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toadtoru · 2 months

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𝐒𝐀𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐔'𝐒 𝐖𝐑𝐀𝐓𝐇

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐇𝐑𝐄𝐄 𝐎𝐅 𝐖𝐑𝐀𝐓𝐇 | series masterlist

pairing: Satoru Gojo x fem!reader x Suguru Geto

After your city falls, you become a war price to the swift-footed Satoru Gojo, the strongest of the Greeks. You now have to adjust to your new position in a foreign camp, no longer as a princess of Lyrnessus, but as a symbol of Satoru Gojo's honour.

warnings: +18, mentions of death, war, blood, character death, smut tags: Satoru as Achilles, Suguru as Patroclus, reader as Briseis, greek gods and myths, f!reader, use of she/her pronouns, no use of y/n wc: 5k | approx 20 min reading time

MINORS, AGELESS, AND BLANK BLOGS DO NOT INTERACT

Choso Kamo wasn’t someone evil. He was an honourable man. As the oldest son in his family and Prince of Troy, he had responsibilities, and he held himself to high standards.

Despite his stoic facade—hardly ever cracking a smile, always looking respectable and serious—he was kind. He helped anyone on his way, and most of all, he was loyal to his family.

As a Princess of Lyrnessus, your father sometimes brought you to his dinners at the castle in Troy. As he and the king went off to talk of business and alliances, Choso stayed to entertain you and your brothers. Here you got to see the facade melt away as he became what he was best: an older brother. You were enamoured, to say the least. He was older than you by a few years; he was kind, and he was a prince. And despite Choso being a few years older than you, he never seemed to mind the way you would cling to his side, a love-stricken look on your face. He’d pat your head as one does a little sister and smile at you.

It was said that he would be a great king one day. It was a shame that the war came.

Choso Kamo kills Satoru Gojo on a sunny afternoon. At least that’s what he thinks happens. With Gojo’s armour on his body, his helmet covering his hair and face, it’s nearly impossible to tell from a distance who it is that’s riding Satoru’s chariot.

It’s ironic, really. You’d think that the sky would be grey, that the wind would blow harshly, and that the trees would sing eerily, but as the light slips from Suguru’s eyes, the last thing he sees is a blue sky. As blood spills out of his stomach and everything turns hazy and grim, he can’t help but think of blue-shining eyes and waves crashing against cliffs.

Nanami is the one who manages to bring Suguru’s body back. It’s a big commotion, about who gets his body, trojans fighting against Greeks, everyone wanting the great Satoru Gojo’s body, either to bury or desecrate, but it’s Choso’s voice that roars through the lines. “Enough. Let them have him. He should be buried.”

Always respectful, always kind, Choso nods to Nanami and retreats from the battlefield. Showing one last homage to the fallen hero, Satoru Gojo. Only Nanami knows that the body in his hands does not belong to Satoru.

As he brings the body back, screams and roars fill the camp. Satoru appears, running towards the remains of his one and only companion, and more confused people appear.

Satoru falls to his knees in front of Suguru, letting his helmet fall to the ground as he holds Suguru in his arms, sobbing into his neck.

You run as fast as you can towards the commotion, pushing your way through bystanders. A wretched sound leaves Satoru—something between a scream and a sob. You stand there, staring, much like everyone else, not knowing what to do. The scene in front of you seems so intimate—something that you shouldn’t see.

It’s not till Yoshinobu walks through the crowd that Satoru looks up.

“I’m sorry for your loss,” he says. The look on his face is genuine. Satoru looks back with tears striking down his cheeks, still holding Suguru in his lap.

“Who did it?” Satoru asks. Nanami clears his throat and steps forward. He looks uncomfortable, clearly hesitating to bring the news. “Who did it?” Satoru repeats.

“Choso Kamo,” you flinch as the name leaves Nanami’s lips.

Satoru nods, a sort of resolution washing over him. Yoshinobu licks his lips, opening his mouth before closing it again. “I’ll return the girl. I’ll give you gold. I’ll let you–”

“Don’t waste your breath, old man. I’ll fight your useless war.”

With that, he stands up and carries Suguru’s body to his tent. You all watch in silence as he leaves.

For a time, you stand unsure of what to do. Yoshinobu and his men leave to go back to his camp, but it seems that you’ve been returned to Satoru. You feel gross. You were handed back and forth so easily, as though you were merely a toy. You flinch when you feel a hand on your shoulder and snap your head towards it, only to see Nanami standing here. He’s covered in blood, much like the first time you met him, yet this time it isn’t his own.

“Are you alright?” he asks. He looks concerned, you think, but most of all, he just looks a bit uncomfortable. You do your best to offer him a smile.

“I’m alright.”

Nanami slowly nods and looks towards the tent that Satoru just disappeared into.

“We both know that Suguru has always been Satoru’s,” Nanami says, slowly, as though he’s choosing each word with immense care. You feel tears threatening to spill as you take a deep breath and stare at your feet.

“—but he was yours too. I hope you will remember that.” Nanami gives your shoulder one last squeeze before he begins to walk towards his own tent. You watch him go.

It’s kind of him to say, but it also nags you. Satoru and Suguru grew up together. They trained together. They’ve shared everything since they were ten. They even shared you. These last few months with Satoru and Suguru hardly amount to years spent together, being each other's companions.

Despite that, you find yourself walking towards Satoru’s tent. It’s like your feet instinctively carry you until you’re standing inside the tent where you’ve spent countless nights. Suguru’s body lies on the bed. His tunic is still bloodied. Satoru lies with him, his face hidden in the crook of his lover's neck.

“Satoru,” you say.

“Leave,” he says.

“No,”

“I said leave.”

You flinch. Satoru’s voice is hoarse from crying as he raises his head. Brows furrowed, lips turned downward. His nose and cheeks are flushed red, and his eyes are swollen. He looks at you with red rims around his eyes, dull skin, and dishevelled hair. For the first time since you've met Satoru, he looks more like a human than a god. You realise that the Satoru you’ve once known has died along with Suguru.

“Why was he in your armour?” you ask. Satoru goes back to cradling Suguru’s body. You stand there for a while, refusing to give up. Just as you’re about to push him further and ask again, he says, “I let him wear it.”

It’s as though a fountain has been released inside Satoru as he melts further into the bed. “I refused to fight, so he begged me to let him wear my armour and pretend to be me.”

You can imagine it. Satoru could remain stubborn and not break his vow not to fight until you were returned, but the sight of Satoru’s armour would be enough to push the Trojans back, even if it wasn’t actually Satoru underneath the helmet.

“I let him go. I made him promise that he would come back.

Satoru is sobbing now. You feel pity for the man, but you also feel more confused than ever. So much has changed in the past hour that it feels impossible to grasp. You stand there for a while. Then, without a word, you step out of the tent and leave. After all, Suguru was never yours to begin with. He had always been Satoru’s, even in death. It makes no sense for you to be there.

The next morning, Satoru steps out of the tent in brand-new armour. He reconciles with Yoshinobu, and then he leaves for the battlefield. You never get to see Satoru’s wrath, but years later, Nanami tells you the entire story.

Satoru walks onto the battlefield and slaughters all Trojans within reach. It all goes so fast that most barely have time to react before they're impaled by his spear. You can imagine it all too well. The crazed look in his eyes as he kills man after man, laughing while he does it.

Satoru Gojo kills Choso Kamo the day after Suguru Geto's death. There’s nothing inherently poetic or beautiful about it. He chases Choso around the walls of Troy four times before the gods trick Choso into fighting Satoru. To say it was an equal fight would be a lie, but nevertheless, Choso fought till the very end. After Satoru had put his spear through Choso’s neck, he tied Choso’s body to the back of his chariot and dragged it around Troy four times. The king of Troy and his mother watched in horror, along with the remaining of his brothers.

There was nothing beautiful about it.

Satoru defiles Choso’s body. Then he comes home and tells you to prepare dinner. You stare at him in disbelief. For once, Satoru looks like what he is; blood is splattered on his armour, his hair, his face. He’s made no effort to clean it off. He wouldn’t even let you remove his armour, dutifully avoiding your touch.

“At least clean yourself before dinner,” you say. Satoru shakes his head.

“I won’t shower until he is buried,” he replies. You look towards the tent where Suguru’s body still lies in their shared bed. He demanded that no one touch him while he was gone.

“And when do you plan to do that?” you ask, hardly shielding your disgust. Satoru doesn’t notice the way you scowl at him, looking towards the stables, where Choso’s body now lies.

“Tomorrow,” he hums. Then he moves towards the dining tent, leaning down to press a kiss on your cheek before he walks away. You scrunch your nose and wipe your cheek. “Tell the women to prepare dinner, will you? And I expect you to serve wine!”

His tone is cheery, yet there is something utterly unsettling about him. Like he’s been barred open, and now there’s nothing left but an empty, emotionless shell.

For as long as you can remember, it has been the woman’s responsibility to prepare the body before a funeral. You wash Suguru’s body before anointing it. It’s a meticulous ritual, but you don’t mind it. It gives you a chance to say goodbye.

Suguru looks just like the last time you saw him. The wound in his stomach has closed, barely leaving a trace behind. His cheeks are still slightly pink, and his skin is almost warm to the touch. At first glance, one might think he was simply sleeping. The only thing missing is the distinct beating of his heart.

Clearly, some god is keeping Suguru’s body from rotting. You wonder if Satoru’s mother is the one behind it. You’re grateful for it nonetheless as you run the cloth over his chest, tracing each scar. You never got the chance to kiss each one, although you made a valiant effort.

Slowly, the tears begin trailing down your cheeks as you continue to clean him. You let them, not bothering to wipe your cheeks. The weight of not only Suguru’s death but also every man you’ve known before him seems to come down on you at this very moment.

“You promised me that you were going to fix things,” you say, wiping a tear that fell onto his arm. “You promised me that you would bring me home.”

A bitter laugh leaves you as you look at Suguru’s peaceful face. “I suppose you did, didn’t you?” In a way, Suguru’s death brought you home. Yoshinobu had not hesitated to offer you back to Satoru, but it hadn’t happened in the way either of you wanted.

“It just doesn’t feel the same without you,” you say. You cup Suguru’s face, trying your best to commit his face to memory one last time. The exact blackness of his hair, the slight arch of his eyebrows, and the little wrinkle underneath his eyes. Even in death, Suguru still looks beautiful.

“It’s alright, though,” you say, leaning down and pressing a chaste kiss to his cheek. “You fulfilled your promise. I’ll let you go.” You put the small coin on his lips so he can pay the ferryman and go on to the other side without trouble. Then you step away.

Neither you nor Satoru cry at Suguru’s funeral, yet you both stay there, watching the pyre burn till there are only ashes left.

Afterwards you follow Satoru into his tent, and he lets you. Slowly, you remove his armour. You wring a cloth in the warm bucket of water you made Nobara set out and clean the dried blood off him. You start with his arms, moving up towards his shoulders. You scrub harshly, but Satoru doesn’t say a word. Instead, he watches your face intently. You ignore the burning stare, moving onto his other arm and cleaning that as well.

“You’re angry with me,” he finally says. You huff, now cleaning his neck instead. A big pair of hands settle on your hips, pulling you closer to him. You roll your eyes, but Satoru merely smiles.

“Talk to me.”

For the first time in what feels like forever, you meet his gaze. “Yes, Satoru. I am angry,” you reply. You scrub his cheek, glaring at him. When Satoru doesn't say anything, you continue. “Why didn’t you defend me? Why did you refuse to fight? Why did you let Suguru go? Why am I here! You keep me in the dark constantly, and just expect me to go with it!” The words spill from your lips before you even have a chance to stop them, but you wouldn’t even if you could. It feels so nice to finally let go.

“Oh, go prepare dinner.” You poorly imitate him, only feeling more spurred on when the corners of Satoru’s lips twitch upward. “You are a selfish, ruthless, complete buffon!” You raise your voice, slightly punching his chest as he pulls you closer, his smile only growing wider.

“Wow, look at you, princess,” he coos, making you feel both high and angry as you fight the tears threatening to spill. Whether they’re from stress, anger, or grief, you’re not even sure. “You must be really pent up,” he hums. He leans down to kiss you, but you move your face to the side.

“Even now, you’re not taking me seriously! It’s like I’m just your plaything or something,” you say.

“Alright,”

Satoru moves away from you and goes to sit on his bed. He pats his lap and smiles lazily at you. You huff, but nevertheless, you go sit beside him. If you have to stroke his ego a bit to get some real answers, then so be it.

“What do you want to know?”

“Well, you can start with why I’m even here in the first place,” you grumble, crossing your arms over your chest.

Satoru hums and grabs you, pulling you into his lap. Without trouble, he makes you straddle him, his hands easily finding your hips, as though he thinks they're supposed to be there. You glare at him, once again crossing your arms. “Well, if we’re going to have a heart-to-heart, we need to be heart to heart,” he explains, clearly thinking he’s very smart. Large hands settle on your hips, massaging circles into your soft skin. He sighs, as though you’re making him suffer greatly. “The reason you’re here is more idiotic than I’d like to admit,” he says. You nod, urging him to continue.

“Suguru and I saw how women were being treated here, and we didn’t like it,” Satoru says, a light blush grazing his cheeks. “So I started... claiming all the women,” he continues. You scrunch your nose, and Satoru rolls his eyes. “I never touched any of them. We set up the women’s huts and let them do their own thing.”

You feel your resolve start to crumple as you realise what’s going on. Suguru and Satoru would claim the women to save them from the other men?

“See, you get it. The only problem was that men started getting jealous. Said I was hogging all the women and never actually fucking them. So, Suguru had the great idea that I would claim a woman to be my official concubine. I would pretend to be so enticed by her that I didn’t have time to fuck any of my other girls. That’s where you come in.”

You stare at Satoru in disbelief, your mouth slightly agape. Satoru smiles at your dumbfounded expression, twirling a finger in the air before he boops your nose. “So the reason I’m here is just a coy? To fool the other men?”

“Don’t act so offended, princess. We’re all benefiting here, aren’t we? No one could blame me for being pussy-whipped—” you lightly slap his chest for his vulgar language, and Satoru scoffs back a giggle, “—enamoured by such a beautiful woman, and you got to have your privileges here at camp.”

You sit with the knowledge for a while, processing the information. Albeit stupid and yet another problem caused by men’s feeble honour, it’s not a lie that you’ve benefited from it. Your life at camp has been privileged. Comfortable, even. The hands on your hip move up to your waist, and strong arms slowly wrap around you.

Satoru buries his face in the crook of your neck. You go to ask more questions, but Satoru groans into your skin, sending vibrations through you.

“I can’t practically hear your mind going faster than Apollo’s chariot. Relax for a bit, princess. Lay here with me.”

After Suguru’s funeral, Satoru never lets you sleep in the women’s quarters anymore. You sleep in his bed, alongside him. You suppose the tent must feel too big and empty for him, having always shared it with Suguru.

