

Title: we go crashing down

Pairing: Steve Rogers x reader

Word count: 5.4k

Rating: Teen and up

Warnings: angst (what did you expect from me?), implied adult situations but nothing explicit, me giving the finger to Endgame while riding into the sunset.

This started with a photoset and a Taylor Swift-song. And then it grew into something that, as per usual, got away from me. A huge thanks to Beka, @hispeculiartreasure, who betaed for me and gave me that most glorious compliment, “I say this with all the love in my heart, as you are one of my dearest friends. Fuck you.” Feel free to tell me the same if you enjoy this.

My works are not to be copied and/or reposted anywhere else without my permission. The only other place I post my fics is AO3, where you can find me under the same handle as here.

You meet…

Well, does it really matter? It's mundane, and yeah, you're starstruck and stunned for a moment. Who wouldn't be? The all-American boy and his blinding smile and the blue eyes. It's stars colliding and a world still trying to right itself and people left behind. It's whiskey neats and vodka on the rocks, and Steve Rogers follows you home and to your door and into your bed.

You ache in the morning and blush when you see the faint lines of your nails down his back when he pulls his shirt back on. He makes no promises and you don't ask him to call. That would be too much like hope, and hope does not much linger these days. You're lost in an apartment that overlooks a street that barely sees any traffic anymore in a city that feels too big for comfort. The posters lining every lamp post just make you cry, the hum of distant trucks makes you angry because slowly, slowly, they are trying to erase the mayhem, peel away the horrible and naked truth of what had happened, scraping out a façade that almost, almost seems familiar. The groups so helpfully suggested to you only have your arms curling tighter around your chest.

It's not what you want. You’re fine. What good is talking, what good is remembering, what good is anything? Life in a post-snap world is one of apathy and despair and you have found there is little inbetween.

Until Steve.

Until three nights of restful sleep and dreams of fingers carding through long hair, the rough scratch of his beard and a voice like honey in your ears. It's a good three days, a blessed three nights. You don't hope, but you long and dream and languish for that bliss to return when once again you wake with a scream trapped in your throat and the feeling of dust all over you. The pipes rumble and creak before the showerhead shudders and water starts pelting your back. It starts cold, like daggers in your back before it turns scalding and you scrub until you feel your skin burn. It's fine. It's fine. It's fine.

Life goes on, much as you thrash against it and dig in your heels. When Steve crosses your path again, it’s on the verge of being blackout drunk and the bartender, barely 21, his voice trembling when he asks you if you came here by car and if so would you give him your keys. Enraged, not at him, but the world and all the gods and demons in it, you throw down your measly keychain on the counter, only to stagger into a solid body, and it’s like falling, like being suspended, it’s familiar and there’s his voice:

“Hey, hey, it’s okay.”

The rest goes in snatches.

“I know-”

“- get home.”

“C’mon, honey.”

It’s a ridiculous car, but it’s a car, and Steve makes sure you’re belted in, and maybe it’s okay to relax. You’re safe. He talks to you on and off, making sure you’re awake and it’s sweet how he all but lifts you out and carries you up the stairs, takes hold of your straying hand when the goddamn fucking key won’t fit into the lock and why are there five of them and why is everything so fucking wrong and why can’t you just fucking function?

It’s the gentleness that breaks you. The quiet, resolute gentleness of his hands over yours, the solid press of his chest against your back, the way he guides you inside like you’re precious cargo. It’s the warmth of him, where you have rarely felt warm in months, and it’s such a small thing, a creature comfort and you break and you cry and you beg him beyond any shame not to leave you, please, please, Steve don’t go, don’t disappear.

He doesn’t. Not immediately. Steve lets you cry yourself out in his arms, on his lap, pressing kisses to your temple and rubbing his hand up and down your back, murmuring sweet things that wrap like a blanket around you. He lulls you to sleep and you let him, clinging to him and the steady beat of his heart and you dream of nothing, absolutely nothing.

Steve, he doesn’t disappear. Not immediately. There is honour in the moniker, but he does not stay either. He’s there when you wake up, hair disheveled and a pensive look in his eyes. It’s hard not to feel small in the face of that gaze, to feel like something fragile under a god’s divine touch.

“Sorry I ruined your night,” you mumble, looking away, down at the inch of space between you. “I was…”

Angry. Miserable. Empty.

All of the above.

“I get it.”

And for the first time, there is no bile rising in your throat, no resentment singing through your veins. For the first time, the reply feels genuine.

He doesn’t ask, you don't want him to, it is as it should be, as you’d want it to be. Steve makes you a bowl of oatmeal that you crook an eyebrow at, but it goes down warm, a sprinkle of half melted brown sugar adding sweetness. You know he’s leaving. He’s tying up loose ends; feeds you, checks your apartment under the pretense of pulling curtains and opening a window, presses a kiss to your forehead. You want to keep him.

“Steve?”

For a second, you think he might ignore you. His back is tense, but bless him, seconds pass in hesitation before he turns to you by the door.

“I… I don’t know if you… where you live. I mean, if you have a place here in the city. But if you ever need someplace to crash… my door is always open. For you, if you need it.”

There's a wry smile, and nothing else. At least you tell yourself it's that. That he is a rascal and that what you saw was not pity or worse. You give yourself worse for days. Really, you told Steve Rogers- you told Captain America that he could drop by. Surely he has safer havens, older and more comforting haunts to go to than this place that still tries to sell itself like a home.

So it’s a surprise when three weeks later a heavy fist lands in rapid rhythm on your door, and behind it, you find Steve, wild eyed and looking like something dangerous and sharp. His breath is ragged, and your eyes skitter, looking for signs of injury, finding none. The uniform has been left behind, his armour in this new world is a pair of jeans, a white t-shirt that clings to his torso and a dark jacket that sits tight over his shoulders.

“Steve?”

“You wanna get outta here?”

“What?”

“Do you wanna get out of here?”

His voice is low and rough, husky. Just like when he- It’s like a touch, sense memory of filthy kisses and filthier words, the drag of his beard down between the valley of your breasts. Heat creeps up your cheeks, and you clench your fists. Focus.

“Where to?”

It’s an honest question as much as it is an answer. Steve holds out his hand, and there is no hesitation. You can see why he was such an effective tool for the war propaganda machine, why his friends would follow him into battle and exile and death. You’d do the same in a heartbeat.

He doesn’t take you into battle tonight. There’s a car far more ostentatious than you would have expected from him parked outside, and he holds the door open, offers his hand to help you get in. Some things remain sweet and chivalrous, you think.

“Fancy car,” you tease when Steve gets in behind the wheel, turns the ignition to make the beast of a machine roar to life.

“Borrowed it from a friend,” Steve replies, and there’s a hint of a smile that tells you just who he borrowed it from.

“Nice friend.”

The city flashes past, Steve taking you through Queens as the sun starts setting. It’s a strange sensation as you get out onto the Long Island Expressway. It’s dark when you hit the Hamptons. This playground for the rich, and now their mansions stand like empty shells, and the small communities are dotted with only a couple of lit up houses. Steve drives, one hand on the wheel, one on your thigh, and you slowly relax into the ridiculous seat, singing along to an automated radio station that plays 90’s nostalgia. If you don’t linger on the surroundings, on the way the evening gets darker, it feels…

It feels like something you should not covet.

The drive should take three hours, but Steve makes it there in just over two, turning onto a deserted parking lot. A cold wind is blowing in from the sea when he opens the door, holds out his hand for you, takes you up along a path to the night’s destination. The Montauk lighthouse towers towards the sky, the beam of light circling around and around. Shivers run up your spine, something about the solitary bastion making a lump form in your throat. You should have brought a warmer jacket.

Steve stays quiet, sinking to the ground to sit, head tipped back. In the light, his features look so serene, shadows playing so beautifully along the planes and angles of his face. He looks like something sacred, gilded and frozen in time. The best you can do is sit with him and hope that the warmth he radiates will find its way to you.

“Did you know this was the first lighthouse in New York state?” Steve asks, an eternity that may as well be ten minutes later.

You shake your head, too afraid that if you spoke, your chattering teeth would give away how cold you are.

“Built in 1796,” Steve continues, “fourth oldest in the country. Was one’a those things we’d hear about in school, and we’d see pictures. I’d tell myself, one day, I’d come here. On a good day when my lungs weren’t bothering me, and I’d sit on the beach and sketch and pretend I was one of the rich people who’d have their second home out here.”