Every morning, he leaves for the battlefield. He never lets you put on his armour; that was Suguru’s job. So you watch him from the covers, letting him kiss your forehead before he leaves. You don’t love him, and you don’t suppose he loves you either. It was always Suguru who united the two of you; Suguru worked like the glue between you. He still does, even after his death. It’s your shared love for Suguru that makes you search for safety amongst each other’s bodies.

He brings Choso’s body with him each day and drags it around the walls of Troy. It’s a horribly wicked thing. You’re surprised Satoru hasn’t awoken some god's anger yet. A man’s body is something holy. Your soul is directly tied to it. By sullying Choso’s body every day, he’s taking Choso further and further away from his chance at going to the underworld.

When Satoru comes back, you take off his armour and wash his body clean from the battlefield. He eats dinner with the rest of the men while you serve wine, and afterwards, they sit by the fireplace, exchanging stories, while you go to the women’s quarters and help them clean up after the men.

It’s a sorry existence. You can’t help but feel that Satoru is waiting for something, but you can’t figure out what.

At night, you go to Satoru’s tent, and you let him remove your clothes. It’s different from the night you shared with him and Suguru—the one that feels like a lifetime ago. There’s no hunger or fire in Satoru; instead, he’s like a child, desperately searching for his mother's warmth. He holds you close and worships your body as he slowly pushes his cock into you. The stretch always makes you feel dizzy. You run your fingers through his hair, tugging on it, and he buries his head in the crook of your neck as he murmurs praises and sweet nothings.

It’s slow and intimate, and you feel every drag of his cock against your sensitive walls. Soft moans and gasps leave you as his hand digs into your hip, the other wrapping around your waist. He never lasts long, but it doesn’t really matter, as he brings his thumb down to your clit and rubs small, methodic circles into the sensitive bud. He keeps you still as you shake in his hold and your walls clench around his cock, before he’s shooting thick ropes of cum into you. Afterwards, he collapses on top of you, still inside you, as he keeps you filled with his long inches.

It’s only once it’s all over that he kisses you. One short, soft kiss. Then he pulls out and spoons you, letting his cum drip down your thighs as he drifts to sleep.

It often takes a while to fall asleep after him. You lie awake, feeling the weight of the universe on you. You wonder when the war is coming to an end. It’s like you can feel it nearing, like you can taste the bitter end of it on your tongue. You wonder if that is what Satoru waits for as well if he can feel it too.

Which is why, one of these nights, you slip out of bed and walk down to the beach. Satoru easily lets you slip out of his grip. You suppose you’re just a placeholder after all.

The sea is calm as you take off your nightgown and walk into the waves. You scrub yourself clean, basking in the cold water. It feels nice to have a respite from Satoru’s ever-glowing gaze, from his burning touch. It’s almost as though the sea welcomes you. It caresses your skin and trails your stomach.

You can’t help but feel as though you are being watched. You gaze back at the shore, but no one is there. It’s far too late for anyone to be out. Slowly, you look out towards the horizon again. The black sky meets the dark ocean far out, where you can only dream of going one day.

You make your way back towards the shore, drying yourself as best you can and slipping on your nightgown.

You’re not entirely sure what hits you as you make your way towards the tent where Satoru lies. It’s like a pulling force, begging you to go take a look. Your feet carry you to the stable, where Choso’s body lies. You’re not sure what you expect to see. It’s been days. There should be nothing left of Choso but a rotting corpse of flesh and bones.

What meets you is somehow worse. Choso looks exactly as you remember him, except older and more sculpted. He’s grown into his features. His round cheeks are gone, and his jaw is chiselled. Gone is the boy you used to hang around; instead lies a man.

He also looks like he’s merely sleeping. You had wondered how Satoru could keep dragging his body around. How it hadn’t fallen apart into pieces. Here is your answer. Clearly, a god was watching over Choso, keeping his body intact and untouched by Satoru’s ruthlessness. No wonder Satoru kept dragging his body around. It must have made him boil with anger each morning when he would come back to find Choso’s body completely unaffected by his numerous assaults.

You bite back the bile in your throat, ignoring the sickening feeling dawning upon you.

As quietly as you can, you slip back into Satoru’s tent, lying down beside him. Satoru’s arm wraps around you, and he buries his face in your damp hair, breathing in the scent of sea and salt.

Instinctively, he pulls you closer, breathing in the scent deeper. His whole body shudders against you, and he whimpers. “Mother?” he mumbles, his voice hoarse with sleep as he practically lays on top of you, nearly crushing you in the process. You gasp as you feel wet tears against your collarbone. “Satoru,” you whisper, running your hands through his hair. He doesn’t respond. Instead his breathing slowly turns normal again. You sigh, close your eyes, and attempt to fall asleep again. It barely works.

Choso’s father comes to retrieve the body of his son on a pitch-black night, much like the one you went to see his body on. You sleep through the whole exchange, but according to Satoru, the man kneeled in front of him and begged for his son’s body so he could be buried and reunited with his siblings.

Apparently, the gods had already told Satoru this, and he obliged, letting the man leave with Choso. “It was pitiful. The way he kneeled in front of me. He’s supposed to be the king of Troy,” Satoru told you. You nodded, pondering for a while.

“Then why did you let him go?” you asked.

“Because the gods told me to.”

Ah yes. Satoru Gojo answers to no one but the gods. That was it. Choso Kamo had been returned to his family and received a proper burial.

One night, as you lay together in bed, Satoru ran his hands over your belly. You put your hand on top of his and meet his eyes as you cup his cheek with your other hand.

“I think I’m with child,” you whisper, and Satoru nods, returning his gaze to your stomach.

“Are you sure?” he asks. His large hands splay out on your stomach, and he sighs into your skin when you nod.

“You’re going to look so beautiful, all round and bright,” he says. “I wish I could be here to see it.”

For a moment, you feel your heart stop and turn so you can look at Satoru better. “What is that supposed to mean?” you ask, and Satoru looks at you with furrowed brows. He nuzzles his face into your neck and kisses you there as if to avoid your blaming look.

“There’s a prophecy,” he murmurs into your skin. You stare at the ceiling, realising the gravity of his words.

“I’m going to die here. I’m not going home. I’ve always known.”

A single tear rolls down your cheek, and you realise what he’s just said. You’re going to be alone again, and you’re pregnant. At this moment, you feel incredibly angry at Satoru. How could he be so selfish? So cruel? But then you meet his eyes, and any anger evaporates, turning into a sour, sad feeling instead.

“I hate you,” you say.

“I know,”

Satoru was just a boy when he left for this war. War is all he’s ever known for the past nine years. It’s no wonder that he’s so selfish.

“Why did you come here?” you ask, and Satoru rests his head on your chest.

“I was promised eternal fame.”

One night, after serving wine, you come to Satoru’s tent to find Nanami there. Beside him, Satoru stands, along with Yuta, the young Trojan priest who had been allowed to live in the camp. The three men turn to look at you, and you stop in your tracks.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to intrude,” you say and slowly back out before Satoru walks towards you. “No, little bird, we were just waiting for you,” he says, pulling you into the tent.

It’s a quick and simple ceremony. Yuta says a few words. You glance towards Nanami, but he’s staring directly in front of him. You wonder if he even said yes to this. Before you even realise what is going on, Nanami and Yuta leave again.

You stare at Satoru, and he grabs your hand and leads you towards your shared bed. You hesitantly let him pull you in, finding yourself wrapped in libs and sheets.

“I promise he’ll be a good husband to you. He’ll take care of the child.”

You rest your head on Satoru’s chest, allowing yourself to melt into his embrace. His hand runs down your back, tracing circles along the way. You look at the lyre lying on a chair by the bed and raise your head. Satoru plays with your hair, twirling locks around his fingers. It’s a small show of intimacy, but you can’t help but wonder if he’s thinking about Suguru.

“Will you play for me?” you ask. You feel Satoru stiffening underneath you, but he doesn’t say anything. You look back and meet his eyes. His gaze roams your face, and a hand finds your cheek as his thumb caresses you. “Please?” you ask again.

Satoru stares at the lyre for a long time.

“It’s usually Suguru who asks me that,” he says. You lay down again and rest your head on his chest. You feel silly for even asking.

Satoru sighs softly. Then he slips out from underneath you and walks over to the lyre. He sits down on the chair and lets his fingers run over the strings. Once he starts, it’s like he can’t stop. He continuously plays until you’re lulled to sleep, the darkness welcoming you with open arms.

Satoru dies the very next day. He would have found it a dishonourable death. An arrow in the back, guided by Apollo himself. As he fell to the ground, he was hacked in half by the surrounding Trojans. The untouchable Satoru Gojo was squandered by his enemies. You reckon it doesn’t matter anymore. He’s united with Suguru again. You can imagine them finding each other in the darkness. Hands intertwining, lips interlocking. “I could recognise Suguru’s touch even in the pitch darkness.” Satoru once told you. Did Suguru wait for Satoru by the gates of Hades Halls so they could pass on together?

The day after Satoru's funeral, you go down to the beach and watch the waves. They go high, splashing against cliffs and rocks. Anyone who was to go in the water would immediately be wiped away. Satoru’s mother must be grieving as well, you think as you watch.

You’re not sure how long you stand there until a voice snaps you out of it.

“It’s getting cold out here. You shouldn’t be out.”

You look back to find Nanami standing a few feet behind you.

“I’m sorry. I lost track of time.”

Nanami smiles. Then he walks back towards the camp.

You watch him go. He’s kind, you note. And he keeps his distance. You could have a nice little life together, you think. Once this is all over.

You glance out at the ocean again, and your heart skips a beat when you spot the white-haired woman staring back at you. Beautiful as ever, Thetis’ skin is almost blue, and her crystal eyes stare at your hand resting on your belly. You don’t dare to move as her eyes travel to yours and she stares at you with the same intensity that only Satoru could muster.

You’ve only seen Satoru’s mother once, months ago, when Suguru pulled you behind that cliff and kissed you for the first time. Yet, at this moment, you’re sure of one thing.

There might have been more gods looking out for you than you have been aware of.

the epilogue -> series masterlist

wow, this is the end! thank you for reading, and thank you to all of the people who have said such nice things. <3

when i originally started writing this, i was imagining it was going to be around 4000 words. but then i just kept writing. and more ideas kept coming up. and i wrote some more. and some more.

obviously, the illiad is very long. there’s things that i haven’t been able to include. but overall, i’m happy with how this turned out!

i’ve always thought that the relationship between achilles and briseis was very interesting. at one point, achilles refers to her as his wife; at another, he wishes she were dead. likewise, briseis is essentially achilles slave, yet she’s often portrayed as someone who likes her captivity and falls in love with achilles. (hell, in the movie troy they’re even portrayed as deeply in love, which i find so funny.)

my old teacher taught us that achilles essentially wasn’t in love with briseis, but it was more about “his honour being taken away from him." i’ve always really liked that way of thinking. (he also made a point of always referring to patroclus as achilles lover, not his friend, which i think is very girlboss of him.)

i like to think that nanamin survives the war and that he and reader go to greece and have a nice life together. :) (lemme know if y'all want a drabble of that) in the illiad, it’s never really said what happens to briseis after achilles death. i think i read somewhere that she was given to one of his comrades. i’ve always thought that was quite sad.

i wasn't really sure who i wanted to be hector. i suppose the "obvious" choice would have been sukuna, but hmmm... idk, i didn't really want it to be him. in the illiad, hector isn't evil. (although he is kind off a dick, but everyone in the illiad is kind of a dick if we're being honest here.) he even runs away from achilles because he doesn't want to fight him, and the whole reason he's ends up facing him is because he's tricked by the gods. and how is he tricked? athena pretends to be one of his brothers. hector is incredibly loyal to his family, to the point where he dies for them. that felt like choso to me.

(i suppose if we’re having fun here, we could make sukuna paris?? i mean it isn’t too ooc for him to start an entire war and let everyone fight and kill each other for ten years just because he wanted something and took it without permission.)

i don’t know if you can tell, but i have a lot of thoughts about greek mythology. i actually already have a new fic idea that’s essentially based on the odyssey, however, i can already tell that it’s gonna be a looooong one. so it’ll probably be a while before it sees the daylight. but be ready for sirens, witches, and demigods!

once again, thank you for reading. :D love you, mwah mwah mwah. kisses for you if you bothered to read all of my ramblings.

also @planetsage i guess i owe you an apology. i told you you’d like the ending and that choso would show up then i went ahead and killed him. 😭 sorry about that. (but at least we end up with nanami, right?? 😄)

wave divider by cafekitsune | fish divider by me! :D

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eli0004 · 7 months

Text

Thinking about University AU with Eren x his friend’s hot older sister.

⚠️ nsfw warning ⚠️

Implied age gap, but Eren is 21 and reader is only older by 2-3 years.

You two meet when he’s on spring break. You and a couple of your friends are doing a bonfire on the beach. It’s supposed to be a small thing, to hang out and smoke and have some drinks, listen to music to kick off the start of warmer weather.

Your younger brother Jean asks if he could come and bring a couple of his buddies. You say yes, assuming it will actually only be a few.

It was more than a few. Actually “a few” would be the biggest understatement of the year. Needless to say, you were pissed.

It turns out, Jean intended for in to be just him and 5 of his friends. One of those friends, none other than Eren Jeager, happened to text some of his friends, who texted their friends, and so on.

You’re standing by the fire, yelling at Jean for fucking up your function, while he’s trying to explain what happened, but you’re not having it.

Jean stomps off to go find Eren, and tells him he needs to come apologize to his sister because she’s pissed and now he won’t be able to smoke anymore since she supplies him. His broke ass can’t afford the good weed she’s got.

Eren’s like “woah man…don’t worry, I’ve got this.”

But when he walks over and sees you standing there, he loses his footing in the sand and trips over his flip flop, stumbling to the side like an idiot, and he realizes he absolutely does not got this.

How has he never noticed what a great body you have? Was your hair always this perfect? Why are you so hot when you’re angry?

When he approaches you, you raise an eyebrow at him, and he scratches the back of his neck.

“Hey, you’re Jean’s sister, right?” He glances to the side, scanning for him. You nod.

“Yeah, and what about it?” You ask, rolling your eyes at the question. You’re used to your little brother’s dumb friends trying to hit on you by now.

“Erm…I just wanna apologize for inviting so many people. I didn’t think they would all show up…and uh- please don’t take weed privileges away from Jean.”

You can’t help but laugh at that last part, finding it endearing that he was stumbling through an apology to save his friends ass, when you didn’t even expect to even get a “sorry”.

“Whatever man” you shrug, slowly turning away with a smile and waving him off. “I’m gonna go get a White Claw”

Since then, Eren couldn’t get you off his mind. He knew it was stupid, it’s not like you two had a moment or something back there, but it was just something about the way you looked at him after he apologized.

The next time you see each other is on Jeans birthday. Your parents are hosting a dinner party for him, family and a few of his friends.

Eren happens to be there, and they’re all downstairs in the basement playing pool.

You’d be lying to yourself if you said you hadn’t thought Eren was cute. The whole night you’d been smiling and throwing looks at him.

Then, you happen to be walking to your bedroom as Eren is exiting the bathroom, bumping into each other. He stumbles back in the dark hallway.

“Shit, sorry” he reaches out to steady you. “Are you ok?”

“Better than i was a second a go” you grin, eyes twinkling. Eren’s brain just kinda…goes blank.

…

About 20 minutes goes by and you’re sucking him off against the door of the bathroom you two are locked in. One of his hands is tangled in your hair, the other is gripping the granite countertop like his life depends on it.

He doesn’t dare look down or he knows he’ll cum too quick. You’re older, more experienced, and it’s obvious you know what you’re doing. He’s never had a blow job like this in his life.

He feels like his soul is leaving his body, head thrown back against the door as he lets out soft whimpers between heavy pants. He knows he can’t be loud, but you coerce the sounds out of him with every slurp around his cock.

The fact that he’s getting blown off on his best friends birthday by his big sister is something he doesn’t know whether to be turned on by or ashamed of himself, but he’s filthy and he doesn’t care.

His abs tense and his hips buck slightly as he feels himself getting dangerously close.

“Fuck, fuck i’m close..I’m gonna cum.” He hisses, trying to pull back on your hair so you don’t have to swallow.

But you push his hips back against the door and move your head faster, hollowing your cheeks. His legs nearly give out underneath him as he cums hard, spilling into your mouth.

When you stand up, look him in the eyes and swallow, wipe your mouth with your sleeve and push him aside, leaving him there with his dick out and soft, he knows he’s in love. Perhaps obsessed is a better word, but Eren is a hopeless romantic. He’d rather call it love, if love feels as invigorating as your mouth all over him.

#attack on titan #aot #aot smut #aot x reader #aot headcanons #aot x y/n #eren yeager smut #eren jeager x reader #eren jeager smut #eren smut #eren aot #eren x you #eren x reader #eren jaeger #eren yeager #eren x y/n #sub!eren #sub!eren jeager

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fullybooked · 30 days

Text

What Are My Other Options?

Title: What are my other options? Pairing: Insomniac!PeterParker x Reader Word count: 9.6k Warnings: mentions of cheating (but Peter would never) Notes: F/T = favorite topping Summary: The reader has come to the conclusion that Peter is cheating on them. What else are they supposed to think when he’s always running off and constantly canceling their plans? That he’s Spider-Man?

It wasn’t often that you got a chance to dress up anymore. As a grad student, there was very little spare time to spend on your appearance, and when that kind of rare opportunity arose, you jumped at it. So you didn’t feel bad about spending the last hour in front of a mirror, tossing around outfits, and destroying the closet in the process.

The occasion? The New York Times Gala. You’d been working for the biggest news outlet in the state for your graduate program for investigative journalism, a spot you had fought tooth and nail for. Every News Outlet and invited celebrity would be there, the Daily Bugle, The Wallstreet Journal, USA Today, and you’d heard whispers of Tony Stark attending. You hadn’t even learned until last week that you would be allowed the attend as well. As nothing more than an intern, you hadn’t seen there being a reason.

But your boss had given you the news last Friday, and you’d practically skipped home to tell your boyfriend, Peter, about it. And that you had a plus one. He’d been almost as excited as you.

Which is why you were finding it hard to believe that he wasn’t home right now. He wasn’t getting ready with you, he wasn’t even answering your calls or texts. So while you were excited, there was a bubble of worry hiding underneath.

“Where is he?” You’re muttering to no one but yourself. The last touches of your outfit were going on, and the last train you could take would be at the station in 20 minutes. Your window was closing.

Looking down at your phone while adjusting your choice of red accessories, you start to wonder if something bad had happened to him. After all, New York was crawling with supervillains and regular villains alike. And Peter was equipped for any kind of fight he might’ve run into. Ever since you met him in your first year of college, he had been one of the most peaceful people you’d ever met.

Your red shoes rest by the door, and while pacing your living room, you decide to call his Aunt May. She would surely know if anything, bad or good, had stopped Peter from coming home on such an important night. You click on her contact, resisting the urge to bite your nails from nerves.

It’s only two rings before she answers, “(Y/N)!” she answers happily, “I’m a little shocked to be hearing from you so late, is everything alright? Isn’t tonight your Gala for work?”

Aunt May was nothing short of a saint. Kind and caring, traits she’d taught Peter as she raised him. You adored her, the two of you always got along great when you and Peter volunteered at FEAST or went over for dinner. You weren’t sure if the lack of concern in her voice should make you more worried or not.

“It is,” you tell her as you watch the clock tick on, “but I haven’t been able to get ahold of Peter all night. I’m starting to worry. Have you heard from him?”

There’s a hum of confusion on her end, “I’m afraid not, dear,” she says, “but I wouldn't start worrying just you. We both know how bad he is at keeping time.”

It was true. Peter was chronically late. Normally, it was funny, except for the few times he was an hour late to your date nights. But this was different. He knew how important this night was for you and your career as an investigative journalist.

“I know…” you agree with May, “It’s just…I can’t be late for this, and the last train is leaving in 15 minutes.”

Your phone buzzes in your hand as you speak to her, and you bring it away from your ear to glance at the screen. A photo of you and Peter in front of the Ferris wheel at Coney Island is on screen, his name appearing with heart emojis next to it. Relief floods your system.

“Oh!” you gasp and return to speaking with May, “that’s him! I’m so sorry for bugging you May!”

She chuckles, “don’t be, dear. You two have a good time!”

You hang up, immediately answering Peter’s call, “Pete! Where are you!? I’ve been calling you all night!”

“I know, I know, I’m so sorry,” his voice sounds winded and tired, like he was running, “I just…got wrapped up in something at work, me and Doc were talking about his lab and…I’m really sorry!”

“Well, where are you?” You ask. There was no point in telling him it was okay, because it didn’t feel okay, “the last train is about to leave and we can’t be late–”

“(Y/N), I don’t think I’ll be able to make it,” his voice cuts you off before you can continue your nervous ramble, “Me and Doc are still wrapped up in this lab project and I won’t be able to make it back in time for the gala. I know how important this was to you and I promise I will make up for this tenfold for the next 20 years–”

You could hear the rushing wind of New York behind the phone as he continued on an apology that you didn’t feel in your chest. He sounded sorry, sure, but you could only feel disappointment in his words. Your shoes are on your feet, and you’re looking at the clock hanging next to a vacation photo of the two of you on the beach. Your lack of response is response enough to him, but you’re too busy deciding if you should be angry or not.

“(Y/N),” he says your name, “I can’t say I’m sorry enough, but you’ll do fantastic even if I’m not there.”

“Seriously?! Of all nights, Peter, you have to pick tonight to flake out on me? You know how important this is and you can’t even look at a clock for two hours?!”

You had 10 minutes to get to the train station from your apartment, a task that would surely try and ruin your hour of work on how you looked.

“I know, babe, I’m so–”

You click the end call button before he can finish. Fumbling with your keys, can feel your cheeks warming up in a rush of emotions. First, embarrassment. A couple of people in your office had been excited to meet Peter, and now you would show up alone. Stood up by your boyfriend of 4 years. The gala would go on without him, and you would have to put on a pretty smile to go along with it.

Which is exactly what you did, barely making it on time to walk with your boss into the decorated hall. Telling your coworkers that your boyfriend had eaten some bad takeout for dinner and was at home nursing himself back to health. Hoping nobody saw how your eye twitched whenever Peter texted you before turning your phone on do not disturb.

That night, you locked the bedroom door and left a pillow and blanket on the couch.

★★★★★★

Something you and Peter had in common was your love of pizza. Both of you had differing opinions on the best pizza place in New York, but you did agree that any pizza was better than no pizza. So when you two moved in together, it was an unspoken rule that at least one night a week, you scaped whatever money you had together and ordered a large pizza.

“It’s my week to pick,” you remind him as you sit cross-legged on the couch in your studio apartment, holding the phone of power in your hand, “and I say Benny’s.”

Peter is standing in the kitchen, pulling a can of soda from the fridge, “aw man,” he says, “but they don’t have the good pepperoni.”

“But they have the Italian sausage,” you remind him, already pulling up Doordash on your phone, “and it’s my night.”

Peter looks over his shoulder, a smile on his face that always makes you blush and look away like a teenager, “you’re lucky I love you,” he says, “and I’m willing to part with the good pepperoni.”

You giggle back, “Aren’t I the luckiest? So half sausage half (F/T)?”

“It’s your world, babe,” he says as he walks around the couch to sit beside you, “I’m just living in it.”

“That’s the answer I was looking for,” you look over at him with a grin.

These nights were the ones you loved the most. The two of you in pajamas, ordering your favorite food, waiting for the newest episode of Game of Thrones to air, in the quiet of the apartment. Where the noise and air of New York felt like it was miles away, and your little bubble couldn’t be disturbed.

Peter leans down, his eyes soft when he looks at you, and he kisses you slowly. Every kiss with him, deep or small, left you with fire in your veins. Whether it was innocent or lewd, at home or in the park, an apology kiss or a hello kiss, you always felt like you were walking on the hot air of a volcanic eruption. He pulls away, smiling like he was looking at the sun for the first time.

“Hm,” you gaze back at him, “I don’t care how much you kiss me, I won’t be swayed into Lenny’s.”

He gives a dramatically fake sigh, “There went the plan of seducing you into mushroom on half.”

“Well, I didn’t say that…” you roll your eyes, still smiling. You were always smiling with Peter. Or, most of the time you were.

His phone dings on the coffee table in front of you, the screen face down but illuminating the light-colored wood around it. It caught you off guard for a moment, that his screen is face down. And that he picked it up immediately. But you didn’t let it bother you for long, deciding to order the pizza while he checked whatever notification he had.

Just as you hit delivery, Peter stands up from the couch in too quick of a motion to be reassuring. You jump slightly at his speed, looking back at him in confusion. Tilting your head, you look as he shoves his phone into his back pocket.

“Pete?” you say in an unsure voice, “is everything okay?”

“Yeah, everything’s great,” he says. The slight rise at the end of his sentence makes you narrow your eyes, “It’s just uh…Doc texted me and uh he says he’s had a breakthrough on this project, but he needs my help with it..”

You can’t hide the disappointment in your expression as he makes a reach for his keys hanging by the door, and for his bag by the couch.

“Oh…” you say, trying to mask the sound of defeat in your voice, “right now? It’s almost nine pm.”

“Yeah, it’s just…a really important project,” he insists as he pulls his shoes on hurriedly. You would think he’d just gotten a call from the police with how quickly he was moving, “and you know Doc, he’s always rushing through the numbers, so I should just make sure he’s got them all right before moving on.”

He was rambling. His voice was rising and falling. Every tell he had that he was lying, but you didn’t want to jump to that conclusion. What was there for him to lie about? What would have him running from the apartment so late? He did care a lot about the projects he and Doc had going at the lab, he was always doing some kind of numbers crunch for his boss.

Peter slows his pace when he takes note of your expression, avoiding his eyes, “I swear I’ll be right back,” he says as he walks back towards the couch where you sat, “30 minutes tops, I’ll be here before the pizza guy, I promise.”

So it wouldn’t be a long late night call by Doc, then. That makes you feel the tiniest bit better, and you give him a small half-hearted smile. What were you supposed to say? No, don’t go to your job that you’re so crazy passionate about? Don’t go help your boss on a project that could potentially change lives? You make no move to stop him.

“I promise,” Peter repeats when he doesn’t see a lift in your spirits. He leans down, pressing his lips to yours again, lighting you on fire from the inside, “don’t start the episode without me!”

You tried to take that as a sign that he meant it. Half an hour and he would be back with the pizza still hot in the box. So you kissed him goodbye and sat on the couch by yourself in the apartment. As soon as the episode started, you hit pause and texted Peter that you had done so, letting him know that every second you were away from Jon Snow would be counted towards your next pizza night.

20 minutes passed, and the pizza showed up with steam rising from the box. His half with sausage and mushroom was untouched as you grabbed a slice from your side. Just because he said to wait on the show didn’t mean you had to wait for dinner.

30 minutes, and you figured he was fighting the night rush on the train. He didn’t answer your text message, but he probably needed all of his attention on his work right now. You don’t make a fuss, keeping the show paused.

After an hour of no response, you get fed up of sitting with just your phone and decide to unpause the show. If he came in and mentioned it, you would tell him to watch it tomorrow night while you were at work. But he doesn’t come back. Even when the episode is over, you haven’t heard the jingle of the keys in the lock.

Two hours late, as you decide to pack it up for bed, your phone buzzes on the coffee table. From the kitchen, putting the box of pizza in the fridge, you heavily roll your eyes. Your disappointment was riddled with hints of anger, but there was also confusion. Peter had always been flakey, he’d always been late, he’d always been absent-minded and forgetful, but you couldn’t stop thinking about the way he’d put his phone face time when around you lately.

It could mean nothing. In fact, it probably did mean nothing, but there was a sense of dread in your gut. You weren’t sure you wanted to face the idea that was forming in the back of your head. Because you loved Peter, you loved him so much you weren’t sure what life had been like before you started loving him. He made you feel safe and seen and understood, he made you feel like someone important in a city where nobody mattered unless they were on the front page of a magazine.

And if there was one thing you were sure of anymore, it was that Peter Parker loved you too. Nothing had shaken that fact over the last four years, and you weren’t sure anything ever would.

But you could still be upset with him when he did things like this. Like bailing on your traditional date night, like standing you up on one of the most important nights of your rising career. You picked up your phone, reading the text from Peter that had come in two minutes ago. All the lights in the apartment were off, and you were ready to tuck yourself into bed.

His message read, “Baby I’m so sorry. I’m gonna be a little while still, please don’t be too mad at me.”

The words “I’m so sorry” were starting to grow old to you. You lock your phone and leave it in the living room with the screen facing up, no response, and your chest getting heavier and heavier as you sit in the empty apartment by yourself.

★★★★★★

He’s just late, you tell yourself, like always. He’s always late.

You couldn’t even tell yourself that he’d never been two hours late befor because he had. Sitting in the corner booth of Leo’s pizza, more dressed up than you should be for a place like this, you try to convince yourself that Peter was late for a good reason.

The train broke down, he’d had his phone stolen, sandman was on the loose again and he had to take the long way here.

But the news was mostly quiet, with no attacks, and he hadn’t even texted you. Again.

You stir the straw in your soda, watching the melting ice bump into the sides of the glass as your mind runs rampant. After Peter had bailed on your pizza and Game of Thrones night, you had been angry and hurt and unable to hide that from him. His apology? Take you out to Leo’s for dinner, your favorite pizza place of all time.

There was no way Peter would stand you up for your apology date. Not even he was the absent-minded, you were sure. You’d been talking about it just this morning over breakfast in the kitchen. He’d given you free rein of the toppings, and he would meet you here after work.

Looking at the clock, two hours had become three, and Leo’s would close in one more. Sitting back in your booth seat, you swallow the lump of emotions that wanted to burst out.