He sounds so far away, trapped in a past that has you wondering if that life would have been kinder than the hand he was dealt. Harder, definitely, you won't deny it. But this life, this… reality that has trapped you both. It does unkind things to kind hearts, and Steve is looking more and more like a shadow.

You wrap your arms around you, soothing and rubbing for warmth, and Steve brings you into his arms, wrangles you to sit back to chest with his drawn up knees cradling you on either side. It's nice, sweet, but his fingers dig into your shoulders just a little possessive, like he's afraid you'll slip through his fingers, like you'll turn to dust like so many others.

“We can pretend,” you tell him quietly, one hand coming to rest over his.

You're here. You won't leave.

“Paint me a picture?” you ask, tilting your chin to look up at him. “Please?”

His voice is honey in your ears, drowning out the wind and the cold and suddenly you’re there. A different time, a different Steve with Brooklyn spilling from his lips, a Steve who is self-deprecating and sweet in equal measure, who uses the tip of an index finger to draw out a sketch on the palm of your hand. You see it all, hear it all, and with every passing second, every light brush to shade out a shadow or line to denote the slope of a nose or the curve of a back, you lose your breath more and more.

“They’d look at us, whisper among themselves how such a pretty dame like you would be seen with a loser like me, 95 pounds soakin’ wet, peanuts to spend and everythin’ wrong with me and then some. You’d look so pretty, done up all sweet and that sunshine smile like I’d’a hung the moon for ya.”

There’s a pale sun on the horizon when you walk back to the car. You don’t make it halfway through Long Island before his hand on your thigh has wandered and you squirm in your seat. You crawl onto his lap by an empty beachfront, and any lingering chill leaves your body as he fills you slowly, lets you take what you need and nips at your throat when you slump against him, a slow throbbing between your legs. The walk up to your apartment is not one of shame, but of infinite sadness over a man and a life lost to time. It does little to make this world better.

In fact, it only makes it worse, and on your loneliest days you sometimes wonder if Steve is just a figment of your imagination. He transforms in your mind, you venerate him into something that makes memories seem like grace and his words like blessings. All of his faults, all of his mistakes both real and perceived fall by the wayside, forgotten because what glory could not outshine them?

Gods are fallible and gods are treacherous and gods will take anyone willing to worship. You learn this on another rare night out. The world is healing, but you wonder if you have somehow fallen behind. There’s a line outside the club, and you hope that the pulse from inside might fill you up and make you feel alive again, that something might strike you and resurrect you. You just want to get inside, to feel the press of bodies so you can close your eyes and pretend things are the way they used to be, drink and dance and stay out long enough that the silence of your apartment can be imagined into something less tragic.

It’s the laugh that catches your attention. Loud and shrill and so… wrong. Your head turns, neck craning, scanning the line, the street, trying to find-

Trying to find the source of the laugh and finding Steve.

Steve, jeans and a white tee under a leather jacket, charming smile and an arm around a woman who is-

Who is everything you're not and who holds him with an arm around his waist, hand tucked into his pocket, and hangs on every word leaving his lips.

It’s not that you are- not that you were- not that you thought you had been exclusive. An item. That is for another life, another universe. Still, it makes your stomach drop, and you wonder if Steve senses it, if that’s why he suddenly looks up, if that’s how he finds you so quickly. You wonder if he feels anything beyond the recognition that flashes in his eyes. No matter. You feel plenty. The bouncer calls for you to enter. End scene. Begin another.

It’s a petty decision. You’ll be the first to admit it.

But two can play that game, and when you wake up in the morning, it’s the first time in 584 days that you have not woken up alone. It’s not awful. They expect nothing, there’s even a cup of coffee, digits on a post-it note that you stick to your fridge. If nothing else than for proof that maybe life can go on.

Steve takes his time. It’s weeks before there’s a knock on your door, and you’re not expecting anyone, least of all him. Button-up shirt, sleeves meticulously folded with his hands clasped in front of him, ruggedly handsome as always. It’s not that you don’t want to invite him in. You’d be lying if you said you hadn’t missed seeing him. But after-

It used to be that this mystery between you intrigued you. Now it sits like an obstacle, and you hesitate in being the one to remove it. The silence stretches on like a game of chicken, seconds ticking away and a neighbour passing you with a long look.