“That boy still not here?” Leo, the man behind the counter, asks you.

The burly Italian man had been witness to your guys’ relationship grow. From your first date to your anniversary dates to your celebration dates. He’d seen it all from behind the counter, and you were sure he would be witness to every other milestone. At least, you had been.

Sitting in the booth alone, you were beginning to wonder if there was anything beyond these four years with Pete.

“I wish I knew, Leo,” you admit and look down at your phone.

It buzzes as you’re looking at it. But when you see Pete’s name pop up, you don’t feel any sense of relief or anger or even sadness. Maybe you just didn’t want to feel it all at once in front of poor Leo. He didn’t need to witness that part of your relationship.

Pete had said, “Where are you at? Working late?”

You couldn’t help the scoff, “he forgot about me,” you say more to yourself than anyone else.

“What was that?” Leo asks when he catches a hint of your mumbling.

You look up from the phone, tucking it away into your pocket, and give the man a tight smile, “nothing, Leo. Sorry for wasting your time.”

Pushing yourself out of the booth, you wonder how you would go about this. Peter had been bailing on you more and more these past few months. With date the gala, with date night, and not to mention the countless nights he comes home so late you think he’s an intruder half the time. Had he always been like this and you were only noticing now that you lived together? Or had you just ignored it because of how much you loved him?

“Not a waste of time,” Leo assures you as you walk towards the door, “you and Peter will come back soon, I’m sure.”

He sounded confident. But you couldn’t even bring yourself to politely agree. You thanked him again. You texted Peter back while taking your time walking towards the train station.

“Well, I was at Leo’s,” you reply, “waiting for your amazing apology date.”

Not even a full minute goes by before his caller ID appears on your phone. You answer it out of pure curiosity, too tired to be angry at him anymore or even upset with him. He’s speaking before the phone can even fully reach your ear. Pete’s voice sounds frantic.

“I'm on my way!” He insists, “just give me two minutes and I’ll be there, I swear, (Y/N)!”

“Forget it, Peter,” you hope your voice doesn’t sound as strained as it feels, “I already left. Go back to work.”

“I wasn’t at work, I was…” He doesn’t seem to have a good answer for her, “Just give me two minutes, (Y/N) and I can still make this date happen, I promise!”

“Peter…” You weren’t sure you wanted to go back to the apartment and face the conclusion you were drawing, “all I’ve heard the past month are apologies and promises you don’t keep. It’s exhausting.”

“I know, I know, I’ve been a shit boyfriend but I’ll get it together, I know I will.”

“Even your apologies need apologies,” you sigh, rocks sitting in your chest and making you walk slower, “how many more nights are you going to stand me up this month alone?”

“None!” He insists, “It’s not gonna happen again, ever.”

“Why has it already happened six times then?” You shake your head as you reach the train station, your stomach rumbling as you regret not getting a slice of pizza to go, “and yes, I’ve counted. That’s just this month!”

There’s no immediate response on his end, and the silence makes the rocks in your chest grow to fill your stomach as well. It was like every conversation you had was giving you more reason to believe that suspicion that you wanted to forget about because it made no sense.

In the night air of New York, you can smell pizza and trash trucks littering the street. And somewhere in the distance, the sirens that were always going in this city. You weren’t sure if it was from your end or Peter’s

“(Y/N), when you get home I swear we’ll talk this out,” he finally breaks his stretch of silence, “I’ll be waiting for you, and you can yell at me for however long you need but–”

You close your eyes for a moment and grip the phone, “do not say you need to go.”

“I have to go…dammit,” he mutters the last word to himself, “I’ll meet you at home, (Y/N), I’ll be there and we can work this out.”

You shake your head, watching as a train approaches the boarding area. One that wouldn’t lead you to the apartment but to somewhere else. You step onto the nearly empty car, watching a few people shuffle out and pay you no mind.

“Don’t bother, Peter,” you say, “I’m staying with my parents tonight, okay? So just go back to whatever work is more important than I am.”

★★★★★★

A very common task given to you at work was getting coffee. Usually, it was the first thing you did in the mornings when your boss handed you a company card and a piece of paper with everyone's order on it. Sometimes throughout the day, you would be sent on other various food and drink runs, but only around meal times.

Sitting at your desk, you were looking over the files on your computer that contained a few of the articles being pitched to your boss that afternoon. Your task was the weed out the “boring” ones by trying to decide what he would deem boring in the first place. You weren’t expecting any kind of task before the meeting, so all of your attention was on the article on your screen.

“(Y/N)!” You jump nearly out of your desk chair when your boss yells your name from across the room, “We need a coffee run before this meeting!”

Your boss was not a man of patience, so you had a few seconds before he got annoyed with your lack of movement. Closing the tab on your computer, you grab a piece of loose paper and a pen and start across the room of office cubicles towards him.

“Your usual, sir?” You ask him in the fake professional voice you’d taken to using with him.

He nods his head and holds up the silver credit card for office expenses, “Yes, and an iced chai for Martha when she gets here, and a vanilla latte with soy for Marcus.”

You scribble down the other orders as you nod your head and take the card, “I’m on it, back in a jiff.”

“(Y/N)!” here it came, “can I get a lavender mocha?!”

Everyone would shout orders at you as you left when they heard a coffee run was being called. Normally, you tried to get out of there as quickly as possible before too many orders piled up. Because no one would offer to come with you to help carry them, and you could only carry so many steaming cups before you were destined to spill them on yourself.

The paper is filled before you’re in the elevator anyway, leaving you with 8 orders of coffee. You liked being at work because you hardly had time to think for yourself. Unless you were doing some kind of food or drink run, and then you had entirely too much time to yourself. And right now, you didn’t want to spend too much time in your head.

For the past three days, you had been staying overnight at your parent's place in Queens. During the day you would be at your apartment, getting ready for work or making your meals, because you knew Peter would be gone at the lab. You hadn’t come face to face with him since the morning he stood you up for his apology date, and it’s because you couldn't bear to look at him. Just the thought of confronting him with the truth made you nauseous. You weren’t sure you wanted him to say it out loud or not.

Your parents hadn’t minded when you showed up, near tears, telling them that you were at least 80% sure that Peter was cheating on you. They’d offered you their guest room and told you to think about things with a clear head. Your mother had been very adamant that you talk to him first.

But you’d been ignoring his calls and texts like the plague. Partly because you wanted him to know what it felt like to be ignored, and partly because you weren’t sure what you wanted to say to him yet. You knew you would talk to him when you were damn well ready, and you weren’t ready. Not this morning when he sent his usual “good morning” message and asked if you wanted to meet for lunch.

Maybe tonight you would talk to him. You would bite the bullet and get the truth, even if you didn’t like what it was.

As you stand and wait for your two coffee carriers, you look down at your phone and all of Peter’s unanswered texts and voicemails. He was persistent, especially when it came to your relationship. You love that about him.

Peter Parker didn’t do anything half-assed. Everything he did from school to work was 100%, and relationships had never been different. At least not until now. He’d loved you as much as you loved him, you had been sure of that until now. You just didn’t understand when that had changed. What had made him back away from you to the point of forgetting about you multiple times a month?

“(Y/N)!” You hear it called from up ahead. You look up from your phone, wondering if your order was done already. But you see a familiar face walking towards you in a grey sweater vest and a head of thinning brown hair with small glasses.

You smile and turn your body to face him, “Doctor Octavius!” You greet, “it’s been a while!”

“It has,” he agrees as he reaches out to shake your hand, “it’s so funny running into you here. I’m here every day for lunch but we’ve never run into each other.”

You shake your head politely, “this is an odd time for a coffee run for me,” you assure him, “so how are you? Things at the lab doing okay? Peter is so excited to be working with you.”

“And I’m happy to have him,” Dr. Octavius says, “he’s passionate about helping people, that boy,” he then waves a hand through the air to laugh, “if only he could be on time for once in his life! But I’m sure you know all about that.”

You give a pained smile, hoping it looked more real than it felt, “You have no idea,” you agree and then try to forget about the sore subject in your relationship, “but I’m sure he’s making up for it with all the late nights, he’s always thinking about your guys’ projects.”

Dr. Octavius laughs while pushing up his glasses, “Oh, I wish we could do late nights,” he tells you, and your heart begins to pound, “I’m afraid I don’t have the funding to keep workers past normal hours. But that’s not an issue for now, I’m glad Peter has some spare time to spend with you. You two remind me so much of me and my wife when were young…”

His word became muffled. No late nights. He didn’t have the funding for late nights. But Peter had been telling you that he was at work, with Dr. Octavius. He’d been telling you that for months. If he wasn’t there…where had he been going? Why had he been lying to you? What was the point of lying to you?

You’d never been the kind of person to tell Peter what he could and couldn’t do. It was his life, his choices, his spare time. Why did he feel the need to tell he was somewhere when he wasn’t? The weight in your chest stretched down to your stomach, and you wondered if anxiety-vomiting was a real thing. It felt like you were about to find out.

“Order for (Y/N)!” Your name breaks your trance as well as the conversation with Dr. Octavius, who was still speaking despite you not hearing it. You look up at the barista counter, where your 8 drinks are waiting for you to grab them.

“Oh, I’ll let you get back to work,” the doctor says as he hears your name as well, “I hope we run into each other again, (Y/N).”

“Me too, Doctor,” you tell him, hoping it sounded scincere, “good luck with your research, I can’t wait to hear about it!”

The doctor smiles, and he’s about to turn away when he looks back at you, “Oh, and (Y/N), great work on that Oscorp piece last week!”

Any other day, you would be ecstatic that someone had read you piece in the back of the paper and at the bottom of the website. Especially after all the work you put into gathering information on Oscorp’s underhanded carbon emissions from half of their facilities. But you didn’t feel that excitement, you hardly felt anything about it. But you thanked Dr. Octavius and grabbed your row of drinks off the counter.

Your brain was in another world entirely as you balanced everything on your hands. Peter had been lying to you for months. Maybe even longer than that. He was bailing on your dates, leaving you alone in the apartment at night to “work.” Still, you tied to put half of your focus on getting back to work in time for the meeting without spilling anything. You only took your eyes off the coffee to check your footing.

But the streets of New York were never kind, not even to those having a month full of bad days. With your eyes on the coffee, you fail to notice an incoming biker barreling down the sidewalk. There’s a ding of a bell that makes you look up, but it was to late to get out of his way without spilling anything.

What’s one more bad day, You think when you realize your situation, on top of all the others?

Still, you yelp as he barely swerves around you, your foot caught under his thin tire. When you jump from pain, your hands instinctually let go of the coffee trays. The smell of lavender and espresso douse your nice work clothes, and hot liquid burning the exposed skin it touches. You jump back from the biker, who was already whizzing past you and disappearing into the city. The edge of the sidewalk was right there, and your heel is already too close to the edge.

“Whoa! Watch out!” You hear someone calling down at you, but what were you supposed to do? You were already slipping into the road and watching as cars didn't bother to slow down.

There’s a burst of air at your side, a hand on your hip, and your feet are barely picked up off the ground before being sat back down a few feet further into the walkway. You saw the red and blue before you could process the entirety of what had just happened. Spider-Man, the walking legend of the New York streets. He was the small time hero whs ometimes got into big-time fights. Your boss absolutely loved him.

You’d never had a personal enounter with the hero before, and you didn’t think you would ever need to. But you’d heard plenty of stories from other people while working. He was a good man, someone who cared about the people of New York, even the small people like you who didn’t have their names on billboards.

“Are you okay?” He aks you.

His voice was a little distorted when you heard it, robitcally. It must be another way for him to protect his identity, you assume. Maybe his suit was more high tech than people realized. You look over at him, wide eyes, coffee all over you, your skin tinted red from the heat, and you say nothing at first. Taking in the situation. Taking in the information Octavius had given you, and the only conclusion you could draw from it.

Spider-Man tilts his head as he lets go of your waist, “Miss…are you okay? Are you hurt?”

Besides the burning coffee your arms an your throbbing foot, you shake your head. But you could feel the emotions you were pushing down starting to bubble over. A month of ignoring signs that the person you loved more than anything was cheating on you, hoping it was all some big misunderstanding. Your job piling more tasks on you because you could take it, with no breaks and hardly time to eat lunch. You just wanted a pizza night with Peter, with your favorite show and your favorite person right next to you. But he was, clearly, with someone else when he was supposed to be with you.

Your eyes start to burn.

“Okay, good,” Spider-Man says with a nod of hs red and blue mask, “that was almost bad. Do you need smeone to uh…walk you back to wherever you’re going?”

Why did he care? You were fine, just getting more upset by the second. Any minute the dams would burst and you didn’t need a superhero seeing you cry over spilled coffee. So you shake your head again, trying to wipe the coffee from your skin.

“That looks like it hurts,” Spider-Man comments when he sees the light burn on your arms, “we should get some ice on that. That coffee shop should have some,” he points to where you had just come from.

You shake your head again, “I’m fine.”

But even to you your voice sounded thick with emotions he woudln’t understand. Hell, you didn’t even fully understand them. What you understand is that Peter wasn’t going to be who you call anymore after a bad day. You wouldn’t go home to him tonight because he would be gone, tell you it was for work, and then turn his phone upside downwhen he got back.

“Alright miss, if you’re sure,” he says, “but some ice water might make it feel better. I’ve had few coffee burns before too.”

You weren’t sure what the final straw was, but you couldn't stop it anymore. The tears fell, and you drop your head into your hands to block it from anyone who walked by. But nobody in New York cared about people who cried in the street, you knew that. You just didn’t want to be the weirdo on this day who broke down in front of a coffee shop. Keeping you cries as internal as possible, you begin to turn towards the coffee shop once more.

“Whoa,” Spider-Man stops you, “Are you okay? What’s wrong? Why are you crying? It’s just a few cups of coffee, we can order more.”

This stranger sounded so much like Peter in his words that it made you cry a little bit harder. Peter was the go to for any kind of comfort. He spoke so calmly when you were loosing it that if made you feel more in control. You hated it right now because you weren’t in control of anything anymore.

Spider-Man places a covered hand on your shoulder that you’re too upset to brush away.

“It’s everything!” You sniffle on the street, people pushing around you without sparing your emotional break a glance, “I’m gonna be late to the meeting because i have to chage clothes, and now I have to get more coffee, and I think my boyfriend is cheating on me!”

Hearing the words out loud, you cries become harder to muffle and tears begin to fall onto your palms. Peter was cheating on you, you were sure of that. There was nothing else that explained his behavior and lies. Normally you wouldn’t wail about your problem to a stranger, but what could it hurt? It’s not like he knew you or Peter, and he would forget about this in an hour when he was pulling a kitten from a tree.

“Wait, why would you…” his voice sounded hurried at first before he stopped and corrected himself, “um why do you think that, Miss? That your boyfriend is cheating on you? I really doubt that’s the case, I mean I don’t know him but I think that’s way out there to assume, not that I know anything about your relationship–”

“What do you care?” You turn from the super hero and back towards the coffee shop, where you try to swallow down your cries and sniffles long enough to order your coffee for a second time.

★★★★★★

Your boss had not been happy to see you appear in coffee covered clothes with a slight limp. He’d been the slightest bit concerned when he also took note of your red eyes and ruined hair, but then told you to go home and change as quick as humanly possible.

But you didn’t move like you were in a rush. Actually, you drug your feet back to your apartment hoping that Peter would really be at work. You didn’t even want to walk into the home you shared with him knowing that he had been running around with someone else while you were there alone. But you had no where else to go and change that was within a one-train-ride distance.

You unlock the door, eyes still stinging at the corners, your clothes sticking to your body. And there was a slight sting in your skin where the coffee had hit. Maybe Spider-Man had been right about icing it. Maybe a cold shower would make you feel better physically and emotionally, but you doubted it.

You open the front door, dropping your keys in the tray by the door.

“(Y/N)! You’re home!” You nearly jumped out of your skin when Peter’s voice came from the living area, “please, we need to talk!”

You look at him as you shut the door behind you, and you wanted to start crying just seeing him. But you held it in and turned away from him.

“I don’t have time for this, Peter,” you tell him, “I’m late for a meeting and I have to shower before I go back.”

“Please, (Y/N) even just a two minute conversation, I swear,” he pushed, walking after you as you went towards the bedroom where you had a bathroom connected, “you don’t even have to talk, just listen.”

“I don’t have time for this!” You repeat, starting to get irritated in the sadness you felt when he spoke your name. You reach the bedroom and make a beeline for the bathroom, wondering if he would disappear before you got out. He follows you up until you close the bathroom door in his face. Your tears fall again under the cold water, and you hope he can’t hear it.

You showered, changed, and blow dried your hair. Not as quickly as you could’ve, but quick enough for your boss to think you moved as fast as you could. Part of you didn’t even want to go back in, but the other option was staying here and facing the music with your boyfriend.

Who was still there when you opened the bathroom door. Sitting on the bed you two shared. His side was strewn about from sleeping, his pillow crooked, the blanks tossed aside. But your side was untouched, even your half of the blankets pulled up. You were always the one to make the bed. He immediately stands up when he hears the door open, turning towards you.

His normally put together hair was frazzed. He ran his hands through it when he was upset. It was one of his tells when he was nervous and tried to hide it.

“Peter…” you sigh as he gets up to follow you from the bedroom, “please, not now. I have a lot to do at work, and I don’t need to be thinking about this while I’m there.”

“You won’t come home at night,” Peter says behind you as you reach for your shoes by the door. They still had coffee marks on them, “you only come back when you know I’m at work, I don’t know when we’ll be able to talk aside from showing up at your work. Which I have thought about, believe me.”

“Then just wait until I’m ready to talk,” you tell him, “what’s wrong with that option?”

“Because I really want us to go back to normal, (Y/N). I want you to come home, and I want to see you next to me in the mornings, and I want to hear about your day–”

“We can’t go back to normal, Peter,” it looks like you were doing this now. There was no way around it anymore. Part of you was relieved, “not after this. I don’t even think there can be an us to go back to.”

“Please don’t do this, (Y/N),” he pleas, approaching you but keeping enough distance between you that you didn’t feel trapped here, “I know…that…I know you think that I’ve been doing something, I know what you think and you have to know–”

“How would you know what I think, Peter?” You ask him, your throat threatening to close, “you’re not around to hear what I think anymore! You’re never here, you’re running out in the middle of the night, you’re lying about where you are!”

“I know that I’ve made some stupid mistakes this past month,” he insists, “but I can fix it all, I swear, and you’ll never have to deal with those problems again.”

Fix it all. He couldn’t fix this. He couldn’t fix the fact that you didn’t believe a single word he said now. Or that you would always wonder if he was looking at someone else when you went out on dates. But you still looked at him and you loved him because you knew what it felt like to be loved by him at one point. When had that changed? When had he stopped loving you? Was it so quick you only noticed now, or had it been so slowly you hadn’t noticed at all?

“Just…” you inhale deeply and try to keep your breathing steady, “tell me the truth…please. Are you cheating–”

“No,” he shakes his head before the question is even out.

“--on me? Are you seeing someone else?”

“No,” he repeats, “I am not, have never, and will never cheat on you, (Y/N), I promise.”

“I don’t believe your promises anymore, Peter.”

“I love you,” he takes a few steps to close to distance between you two so he’s standing directly in front of you. He reaches down for your shaking hands, like he wanted to steady to flurry of emotions you were feeling, “I love you so much, and that is a promise I have never broken. Why do you think that? Why would you ever think I would chose someone over you?”

You pull your hands away from his, sick at how at ease he could still make you feel when he spoke with such a calm voice. You didn’t want to be calm or sad. You wanted to be angry. But his brown eyes only left you feeling small and defeated.

“What else am I supposed to think?” you shake your head and take a step away from him, “what are my other options? Of course there’s someone else–”

“There’s no one,” he presses, “You’re the only person I’ve ever loved like this.”

“So you leave me at a table by myself at Leos?” You ask with a disbelieving headshake, “and tell me you’re at work when Dr. Octavius says he can’t keep you after hours? If you’re not cheating, Peter, then why all the lies? Give me the truth, or I don’t think I can handle being loved like this anymore.”

He doesn’t say anything. Your shoe are on, youre reaching for the doorhandle, and you don’t think he’s going to stop you. That hurts more than anything. Or mayb all of the hurt was piling up and you didn’t know what was the most painful anymore. You couldn’t look back at him for fear you would crack and beg for an answer.

Your hands on the door handle, you want him to stop you, but you refuse to beg him to choose you.

There’s a thwipp sound behind you, and then something cold has your hand pinned to the doorknob. Unable to turn it. You look down at it, and a pile of white spiderwebs is covered your hand entirely. Looking back at Peter, his hand is out and pointed in your direction. His eyes are wide, like he can’t believe what he’s seeing either.

“I-I’m sorry,” he says and takes his hands through his hair in distress, “I didn’t want you to find out like this, but I couldn’t let you walk away thinking that I had cheated on you.”

Your head was going a mile a minute, probably not even on Earth anymore, and you were staring down at the webs covering your hand. Your first coherent thought was that it was Peter you had cried in front of an hour ago, crying about your cheating boyfriend. The second thought was that this also made sense for all the lies and the leaving.

“I’m not gonna stop you from leaving me,” He’s rambling behind you, “even though I’m ready to get down on my hands and knees and grovel for one more chance, but if you need to walk away from me then please just know the truth when you do it. I love you, (Y/N), and that is the only thing I’m sure is true anymore.”

You sniffle, your tears having run dry, “Peter,” you say in a dull and emotionless voice, “can you come get this shit off my hand so I can go back to work?”

★★★★★★

Needless to say, you didn’t get anything productive done after that encounter with Peter. It wasn’t hard to come to terms with the fact that he wasn’t cheating on you. You’d been looking for a reason to do that for a month now. But the fact that he was Spider-Man?

Your Peter, who hated violence, who was as peaceful as a butterfly, who didn’t even like watching MMA fights, was a crime fighting superhero? With powers? And you’d been living under the same room as him for a year and had never noticed?

Your brain was connecting the pieces of every time thing that had happened. Like when the sink handle had broken off one morning in Peter’s hand when you’d first moved into the apartment. You’d laughed about it, thinking about what a funny stroke of bad luck he’d had. Or when he’d come home bruises along his back and say he’d fallen while trying to get work on time. It had sounded true at the time, but Peter wasn’t the clumsy type. Now you knew why. He was coordinated enough to fight super villains.

None of what you needed to get done happened at work. You could hardly process any words you read, and any conversations went in one ear and out the other. Your boyfriend was Spider-Man, you were still grappling with that revelation by the time you got off.

You decided to go home. Now that you knew Peter wasn’t cheating on you, it felt like you could at least see the place again. However, on your walk to the train station, you were hyper aware of every se of sirens that went off somewhere in the distance. Which was every three seconds in New York, and the worry you felt knowing he could be at any crime scene was arguably as bad as the anxiety you’d felt all day.

Of course you could text him. But after ignoring him for three days, it felt only right to talk in person. You hoped you would be home when you arrived, but if not, you would have to wait. It would give you time to think of what you were going to say. Of how you wanted to go about things now that you knew the truth.

You unlocked the front door with anxiety running through your veins. On the other side, the remains of his webs from earlier were still hanging from the doorknob. He’d cut you free with his house keys, and you’d left before you could see the webs closely. When he wasn’t inside, you looked at them a little closer. They were as thin as real spider webs, but you’d felt how strong they were when holding your hand down. Peter was genius enough to make these himself, that’s for sure.

The apartment was empty. You didn’t hear any sign of Peter. So you place your keys in the tray by the door and take a seat on the couch, letting things slowly settle in your head.

You sent Peter a text, “I’m at home. We should talk.”

You honestly weren’t expecting a reply, so you set your phone down and decide to find something to eat. As you silently open the fridge, your options are slim. There’s one can of Dr. Pepper, left over pasta, and a container of uncooked mushrooms in the drawer. Peter clearly hadn’t been shopping while you were gone. You reach for the left over pasta, figuring it was your only option that required minimal cooking tonight.

“(Y/N),” your name makes you jump a mile in the air, a yelp leaving you. Spinning around, you see Peter.

He’s sitting on the edge of a newly opened window that led to your fire escape. In a familiar red and blue suit with a web design on it. The mask is crumpled in his hand, like he didn’t want you to panic when you saw him. His hair is a frizzed mess, and his eyes are staring at you like he was shocked to find you standing in the kitchen.

“You’re here,” he says as you place a hand on your chest to feel how hard your heart is hammering.

He steps into the living area, and you can see the suit in clear lighting. He came in so easily and with skill. Like he’d done it a million times before.

“That’s how you get in without setting off the alarm?!” You ask him in disbelief.

He looks back at the window for a second, and then back at you, “Yeah,” he confirms, “It doesn’t wake you up, and it’s less stairs.”

“Less stairs,” you repeat and nod your head, setting your cold pasta on the counter, “yeah, makes sense, sure.”

Peter puts the mask on the coffee table beside your phone, “you want to talk?” he asks, as if confirming it was you who sent the text message, “I wasn’t sure you were ever coming back, if I’m honest.”

“Well I did ask for the truth,” you tell him, leaning back against the, “I can’t be mad that I got it.”

There’s silence on his end. Like he wasn’t sure what to say next. But you weren’t either. A few things came to mind, but you didn’t know where to start. So you decided on the first thing that came up when you opened your mouth.

“I’m sorry,” you land on, “for thinking you were cheating.”

Peter looks up, eyes wide, clearly not having expected that, “what? Don’t apologize, I’m supposed to be apologzing.”

“Yeah, well, I figured I owe you one too.”

The space between you two felt like miles, but it was only feet. And the apartment felt cold, like you were both avoiding making the first move. You wanted him back at your side, as close to you as he could be. You wanted to sit on the couch with Peter as your peasonal heated blanket, listening to his heartbeat as you fell asleep.

“I owe you about a million more,” Peter shakes his head and finally breaks the distance separating you two, “I never should’ve even let you begin to think that I would pick someone else over you. I should’ve told you the truth years ago, I should’ve told you the moment I realized I loved you, I’m sorry.”

He’s maybe a foot away. He’d closed the distance up until now, and you decide to close the rest. Your hands reach out, the feeling of the suit alien under your fingers, but his warmth reminds you that its him. Pulling him forward, he practically melts into you as you wrap your arms around him. Burying your face into his neck, feeling his hair between your fingers. It was Peter, your loyal and loving Peter.

Peter holds you back. Now you know that the strength he’s holding back is because he doesn’t want to hurt you. How could Peter ever hurt you? He loved you, and you loved him. After too long thinking that that was a lie, it was a relief to know it was still true. Keeping this kind of secret couldn’t have been easy for him, just as it hadn’t been easy for you to think he was being unfaithful.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” You ask him as he leans his body against yours, his face buried in your hair in relief, “it’s been years, Pete, you could’ve trusted me with this…”

He lifts his head, only enough so he could press his forehead to yours, “I do trust you,” he says, “but I also love you more than life itself, so I have to protect you above anything else. There’s a lot of people out there who wanna hurt me, and I will not let them use you to do it. I can’t do that to you.”

“Pete trusting me with something like this isn’t damning me to being a damsel in distress,” you inform him carefully, using your hands to gently swipe his messy hair from his eyes.

The apartment was dimly lit, something you’d always complained about, but you could see his face clear as day as he clung to you in the kitchen light. His brown eyes glossy with tears, the freckles dotting his cheeks that you counted when you couldn’t sleep. You though your knew everything about him, every part of him, but he had been hiding an entirely differen life from you. A life that couldn’t have been easy to shoulder all on his own. You couldn’t bring yourself to be mad at him for hiding from you only to protect you.

“I couldn’t risk it,” he admits, his voice as soft as the light above you, “but I also couldn’t stand the thought of you thinking that I didn’t love you with every cell in my body. I needed you to know the truth even if you still left.”

You shake your head against his, “this isn’t going to drive me away, Pete,” you assure him, palms coming to a rest on his cheeks, “what’ll drive me away is the lies. Promise me no more lies, Pete, please.”

He’s nodding his head before you can even finish the sentence, “No more,” he says, “no more lies or secrets, I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry.”

You believed him. Not just because you wanted to, but because you could feel that me meant it. Every doubt that you’d had in your head is flooded away as you make the first move to kiss him. His lips were as soft as they always were, his movements just as gentle. He was still your Peter, the same guy you fell in love with over Leo’s pizza. He leans forward, pinning you against the counter so he get a solid grip on your waist.

He hoists you up with one hand, and you can’t help but gasp as he lands your butt on the counter without blinking. He chuckles at your reaction, settling himself between your knees in your shock.

“You’ve been hiding this the whole time?” you ask, now more interested than anything else. You lock your legs around his hips, “Pete, we could’ve been having some real fun with this.”

Peter grins, “Trust me, I know, I’ve had a few dreams about it.”