“I-”

Steve’s voice is like a roll of thunder in the hallway, and he anxiously looks over his shoulder, makes sure no one’s there, that no one heard.

“Look, can I come in?” he tries, lower, gentler.

“What is this?”

It’s still there, a barrier between you and a lump in your throat.

“Excuse me?”

“I’m not asking to force you into a choice,” you say, crossing your arms over your chest. “I just want to know what this is. What to expect. I don’t mind hooking up, I don’t mind the trips and the sex and the kisses. I just… want to know what this is. I want to-”

You swallow, push against the barrier, wishing for it to hold just a little longer. Steve is looking at you like a wounded animal and against everything, bile and anger rises in your throat.

“I didn’t care. Life moves on, right? Everything fucking moves on and keeps spinning. Except me. I told myself not to hold on to you, and like a fucking idiot, I somehow still did. So just tell me what this is, so I can let go, and find something better to hold on to.”

“You think I’m not trying to hold on, too?” He stands stockstill, but you can tell every part of him is aching to crowd you, to grow before you and fill up the space. “You think I’m- I was there-”

“We all were, Steve. I watched my- I had someone slip right through my fingers. A whole street full of dust and shock.”

He has the decency to look a little ashamed, and why does that feel so good? Why does that give strength to your barricades?

“What do you want me to say?”

They are the words of a good soldier, someone who has parroted the ideologies of others for so long. Give me a cue. Give me a hint. Give me a purpose. Give me a fight.

“I want you to answer the question. No bullshit. I’m not looking for an excuse. I don’t know that we owe each other any. Just… Tell me what this is. What… What I am. What- Why do we keep coming back to each other when nothing and everything changes?”

He seems to deflate in front of you, all at once weary, as mortal as you, as broken as you. It’s easy to push it all on him, to only see his gilded lines, the light of the man he hides behind. He’s been on a pedestal for decades, and you have certainly not given him a hand to climb down.

“I think… I think maybe I’ve been holding on to you, too. Without meaning to. Without wanting to. I think you and I, we still live that day. I… For the first month I was torn between washing my hands because I could still feel Bucky’s dust on ‘em and then breaking down because I had lost the very last part of him in this world. You… We carry the same kind of grief, I think. Same but different, so we’re pulled together. We’re good at pretending, but that doesn’t mean the rest of the world is falling for it.”

It’s hard to contest with the truth. It hurts and you rage and you look at him and you see your own defeat and grief mirrored in his eyes. You were good at pretending, and so was he. You step aside, finally letting him in, finally putting down your sword and your shield. The door closes behind him. Steve steps up, and it feels like all the air leaves the room when he wraps his arms around you. The construct you built is crumbling, but this is real. Steve is warm and solid, and this will always be real.

When your lips meet, you instantly know. This is the beginning of the end. His kisses are tender, his touch reverent, and you take it for what it is. One last moment of make believe. Steve spreads you out, making you the divine, worshipping with a generous body and sweet prayers to you between kisses while staining himself with your red lipstick. It’s as good as ever, as satisfying, and your nails dig into Steve’s back as he cants his hips just so.

But the world keeps spinning just a little differently. The magic, it’s not exactly gone. The moments after are still soft, and for a little while you two exist in a vacuum of tousled hair and rumpled sheets, but reality seeps in, slower and easier than before, a magic in its own right.

“Should we…” Steve’s voice is a whisper, like his touch as he traces fingers along your cheek. “Is this it?”

You close your eyes. One more time. Pretend one more time.

“Do you want it to be?”

He considers it for a moment, but you can see by the set of his mouth that he has felt the truth of the world just like you have, “No… but I don’t think we can continue, either.”

You trace your finger along the edge of his beard, soft and coarse at the same time, up to where it fades into his hair, matted gold and pushed back. He is always beautiful, but this makes your heart flutter a little. You wonder if this is the Steve he wants to be or just another mirage to fulfil his own fantasies. Another attempt at hiding, at pretending.