175 notes · View notes

fryingpan1234567 · 7 months

Text

listen I knowwww Roach should be British. he was on a British task force. he’s got the flag on his uniforms. but when @fixfoxnox said southerner Roach I just couldn’t not love him okay leave me alone

anyways. southerner Roach shenanigans

(I guess you could call this a Something in the Orange fanfic since he’s besties with Jackson in this scenario as well as dating Ghost and Soap……… but it’s general enough it’s probably fine ANYWAYS)

Roach’s accent, while it normally only lightly flavors a few of his words, gets considerably thicker when he’s visiting home

I mean like he does the thing southerners do where they somehow mash entire sentences into one word and the others are just like “……….what” but Jackson is nodding like he understood

Like. They’re all at dinner together somewhere. Somebody brings up the rodeo at the state fair. The Europeans have no idea what they’re talking about. Roach just goes “y’ain’tneverheardadat??” and Soap nearly has a stroke trying to figure out what he meant but Jackson continues to eat soundly like he didn’t hear anything wrong

COWBOY👏 HAT👏 RULE👏

HELP

No no no they go to some random dive bar for one of their birthdays. It doesn’t matter whose. Jackson and Roach both have cowboy hats because OBVIOUSLY and like. They exchange this look that the others can’t figure out whenever one of their boyfriends steals their hat via flirting

(They tell them later and then can’t stop laughing while Soap and Ghost and Gaz are just sitting there like uh oh)

After that the hat stealing is very much purposeful

Square dancing to fucking Timber by Kesha and Pitbull in said dive bar because that’s just required idk what to tell you

Soap and Ghost seeing Roach ride a horse for the first time and visibly bluescreen

Roach recognizing people from high school in his hometown even tho he hasn’t seen them in like 20 years

He likes Taylor Swift but only her old country-adjacent stuff

Ghost and Soap couldn’t figure out his aversion to any kind of substitute milk until he took them home and they found out it’s because he grew up drinking milk that literally came from the cows he has in his backyard. They own two cows. And a few chickens. Very resourceful

Jackson and Roach dragging the 141 to Roach’s family’s Super Bowl party one year because in the southern states it’s a huge fucking deal

The Europeans being like “………this is quite possibly one of the dumbest things I’ve ever seen in my life” but their boys are having fun so it’s okay

God help the rest of them. Jackson and Roach are rooting for opposite teams.

There’s screaming, there’s wrestling on the living room floor, there’s spilling food and beer everywhere. The amount of rubbing it in after a touchdown lands is fucking crazy, and they’ve shouted about stabbing each other every single time

Eventually, maybe with a bit of googling, the others get into it. Soap hasn’t stopped shoving Mrs. Roach’s buffalo chicken dip in his face since he’d discovered it when they’d arrived, and Ghost was letting the kids use his tattoo like a coloring page while he chatted with Roach’s dad and brothers. Gaz kept getting elbowed in the ribs whenever Roach and Jackson tousled on the couch, and a couple times he was asked to hold Jackson’s beer so “I can kick some sense into this dipshit,” usually followed by Roach’s maniacal cackling. Price was banging around in the kitchen with Mrs. Roach. Nobody knew how he’d gotten dragged into that, but he seemed to be enjoying himself

On the topic of bringing the boys home to the fam oh my GODS thanksgiving

Ghost is not a dessert person. He’s never been a dessert person. But he had four slices of Mr. Roach’s apple pie, so,,,,,,,,, apparently he is actually a dessert person

Obvi Roach is good with all guns, but he was hunting with his dad and brothers by the time he was like six. He knows how to work a shotgun like he breathes

(Ahem being southern is why he’s so fucking stubborn btw if anyone was wondering)

Roach and Jackson both are religious Dolly Parton listeners

“DID U GUYS KNOW SHE WROTE JOLENE AND I WILL ALWAYS LOVE YOU ON THE SAME DAY—“

Ghost and Soap wake up one night because there’s a weird noise outside. They poke Roach awake like “???? what was that??” and he was just like “oh yeah the woods make noises sometimes. don’t worry about it. if something actually wanted to kill you, you wouldn’t hear it coming” and promptly passed back out

“Yea I’ve seen a skinwalker before” “FYM YOU’VE S E E N O N E ? “ “It was in my backyard?? Relax it just wanted the coyote that always tries to kill our chickens. I didn’t really mind”

Gaz suggests investigating a weird figure he saw in the woods. Roach laughs out loud and Jackson smacks him in the back of the head like “that’s how you fucking die you idiot”

“Y’all’re lucky we’re here to stop you from doing somethin’ stupid. Fuckin’ city slickers” “What did you just call me”

The deafening sounds of crickets and locusts puts Roach to sleep almost instantly every night. Ghost barely sleeps every time they visit.

”IT IS SO FUCKING LOUD IF ONE MORE BLOODY CRICKET—“ “Simon not everyone needs literal dead silence to sleep—“

No matter how many pillows he stacks on top of his head he can’t escape it

Oh. Oh. The Europeans CANNOT do southern heat. They’re passed out on the porch while Jackson and Roach and Roach’s brothers play football in the front yard

Roach makes killer lemonade and iced tea nobody talk to me

He has a rusty blue ancient pickup that he says is his baby. One of the wheels is misshapen and the bed squeaks dangerously every time they hit a pothole, but he won’t get rid of it EVER

Roach introduces Soap and Ghost to catching fireflies in jars with his nieces and nephews. They are. So in love with the concept.

It gets turned into a competition, because of course it does, and it looked like Ghost was going to win— but then the youngest of the participating children silently held up a jar that was too bright to look at and audibly buzzing from the amount of bugs inside of it. They cut their losses and embrace the fact that they’ll never be That Good

Southern👏 sunsets👏 there ain’t nothing like it

Soap has a sketchbook dedicated entirely to doodling Roach doing farm things

Roach had a horse he took care of in high school. Her name was Peaches and he literally cried when he found pictures of her in his room

Ghost LOVES the sweet old border collie Roach’s parents have. That dog has seen many a stampede, and he’s herded just as many. What a man. Ghost does not leave him alone Ever

gods fuck me bro I could literally talk about southern Roach F O R E V E R (idk if you can tell from the long ass post Jesus Christ)

good morning/ night/ 4am lmk if you want more of this

#cod #tf141 #simon ghost riley #gary roach sanderson #john soap mactavish #captain john price #kyle gaz garrick #paul jackson #something in the orange #kind of #soapghostroach #ghostsoaproach #southerner roach

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littleadaline · 6 months

Text

I Didn’t Know Where Else To Go [P.G6]

Warnings: Reader is unwell?? Angsty on the readers side??

Word count: 2.03k

A/N: wrote this while dealing with stomach flu, so it may be inconsistent or unpolished, sorry about it!!

A/N: Ramadan Kareem to all who partake in it!! May this Ramadan heal our hearts and bring our souls some much needed peace xx.

———————————————————

18:00

You had just gotten off the phone with the agency you had landed an internship with. After countless interviews and days of going back and forth to establish a schedule, you had finally received the green light for your internship. Grabbing your cat in your arms, you twirled around, letting a shriek of excitement.

“We did it Lucía!!” The ping of your phone stole your attention. It was Aurora.

[From Roro ✨🌸]:

Any news about the internship? I got a response for mine!

[To Roro ✨🌸]:

OMG RORO I GOT THE INTERNSHIP!! I CAN’T BELIEVE IT 😭 HBUUU?

[From Roro ✨🌸]:

ENHORABUENA AMIGA!! I GOT MINE AS WELL!

[To Roro ✨🌸]:

I’M SO PROUD OF YOU AURORA! I can’t wait for us to celebrate xx Is tonight any good??

[From Roro ✨🌸]:

Me too! Tonight is no good :( How about tomorrow?? I’ll ask Gavi to drop me off after his physiotherapy appointment.

Your face soured at the mention of Pablo. Pablo Páez Gavira was your friend’s little brother, and despite being the same age and having similar interests, you guys hated each other. You were always bickering, exchanging snarky and sarcastic remarks about one another. Pablo’s parents were deranged by their son’s behaviour, but Aurora saw something beyond the sarcasm and lack of agreement. She often teased the two of you, pushing you to at least pretend to like each other.

“If you end up even getting along with each other, you each owe me 20€.”

“Never.” Pablo responded, shooting the basket ball into the net.

19:00

In need to contain your excitement, you put on your shoes and left the house for a walk. Strolling around the neighbourhood, you admired the early sightings of springs; people keeping their windows open, the sound of music escaping onto the streets. The smell of dinner was not unfamiliar to your nose. You realized were near Pablo’s neighbourhood when you heard the ping of your email. The smile you had harboured for the last hour was quickly wiped away as you read the title of the email.

[Termination of your internship]

Dear Y/N Y/LN,

It has been brought to our attention by our hiring committee that it will be impossible for us to accommodate your personal schedule into the internship schedule. As such, due to the late application date and your uncooperative schedule, we are forced to rescind our offer for the internship. We wish you the best in your academic and professional career,

The Agency.

Your eyebrows knitted in confusion. “Uncooperative schedule”? You knew your schedule was rather complicated, but at no point was the hiring committee bothered by it…nor had they said something either. You and the agency knew the weight this internship held for your final project this semester. If you couldn’t land an internship, you wouldn’t be able to hand in a project, and you’d automatically fail the class. Failing the class would mean you wouldn’t obtain your degree and your graduation would be delayed by a year as this class was only given during the winter. Something wet rolled from your cheeks and onto your phone screen. You didn’t know if it was tears or rain. You let your back slide against the street wall, an uneasy feeling taking over. You were hyperventilating, a million thoughts rolling in. Unable to think clearly, you ran to the only address you knew in this neighbourhood. Making it to the front of the house, you pounded at the door.

“Pablo? Pablo are you here? Please! Anyone?” You begged, sliding your body down the door as you cried uncontrollably. Your body was soaked from the rain, shivering as the wet clothes clang to you. 3 minutes had passed before rapid footsteps were heard and the door was opened in a hurry. You didn’t have the time to turn to look at whoever had opened the door before a pair of arms dragged you inside.

“Who’s that?” Pablo’s mom said, running into the entrance, apron still on.

“Y/N, what’s going on? Hey, hey, deep breaths. Look at me.” Aurora said, taking off your coat and shoes. Your chest was falling and rising at an alarming rate. Your sight was hazy as you fought tears.

“She’s freezing.” You felt Pablo’s mom dragging you to the bathroom upstairs, tears still streaming down your face. You were unable to stop. Aurora was behind you, frantically removing your soaked clothes. Pablo was following, still perplexed as to what had brought you to his house.

“I’ve got it from here,” Aurora held her hand in front of Pablo’s face. “Go get some towels and put them in the dryer for 10 minutes. Pablo do as I say or so help me God you won’t live to see another day. Now is not the time for your rivalry.” Aurora scolded her brother.

Pablo bit back his tongue, swallowing the comments he had. He obliged, rapidly jogging to his laundry closet before grabbing his fluffiest towels, and chucking them in the dryer. No matter how far back your rivalry went, he couldn’t help but feel worried about you. Your soaked clothes clinging to you, your face covered in a mixture of rain and tears, your sudden zombie-like state.

“Pablo? The dryer’s been done for 2 minutes now.” His dad’s voice pulled him out of his thoughts.

He grabbed the towels and ran upstairs before softly knocking on the bathroom door. The door opened slightly, enough for him to peak at your slumped figure on the bathroom floor, still stuck in a zombie-like state. You were left in your bra and underwear as Aurora and her mom worked tirelessly to calm you down. Pablo’s heart broke at the sight of you. He just wanted to take away that pain.

“How’s she-”, he mustered up to say before the door closed back on his face.

“Vale, hija, respira.” Pablo heard his mom softly say from behind the door. Defeated, he walked back to his room and rummaged through his drawers. As fun as the rivalry was, the current sight made him want to burn the entire world. He dug through his clothes until he pulled a matching sweatpants and sweater set. He put the set in a basket, heading to the guest room where he grabbed the fluffy socks he kept. He grabbed those before heading down to his laundry room and putting them in the dryer to warm them up. While waiting for the dryer to finish, he walked back to the kitchen where he poured you a bowl of soup, previously made with care by his mother, and boiled some water for tea. The dryer had been done for a few minutes now when he heard the sound of the bathroom door open. He ran, skipping steps, to hand the clothes to his sister. Aurora took the clothes without hesitation, simply thinking Pablo for his actions. Gavi knew you were soon going to come out of the bathroom, so he left the food and tea on the guest bedside table. Soon enough, Aurora helped you get in bed. You had regained some colour, your hair now clean and in a braid. You were wearing the set Gavi had warmed up, the clothes baggily hanging around your body. Gavi’s inner self breathed a sight of relief seeing you settled in bed, a more peaceful look on your face.

“I’m gonna help mamá clean up the bathroom. Make sure she stays warm and at least drinks the tea or eats the soup.” She patted him on the back before closing the door behind her. Gavi simply nodded, feeling the need for rivalry fading away.

“Vale…” Gavi awkwardly sat on the edge of the bed. “Do you want the tea?”

“Did you poison it Gavira?”

Gavi chuckled, taking your sarcasm as a sign of wellness.

“No, I didn’t. Tea or soup?” He tried to sound annoyed, but his newly found care for you betrayed him.

“Soup smells delicious. I could recognize your mom’s soup from miles away.” You laughed weakly.

Gavi grabbed the tray with the bowl of soup and approached the bed. He sat on the corner before bringing a spoonful to your lips.

“Mhhh…” you moaned in delight. “Gimme more.” You felt your body slowly regaining its strength. You sat up on the bed, Gavi feeding you one more spoonful of soup.

“Y/N, what happened? You had us all scared.” Pablo confessed, setting aside the bowl of soup.

You sighed, debating telling your newfound friend the truth.

“I…um. You know that class Aurora and I are taking? The one where we need to intern with a company related to the theme assigned to us? Well, if we don’t land an interview by the deadline, we automatically fail the class. And up until,” you checked your phone. “2 hours ago, I had an internship. Until I received an email telling me that they had to rescind their internship offer due to schedule issues. And if I don’t pass this class, I have to wait a whole year to retake the class. Which also means my graduation is delayed.”

“I don’t get it… How could they do this?” Gavi angrily asked. “What theme were you assigned?”

“Gavi… I’m not sure you can help in this situation…” Gavi’s eyes pierced through yours, desperately trying to uncover your secret. He had this kindness in his eyes, something you had never noticed before…. Maybe because you were too busy being at each other’s throats.

“What theme were you assigned?” He asked a second time.

“Media in sports…”

“You’re doing it with us and that’s final. I’ll contact the media department first thing in the morning. They don’t have any interns for this term, they should be able to accommodate you. I may have to twist Xavi’s arm for this, and sprinkle in some emotional manipulation, but you know the mister, he can’t say no to these puppy eyes.” He bragged.

Gavi fed you a new spoonful of soup, slowly taking more space on the bed.

“What brought you here?”

You almost chocked on your soup, the brutality of Gavi’s question taking you by surprise.

“Oye Gavira, are you trying to kill me with your brutal questions?” You heard Gavi laugh, something you never dreamed you’d be able to hear coming from him. “Since you want to know, I went on a walk to contain the excitement of the news, and I made it to your neighbourhood when I received the email. I guess my instinct just kicked in, and I ran to your house. I’m sorry, I didn’t know where else to go…” you said, defeated.

You heard Gavi put down the bowl on the tray before he shuffled closer, pulling you into a hug. Shocked, you simply laid there, your arms laid on your side. Your body turned on auto-pilot and you hugged him back. You didn’t know Gavi was capable of such signs of affection, especially not with someone he’s been bickering with for the last decade. On the other side of the interaction, Gavi’s mind was rolling at 200 km/h. *What are you doing cabrón? You’re supposed to hate each other. Let her go! Push her away! Wait, this feels natural, almost meant to be…*

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry this happened to you. Aurora was boasting about how happy she was you obtained the internship with this agency. I can’t imagine how it must feel.” He whispered. You both stayed in a comfortable silence until he spoke up again. “You look tired, do you want me to leave?” He slowly got off the bed, but you pulled him right back down.

“Stay. Your presence is somewhat comforting. I don’t know what your mom put in this soup, Gavira, but it’s making you less… annoying.”You sighed, your eyelids growing heavier by the second. You heard Gavi laugh, a low but subtle chuckle, and smiled to yourself. Gavi was lying on his back, his arms crossed on his chest.

“Can I… Can I lay my head on your chest?” You asked him, your voice growing shy at the request.

Gavi was slightly taken aback, but nonetheless nodded, his heart fluttering at the thought of you being so close to him. He heard the sheets shuffle before he felt your head snuggle in on his chest. He swore right away in this moment that he was done with the animosity, the backbiting, the jokes. He was going to let you in. He was going to properly love you. He was going to cherish you. And in that split second, he realized he owed Aurora 20€, not that he minded anymore.

“Sleep tight nena.” Gavi’s hand found your hair, slowly stroking it.

#fc barcelona #pablo gavi #gavi x yn #gavi one shot #gavi imagine #gavi x reader #pedri #ferran torres #fermin lopez #la masia #Barcelona #gavi

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chvoswxtch · 9 months

Note

Hi,

I had a request… I’m currently obsessed with Frank Castle (he’s just so 🥵) and had an idea, it’s not super original so I understand if you don’t want to write it!

A non-binary (they/she) character who is plus-sized and younger than him (in their mid-20s) taking him home to meet her family for the holidays. And she is very insecure and worried about how their family will react. Maybe while there, a family member says something hateful about her weight and/or being non-binary, and Frank goes to comfort/reassure her, and maybe even gets mad and defends her to her family?

Can be smut or just fluff (or both!)

I just thought it would be cute to see his more protective/caring side, mixed with his possessive and angry side. I love that dynamic (:

hello my love!

so i'm not sure if you've watched the bear (i'm still working through it myself) but there's a scene where jon flips a table and goes on a rampage and I just thought that was super fitting for this prompt so I drew a lot of inspiration from that & I hope you enjoy!

I also hope you're having a wonderful day or night wherever you are and that the holidays are being kind to you 🖤

warning: swearing, frank being frank word count: 1.5k

dessert.

It was so quiet in the cab of Frank’s truck, you swore you could almost hear the delicate noise of fresh snowflakes carelessly colliding with the windshield over the dull roar of the heat coming through the vents. The holidays were always a complicated time for you with your family. In the earlier months of the year, there was a welcoming sense of freedom to be exactly who you were without judgment. But when the colder weather started to seep in, so did the impending dread. All you had wanted to do was introduce your family to the man you had fallen in love with, and celebrate your first holiday together in a special way. You had anticipated a little bit of uncomfortable tension, prepared yourself for a few tasteless passive aggressive comments, but you didn’t think it would be this bad.

Bringing Frank home to meet your family hadn’t been the mistake. It was underestimating his protective nature and forgetting the caliber of his restless temper.

Things had already been off to a rocky start as soon as you walked through the door. Everyone’s eyes seemed to be shamelessly sticking to the way your outfit clung to the soft and full curves of your figure. The same outfit that had Frank nearly pulling over to the side of the road impatiently because he couldn’t keep his eyes ahead was currently the topic being whispered about by your aunts. However their attention was quickly stolen as soon as Frank walked in behind you. Their hushed gossip rang loudly in your ears, causing the confidence Frank had built up within you to fizzle out into insecure embers.

He’s so…normal looking. What’s he doing with her?

She’s not a her, remember? She’s…oh I forget what it’s called. Another complicated thing these kids have come up with. I swear it’s something new everyday. I can’t keep up.

He seems much too old for her, and look how fit he is. They seem way too different, there’s no way they’re actually dating.

It only got progressively worse from there. By the time everyone sat down to have dinner, it was like you weren’t even there. Everyone asked Frank a million and one questions, but no one asked you a single thing. No one asked how you were, or how the new job was going that you were so excited about. No one asked how you and Frank met, or how long you had been dating for. Everyone seemed to be trying to figure out the puzzle of what Frank was doing here with you, and eventually, you found yourself trying to solve that exact same riddle. It was almost incredible how your family managed to ruin all the trust and love that the two of you had built up over the past few months. All the promises of reassurance that flowed so easily from his lips seemed to vanish from your memory, and the quieter you got, the angrier Frank became.

He was polite at first, answering the simple questions with appropriate responses, but the more they tried to exclude you from the conversation, the more he tried to aggressively incorporate you into it. His frustration was evident in the way his voice became more rough and coarse, a detail only you were able to pick up on. That should’ve been the first warning bell in your head. But you were so wrapped up in your own insecurities that it didn’t occur to you to reach for his hand under the table to calm him like you normally did when he got worked up. Frank was doing his best to contain his rage at the way your family treated you, but one hateful comment from your alcoholic of an uncle about your weight caused him to erupt.

It all happened so fast, that you were stunned. Your uncle was in the middle of following up his weight comment with an insult about your non-binary identity when Frank suddenly stood and flipped the table out of his way so he could rush forward and strike his fist across your uncle's face. In a split second, everything had descended into chaos. Your mom and aunts were screaming, your father and uncles were trying to pull Frank off your drunk uncle, but they weren’t a match for his strength and tenacity. It wasn’t until you fought your way through them and tugged at Frank’s shirt in a panic that he finally relented and let you drag him out of the house.

For the past fifteen minutes, the two of you had been sitting in his truck where it was parked in front of your family’s house, both of you attempting to calm down. Frank was trying to quell his anger while you were coming down from the shock of what had just happened. The longer you sat in silence watching the waves of snowflakes caress the glass of the windshield, the more uneasy Frank became. Letting out a deep exhale through his large nose, he finally couldn’t take the quiet anymore.

“Look I…I didn’t…m’sorry, alright? Can you just…will you please say somethin’?”

“I can’t believe you flipped a table.”

Frank blinked in dumbfoundment a few times, his dark brows pinching together in the center of his forehead. He was expecting you to yell, to go off on him, maybe even break up with him right then and there, but not to hear you sound so amused about his explosive behavior.

“Huh?”

“That was ‘real housewives’ of you.”

When you finally turned to face him, he noticed the faint smirk on your lips, and that one little gesture eased all the anxiety that had been building up within him for the past fifteen minutes. He let out a puff of air through his lips, looking ahead as he shook his head slowly and glanced at his side mirror while trying to fight the crooked grin that threatened to spill across his lips.

“Yeah well, dinner was dull. Thought I’d spice it up a bit.”

“I’d say you spiced it up a lot.”

Frank turned his head to look over at you, and you could see a faint apologetic twinkle in his eye from the glow of the street lamp above.

“You mad?”

It was your turn to look at him in dumbfoundment. Arching one of your brows, you let out a soft laugh while tilting your head to the side in slight curiosity.

“Am I mad that you stuck up for me?”

“I coulda handled it better.”

Scooting over to the middle seat of the cab, you brought your hand up to gently caress his jaw while staring into his warm brown eyes with a soft smile.

“No Frankie, I’m not mad. I promise.”

Leaning in, you pressed your lips to his in a gentle kiss, letting him feel the sincerity behind your words. You weren’t mad at all. No one had ever been so protective or defensive of you before, and while some would’ve thought his reaction was a little extreme, you knew it was just Frank’s way of showing you how much he loved and cared about you.

“Thank you.”

“For ruinin’ the holidays with your family?”

“Baby, they were ruined before we even got here. And honestly, this is the best holiday season I’ve ever had, thanks to you. You made it special for me. It was probably a bad idea to come here, but I just wanted to show you off. Show them all how happy I was. I thought they would be happy for me-”

“Hey, to hell with ‘em. They don’t deserve to see that pretty smile after the way they treated you. That asshole’s lucky I don’t go back in there-”

“Frank.”

Letting out a soft laugh, you redirected his angry glare from your family’s house back towards you as you pulled him in for another soft kiss.

“Let’s just go home. We can order something in.”

Frank took one last irritated look at your family’s house, letting out a soft grunt of disapproval.

“Goddamn chicken was dry anyway.”

For some reason the frustration coveting his sharp features and the grumpy tone of his voice just made you laugh. Giving his thigh a gentle squeeze, you pressed a soft kiss to his cheek and smiled adoringly at him.

“We can have something else for dinner.”

Frank turned his head to look at you, his gaze wandering slowly up and down your figure before settling on your eyes once more. The ravenous look reflected back at you simultaneously sent a shiver down your spine and filled your lower half with a sense of heat. He reached out to place one of his large hands on your thigh, giving it a firm squeeze as his voice dropped to a husky whisper.

“Think I’m ready for dessert, sweetheart.”

tags: @day-dreaming-goddess @kdogreads @heimtathurs @mars-rants-a-lot @casa-boiardi @fireeyes-on-teller-dixon-grimes @hazallem @avencol @neverlandcity @charmedkim @queenofthenoobs @stilldreaming666 @mattymurdock1021 @bubuslutty @ninejlovebot @purrrfect @pennylovey @firesunflamed @oscarisaacsleftknee @ameliaswife @vane28282 @kmc1989 @messymissy @dark-academia-slut @strawberry1042 @utterlynuts

#frank castle #frank castle x you #frank castle x reader #frank castle x nonbinary!reader #frank castle x nb!reader #frank castle fic #the punisher #the punisher request #the punisher fic

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aclowntiny · 11 months

Text

🎉Your Birthday With Seventeen🎉

A little special post I wanted to make for my special day! Where my fellow 10/20 babies at 😎 (Warnings: a few make suggestive implications because I think some members would be more inclined towards certain birthday ‘celebrations’ 👀😅 Also 노래방 = karaoke btw!)

S.Coups

He isn’t the type to surprise you- instead he tells you to get ready for a great day! He takes you shopping first, letting you fill your bag to your heart’s content and practically stopping you from putting anything down unless you insist you don’t actually want it. Books, clothes, collectibles, you name your favorite, Seungcheol buys you plenty more for your collection. You basically live out the Anakin and Padme meme when you ask that this is your gift, right? Nope, that’s the matching jewelry sets he got you because you said you’d wanted couple items! Since you guys spent the afternoon out anyway, it’s easy for the day to melt into a dinner together, the two of you holding hands across the table and reminiscing on memories that led to your latest year of life. Seungcheol wants to ring in your next year right, even if it means staying up all night!

Jeonghan

The party can be later- this day is all about keeping you to himself! Jeonghan can hardly keep his hands off you as he brings you to the living room where lights and blankets are all set up, all of your favorite movies laid out for your choice. You grin, but before you can sit down and get wrapped up he presents you with the beautiful bouquet he bought you, some of the most gorgeous flowers you’ve ever seen. Some extra decor, he explains to you with a satisfied grin that only grows wider as you pull him in for a kiss. Then it’s finally movie time, all your favorites and if they’re movies that make you cry, tissues at the ready on the coffee table. You better believe Jeonghan got you the cutest cake he could find for later in the day, one perfectly sized for the two of you since the next day you’ll have the big party cake! The cake is practically the one thing that distracts him from holding and doting on you to your heart’s content, hehe~

Joshua

Decides to throw you a surprise party just to see the look on your face when you walk in! He tells you where to come meet him to celebrate together, completely omitting the fact that all his bandmates and every friend or family of yours he could get over will also be there. In typical fashion, everyone exclaims ‘surprise!’ the moment you set foot in the room, and even if it gives you a heart attack at first you can’t help but beam at the effort Joshua put in to decorate the room, coordinate with everybody, and get your favorite snacks and meal to lay out for the party- all for you! You immediately pull him into your arms and thank him for going to the trouble, trouble he reminds you again and again was worth it. Just to hit home how thoughtful your gentleman is, he gifts you a matching bracelet alongside that one thing you’ve been hinting about wanting for a couple weeks!

Jun

Did somebody say themed party? Because Mr. Wen Junhui did! All of Seventeen’s antics over the years have taught him a thing or two about sticking with a concept and he can’t help but laugh at the mental image of you walking in on him and your friends dressed to match your favorite show or movie. Ok, not full cosplay, but something you’ll be sure to recognize from his clothes. He gets a cake with your favorite characters frosted on it and a plushie of something cute from it to have hold your flowers! The way the rest of Seventeen play along at his behest is heartwarming too, most of the members trying their best to be in character and do bits you’d recognize, all of performance line especially hamming it up for you! You get the most memorable pictures from it, especially when someone gets a piece of cake smashed in their face! All in all, you and Jun are laughing all night, your head falling to his shoulder and his hand taking yours and occasionally bringing it to his lips.

Hoshi

The moment he sees you you’re getting wrapped up in his arms, tumbled around or falling backwards if you’re on or over your bed or couch or spun in the air if you’re standing. His hand closes around yours and then you’re off, getting led on an adventure. Not a second is going to go by without love and fun, whether you guys are checking out the art popup that coincided with your special day or when you hit the slick track where he might just let you win because you’re cute! Soonyoung keeps talking about how your next anniversary or birthday you guys should go skydiving, only coming back down to earth from his reverie if you’re really scared by the idea! After a wonderful dinner, you two rent out a 노래방 and belt to your hearts’ content, swaying with arms around each other and singing a ballad as goody as you can together then getting completely sidetracked in the middle of the next song because you’ve started making out. Soonyoung is so the type to make sure you know that it’s your special day and you get him all to yourself allll day if you’d like 😘

Wonwoo

During the day, you guys can do whatever, but at night? It’s Wonwoo’s plan and he’s spoiling you! He got reservations to one of the nicest restaurants in the area and a new outfit for you to dress up with him- one that perfectly matches his suit, in fact. No expense is spared, candles faintly illuminate the table and you get everything you want to try even if you protest that it’s too much. Not today, Wonwoo reminds you. Normally your boyfriend isn’t one for PDA, but since it’s a special occasion he’s feeling the merriment, eyes extra loving as he gazes into your eyes, leans forward to press the occasional kiss to your cheeks. Beneath the table, his hand finds its way to your knee, idly tracing patterns as you enjoy the fine dinner and dessert. Wonwoo also has a gift waiting for you because, in his words, you’re a gift to him! But that you’ll have to wait until you get home for because it’s a two-part gift- one a bit more for him and one for you since he bought you a game you said you’d like to play together, but also got something you’d had your eye on for some time to make up for any bias in the first one!

Woozi

On your birthday, he wants to wake up next to you, so you stay together the night before- however that looks to you 😉 He doesn’t want to wake you, you look so beautiful even resting, but finally your eyelashes flutter as you wake, smiling at the sight of him and the way he tells you happy birthday in a low voice. He does all the things you normally do for him, gestures like getting breakfast ready and making the bed. There’s something symbolic, poetic even, about being in nature on a day of birth, so he’s keen on taking a walk or even a hike if you’re down to just admire any leaves or blossoms that are out or what endures strongly if it’s winter, comparing those things to you. Jihoon just can’t help himself, singing softly to you as you walk hand-in-hand, his eyes never leaving you. He tells you again and again what you mean to him as someone who lights him up after a long day, takes care of him and encourages him, and earnestly wishes his gifts to you will reflect that. It takes him by surprise when you pull him in for a kiss beneath one of the largest trees, but you can feel his little gape melt into a smile against your lips.