“We were good, though, weren’t we?” you murmur, and it’s sweet, domestic, the way Steve kisses your forehead.

“We were good, sweetheart.”

The day continues like a good rerun. You are soft and warm and deliciously boneless. Steve scrounges through your cupboards, patches together a breakfast from odds and ends in nothing but unbuttoned jeans. When he goes to find orange juice from your fridge, there is a second of hesitation, where you know he’s looking at the post-it, now just a little bleached from the sunlight. There's a look shared, and Steve smiles a little when he sets down his offerings before you.

It's quiet. It's nice. And like all things nice, it can't last forever. Every last minute has been wrung out, you're teetering on the edge to where things will break. You follow Steve to the door, and he hesitates, hand on the deadbolt.

“It was for a mission.”

No context needed. You shake your head.

“No, it wasn't.”

Steve glances down, then back at you, a smile like it was worth a try, “No. No, it wasn't.”

You hum, set your hands on Steve’s chest, feel the strong heartbeat against his chest. Inhale. You're ready. It's fine.

“This is it. This is where we stop pretending.”

Exhale. It's fine.

“I hope you find something better to hold onto.”

A kiss to your cheek. There it is; a crash into reality with the ghost of the past bidding you goodbye. Steve makes no promises. You don't ask him to call. It's fine. It's fine. It's fine.

The door closes. When you turn around, the post-it note falls from the fridge, flutters down and lands right on the one sunny spot on the floor. You smile. Maybe life can finally go on now.

The world keeps moving, and slowly, slowly, you start taking steps with it. A phone call here, a complete and utter breakdown there, days when you feel accepting of what happened, days when you are back to where you were. This is a life, too, you suppose, one where it's taken you close to five years before you could go down to the big memorial and look at the names and wonder at the cruelty of chance. Your apartment feels bigger than ever when you return. Maybe it’s time to move on.

Yeah.

Maybe.

This is the new normal. You can almost accept it. It’s time.

Everything is packed up, neat boxes, and the last of the trash is taken out when the sky darkens, a ship looming in the distance, hell coming with it.

No.

No, no, no.

People are screaming around you, but your feet are frozen to the pavement, gaze defiant. They can take you for all you care, but Steve. He hasn’t called, you haven’t expected him to, it’s been good, but this- He’d take this fight. He’d be the first line of defense, he’d be the last. He is the one constant, and you hope with every fibre in your being that he’ll remain.

You stand. You wait. No invasion in the street, no feeling yourself fade. You stay. You stay until an elderly neighbour herds you back in with gentle words and gives you tea and scotch that you don’t make it past one sip of. Dust and ash. The tea is safer. It’s warm and your muscles relax under a scratchy blanket. It’s fine.

He’s fine.

It’ll be fine.

The next month passes by in a blur. People returning. Things changing. A whirlwind of change once again and nothing to hold on to. It should be easy. It should be like before, normal and easy, and yet you walk around on eggshells, and look for a new place to run away to. You wonder if he’s okay. You force yourself to not say his name, to cast him as someone else, but every blond man you spot in the street turns into him, and you worry and reassure yourself in equal measure.

When the chance presents itself, it’s too good to pass up. You need to move. You need to move on. Boxes are packed again, you find a post-it note so bleached by the sun that the digits have all but disappeared. It’s a silly thing, but you keep it, a strange little memento from the day you tell yourself you started to heal.

Away from the city, it’s a little easier to live. It’s easier to smile, to sit in the quiet and not feel it like a shadow. Away from the mess, from the memories, it’s easier to… not exactly forget, but to not be too close to the memories. You try to ignore it, but you know it’s another form of pretending, another imitation of life. You have found a job, you put on a smile, you make your way through the narrow streets down to the water.

Far out there, there is a blinking light. Montauk lighthouse, the locals would tell you when you first started turning up down by the beach. Fourth oldest in the country, ya know. Nod. How interesting. I’d love to go there. Maybe in the future.

It’s as close as you’ll ever allow yourself, as close as you’ll get to ever admitting that maybe there was something there that you wanted to hold onto. You watch the light blink. There, and then gone. Just like-

“You know what that is?” comes a voice behind you.

It pulls at something familiar, but in the moment, you figure it’s just another local, just another schmuck trying to talk you up, just another disappointment and a distraction from your peace and quiet.

“It’s Montauk,” you say, not even turning around. You know where this goes. You mouth along.

“Fourth oldest in the country.”

“Built in 1796,” you finish, resting your chin in your hands, elbows digging into your knees. The light sweeps past, in and out of view, in and out of existence. “You ever been?”

There’s no answer, just the light breeze bringing in waves that are only barely capped in white before they crash against the shore. Maybe he left. God, you should be so lucky. You crane your neck, find a pair of Chuck Taylors, legs in skinny jeans, up to a slim chest drowning in a peacoat and a face-

A face with a smile like a-

Like a god.

Like a dream.

Same, but different.

“Once,” he says, a small smile playing at the corner of his mouth, “but it feels like an eternity ago. Sat on the hill by the lighthouse with this girl that I did not deserve. So sweet, smiling at me like I’d’a hung the moon for her.”

“Steve?”

The memory of him wants to force itself into the moment, blame it on a forced perspective, strange angles, it wants to push the golden boy, the hero, an Adonis crowned in light onto you. It wants to give you the Steve that was created, but as you get up to your feet, it hits you. This is the Steve that was born. His height has diminished, his build is slimmer, but there in his eyes he is as he has always been. Strong. Stubborn. Steve.

“Hi, sweetheart.”

Your arms are around his neck in an instant, those words like a magnet. Steve. Steve is real and he’s there, and his fingers press into your back as he holds you, the crook of his neck feels cold when you press your nose to it, and it’s as if the world finally catches up, finally syncs you with the passing of time and it’s good, it’s safe, you are fine.

“What happened?” you ask, hesitant to let go of him even a little.

“Couldn’t even begin to tell you,” Steve replies, jerking his head in an attempt to flick a stray fringe back. “I thought I- I was… gone. For a while, I think. I was somewhere- I was like before. And then I wasn’t. Came back, felt like the universe spat me back out. At least it kept all the illnesses I had before the serum, but it took me a while to find my footing. Can’t exactly be Captain America like this.”

His hair falls down over his forehead again, and you tuck it gently back, fingertips following sensitive skin.

“It’s funny,” you murmur, hands coming to rest on his chest, smiling when you feel the same solid heart beat as when he walked out of your apartment. “Those five years, and I just wanted it to be a bad dream. I wanted to wake up and have everything be as it was, everyone back. And when it happened… It was like I didn’t know where I was anymore. Who I was supposed to be. I’d… I think part of me disappeared along with all of those people, and it didn’t come back with them.”

“Did you ever find something better to hold onto?” Steve asks, voice a whisper like it is a secret between the two of you.

“No. Yes. I think I just tried to move with everything. Wasn’t maybe the best, but it got me here.”

“Life moves on, right?”

You give a snort, “It moves to where I’m thinking back to that one time I had something to hold on to. I keep coming down here, just to look at the light from Montauk and tell myself it’s just for the view and nothing else. We couldn’t keep on holding onto each other, but it was good while we did and… And it’s nice to remember that.”

“I know it’s a different world now. I’m different. And I’m not- I don’t expect anything.” Steve fumbles with the words, looks down while pink tinges his cheeks.

“We were always good at pretending, weren’t we?” You look out again, to the blinking light. There. Gone. There. Gone. Enticing and alluring, a chance presenting itself again and again. “I’ve pretended for a long time.”

“Oh? And what have you pretended?”

“That I could let go of you. That given a chance, I wouldn’t take it because I know where we ended. That one day, you’d walk back into my life.”

Steve barks out a breathy laugh, leans in to where your foreheads touch. “This isn’t pretend.”

“I know.”

“Today is not like a year ago.”

You shake your head, “No, it’s not.”

“Our lives can be our own.”

To the world, he may not be a god anymore, no paragon of truth and justice, but to you, his words have weight, hope, promise. You meet again like you’ve always met; by chance, by fate, pulled together by something bigger than yourselves. Life keeps giving you chances, maybe now your lives will align?

“Take me home.”

Inhale. We can try. We can. It will be fine. You look at Steve.

#we go crashing down #Steve Rogers x reader #Steve Rogers x reader insert #Steve Rogers fanfiction

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