It’s going to be a party all day! Seokmin plans the cutest day, taking you to the amusement park and taking literally every photo op he can. Backgrounds, photo booths, props, even paying for overpriced ride photos. Why, though? Because part of your gift is an adorable, sticker-laden scrapbook of your days together that fills your heart with joy just to look at! Next step is going out with friends for dinner, drinks, cake, the works. It’s a whirlwind of thrill rides, merry-go-rounds, and songs sung with all your favorite people, and all spent in your boyfriend’s loving arms, his smile wide and proud of one of the most wonderful additions to his life so far. Even at the end of it all, you can see how glad he is to have you back one on one because he’d been feeling a bit too shy to give you your big birthday kiss in front of everyone ❤️

Mingyu

Mingyu CANNOT STOP taking pictures of you all throughout the day, just giving you heart eyes at everything you do during your little day on the town. He tells you he can see why that outfit is your favorite, it looks so amazing on you. This guy is also soooo the type to take you all around and make sure to get a few smooches in when people are looking, too- that’s right, you’re his person! Cannot go .01 seconds without telling someone it’s your birthday so they congratulate you, whether it’s a waiter or the person ringing you up for the jewelry he buys you or who he gave the phone to to get a picture of you together. He just chuckles and pulls you in close if the attention embarrasses you, telling you with excitement that it’s your special day, so everyone should be celebrating you! But, he’s quick to remind you, none of them are going to celebrate you quite like he is later 😁

The8

He wants to start the day with you at sunrise, unless you really protest that you are not a morning person! On your birthday morning, you won’t have to lift a finger: Minghao is making you breakfast and tea, draping you in a cozy robe to come sit outside and enjoy it together beneath the rising sun. As you’re sitting there, he tells you all the things he appreciates most about you and wishes upon you for your new year. After that, he draws a bath for you guys before you get ready to tackle the day- whatever you would like that to look like. At the end of it all, he presents you with your birthday cake and gifts, your favorite of which is a gorgeous painting he made and framed just for you! He knows your favorite colors, subjects, what would match your home, and so he nails it. Speaking of nails, he practically has to physically restrain you from breaking out a hammer to hang it up right then and there, telling you in that soothing, seductive voice not now, love, tomorrow. We have plenty else we can do to enjoy your birthday tonight, right? You pout a little at that and all he can do is giggle and kiss you.

Seungkwan

He’s been hyping up your special day now for a while, hinting at a trip, so when you wake up the first thing out of his mouth beside ‘happy birthday’ is encouraging you to pack with wide eyes glittering full of excitement. Your destination, you learn, is Jeju, both of you having been missing the sea and yearning for a break from the city scene. Seungkwan knows all the best places to eat, the most beautiful spots to take pictures and see the water, so every moment takes your breath away, not to mention how sweetly he holds and caresses your hands and how passionate every kiss he gives you is. You stay the night right on the water, no expense spared even toward your night on the island together, however you’d like to spend it 😘

Vernon

Texts you or wakes you up at midnight if you’re together to give you wishes for the day the moment it starts and not a minute sooner. Since it’s your day, he really wants to take care of you, so you find Vernon being a lot more doting than usual, putting music on and taking the initiative to care for you in the bath or shower and do your hair. If you like painting your nails, he does yours and even lets you do his because hey, it’s your birthday what the heck? What a good excuse to have you be holding hands longer. You lay against his chest as he reads to you to while the afternoon away before your evening dinner and movie night, a classic date ending in a late-night drive where he pulls a cake out, lighting a candle for it and sharing it with you beneath the stars. His gift to you is a new pair of headphones, the best he could find, one of those necklaces with the position of the stars on the day you met, and roses cast in resin so they’ll never die, just like his love for you.

Dino

This man is going to whisk you away on a whole birthday trip, like you’ll practically have to stop him from buying plane tickets to fly you guys to Paris. In order to maintain some semblance of practicality, you talk him down to a getaway somewhere more accessible like a road trip or island feery. Wherever that lands, Chan walks you around with an arm around you, showing you off with a proud grin. Every ounce of his demeanor and high head says ‘look at my beautiful significant other’. He’s going to take you out for nice meals and dance with you on a bridge in the dim of night and put just a few too many candles on your blazing cake, making you laugh and capturing that photo before the one of you blowing them out with a wish in your heart and love at your side.

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floralcyanide · 1 year

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˚₊✩‧₊◜kinktober 2023! ―

― day six ⛧ degradation

Sub!Jonathan Crane x Dom!Reader

Jonathan is starting to think he's on his high horse too much. He smarts off at you, making a big mistake. You take advantage of degrading and belittling Jonathan, and his ego is brought down to shallow depths.

warnings: smut, degradation, spitting, finger sucking, insults, dom/sub, sex toys, anal sex, anal fingering, penetrative sex, unprotected sex, oral (f receiving), face-riding, cum eating, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, touchless orgasm

word count: 2208

author's note: yayaayay day six!! I love writing sub men especially sub jonathan ugh. please. my weakness. anyway, I hope everyone enjoys (; remember to read the warnings carefully before proceeding. (:

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ᴅᴏ ɴᴏᴛ ᴄᴏᴘʏ, ʀᴇᴘʀᴏᴅᴜᴄᴇ, ᴏʀ ᴄʟᴀɪᴍ ᴍʏ ᴡᴏʀᴋ ᴀs ʏᴏᴜʀs ᴏɴ ᴛᴜᴍʙʟʀ, ᴀᴏ3, ᴡᴀᴛᴛᴘᴀᴅ, ᴏʀ ᴀɴʏ ᴡᴇʙsɪᴛᴇ. ʏᴏᴜ ᴅᴏ ɴᴏᴛ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ᴘᴇʀᴍɪssɪᴏɴ ᴛᴏ ᴜsᴇ ᴍʏ ᴡᴏʀᴋs ɪɴ ᴀɪ ɢᴇɴᴇʀᴀᴛᴏʀs ᴏʀ ᴀɴʏᴛʜɪɴɢ ᴛᴏ ᴅᴏ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴀʀᴛɪғɪᴄɪᴀʟ ɪɴᴛᴇʟʟɪɢᴇɴᴄᴇ. ʏᴏᴜ ᴍᴀʏ ɴᴏᴛ ᴜsᴇ ᴍʏ ᴡᴏʀᴋs ᴛᴏ sᴇʟʟ ғᴏʀ ᴀs ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴏᴡɴ ᴄʀᴇᴀᴛɪᴏɴ

Jonathan has noticed that lately, he’s been a little snarky and bitchy- more than usual, anyway. He was bratty by nature, but he’s had an ego boost since snagging you. You’re perfect to him, and the fact he has someone as unique as you really gets him going. But it’s starting to exhaust him and cause issues at work, especially with colleagues. And the situation with this Rachel Dawes girl. Jonathan is sure he sent her to her death at the hands of Falcone and realizes that maybe his ego needs to be deflated. Especially if he feels challenged by a 20-something-year-old woman. Being in his thirties, Jonathan clearly knew better, especially as a professional. He brainstorms all day at the asylum, thinking of how to calm himself down and make his ego bruised to bring him down a notch. But he hits a wall, unable to come up with anything worth his time.

When Jonathan gets home, he’s frustrated with himself. He usually has great ideas, especially when it comes to degrading others and making them scared. But he can’t seem to come up with anything for himself. He grumbles as he hangs up his coat, tossing his keys into the dish by the door. He spots you curled up on the couch, reading a book. Jonathan notices the dishes you've yet to do in the sink from last night, and he rolls his eyes.

“I thought you were going to do the dishes today,” he frowns at you.

“Sorry, hon. I got invested in this book and haven’t thought about them,” you say sheepishly, “I’ll pop the dishes in the dishwasher after dinner tonight, okay?”

Jonathan doesn’t say anything and instead sits on the couch on the opposite end of you, flipping open his own book. You stare at him momentarily, waiting for him to say something. When he doesn’t, you clear your throat and resume reading. After a few minutes of uncomfortable silence, you finally sigh.

“Are you okay, Jonathan?”

“I am perfectly fine, dear,” he replies exasperatedly, with a hint of sarcasm.

You purse your lips, becoming slightly impatient with him.

“You don’t seem fine, but alright.”

Jonathan looks over at you with a sassy look on his face before he turns back to his book. You raise an eyebrow.

“Did I do something to piss you off, mister brat?” you ask snarkily, closing your book and crossing your arms.

“Of course not,” Jonathan says, more sarcastic this time.

You huff, snatching his book from his hands and slamming it onto the coffee table.

“Watch your attitude,” you say blatantly.

“Or what?” Jonathan scoffs, yanking his book back with an attitude in his movements, “You won’t do anything.”

“Says who?” you chuckle darkly, crawling onto Jonathan’s lap and straddling his hips.

“Says me,” Jonathan gives you a closed-lip smile, “Now hop off. I’m trying to read.”

You scoff, tossing his book on the side of the couch where you were previously sitting, “How about you lose your attitude?”

“Or what?” Jonathan asks sassily, tilting his head.

You reach a hand up and grip his throat, your thumb and fingers pressing into the sides of his neck as you lean close to his face, “Or I’ll fucking make you.”

Jonathan gulps, unsure of how to react. You’ve never taken control before. You have a dominant side to your personality, but you’ve never dominated him sexually. Maybe Jonathan being dominated would knock him down a peg?

“Oh really?” Jonathan breathes, “You won’t.”

You growl, shoving two fingers from your other hand into his mouth, squeezing his neck a little harsher to prove your point, “Shut up, little boy. You’re nothing but a brat, you know that?”

Jonathan says nothing and willingly takes your fingers into his mouth, sucking and licking around them with doe eyes. You thrust your fingers in and out of his mouth, glaring at him as he hollows his cheeks, the sound of him suckling your digits a delight to your ears.

“Now, be a good boy and lay on the couch, then take off your pants and underwear. I’ll be right back. Don’t touch yourself,” you threaten, climbing off Jonathan’s lap.

Jonathan nods, scrambling to lie on the couch, moving his book. You hurry upstairs to grab something and return to the living room. Jonathan is lying on the sofa, his legs spread to reveal his hardened cock and his plump balls to you. You smirk as you put your toy on the coffee table, Jonathan’s eyes widening a little at the item. You resume your place on his lap, opting to sit on his bare, milky thighs. You give his cock a few pumps, spreading the leaking precum around his tip.

“So worked up from just me shutting you up, huh?”

“Sure, we’ll go with that,” Jonathan gives you a closed-lip smile, and you lightly slap him across the face.

“Don’t be rude,” you scold, “Or I won’t touch you at all.”

“No,” Jonathan says quickly, “Please touch me.”

“Why should I? What do you have to gain from it, hmm?” you slow your pace of moving your hand along his shaft.

“Because I’ve been bad,” Jonathan says bashfully.

“You’ve been a little bitch is what you’ve been,” you chuckle, “And little bitches get fucked until they learn their lesson.”

Jonathan gulps as you reach for your vibrator and sit it beside you, planning on using it later. You trace Jonathan’s face with a light finger before moving it to his lips, prodding them open to put your fingers back inside his mouth.

“Suck. And get as much spit on them as you can,” you demand, pumping Jonathan’s cock faster with your hand tight around his length.

Jonathan nods vigorously, lapping his tongue around your digits and coating them with his spit. But it’s not enough.

“Open your mouth,” you say, removing your fingers.

Jonathan obeys, and you gather your own spit in your mouth before you spit it onto Jonathan’s tongue. He twitches in surprise but graciously accepts your saliva before you shove your hand back to his lips, letting him cover it in your added spit.

“Good boy,” you whisper in awe at the sight of him closing his eyes as he bobs his head along your fingers.

You climb off his legs, shimmy off your shorts and underwear, and sit back down on his pelvis. Nudging one of Jonathan’s legs off the couch, you push his leg up and outward, “Grab your thigh, Jonny. And hold it open for me, okay?”

Jonathan follows your instructions, and you rub your clit to make yourself a little wetter in order to take him without a hitch. You grab his length and guide it into you as you lift your hips, moving them to suck him in to the hilt. You moan at the feeling of Jonathan filling you up, and you start riding him slowly. Spit still on your fingers, you circle Jonathan’s entrance slowly and daringly, turning around to gauge his reaction. His eyes are fluttered shut, his mouth agape as he breathes heavily. You circle his puckered hole faster, teasing it with the tip of your finger. Gently, you coax his asshole open with your index finger, pushing it in very slowly. Jonathan whimpers from behind you as you continue to slowly bounce on his cock. With your free hand, you massage his balls as your finger sinks deeper inside him. He squirms slightly, letting himself clench around your finger.

“Taking my finger like such a good boy,” you praise, “Can you take another?”

Jonathan mewls, “Give me a second,” he gasps as you hook your finger slightly.

“Take your time,” you say sweetly, stretching him softly with your digit, pushing it in and out of him.

Jonathan moans as you fuck him harder with your soaked cunt, slowly entering another spit-coated finger into his tight ass. You manage to push it all the way in after a few moments, Jonathan a mess underneath you as his hips stutter.

“So good,” you say, pussy clenching at the sight of Jonathan taking your fingers so well, “Finally shut you up, hmm?”

Jonathan moans in response, and you slowly hook your fingers inside him, scissoring your digits apart to stretch him out. Your boyfriend whines under you, his cock twitching pitifully inside your cunt. Grabbing the vibrator from next to you, you stick it in your mouth and suck it, letting your saliva coat it graciously. Pulling your fingers from Jonathan, he cries out from the lack of fullness. But you’re quick to press the toy against his hole, pushing it in slowly.

“Fuck,” Jonathan moans pornographically, and you push it further inside until it hits his prostate.

You fuck him with it gently, letting him get used to it before turning the vibrator on. Jonathan yelps, his hips bucking into you harshly. Rocking your hips at a quicker pace, the sensation of the vibrator filling him up, as well as you fucking yourself on his cock, sends Jonathan reeling. He’s an absolute mess beneath you, wishing he had kept his sassy mouth shut because of the overwhelming feeling of pleasure. But also, Jonathan doesn’t regret the dramatic death of his ego right now. In fact, he’s relishing it.

“How does it feel to be fucked by me?” you ask, breathless as you watch the vibrator go in and out of Jonathan’s tight hole, “To be humiliated and used like a little slut?”

“S’ good,” Jonathan manages to make out, bearing his hips down on the toy as you fuck him with it with vigor.

You turn up the vibration setting two notches, and Jonathan twitches inside you, cumming hard and suddenly. His cum paints your puffy walls, filling you up. You turn off the vibrator and remove it from Jonathan, and he groans at the loss.

“Bad, bad, bad,” you shake your head, tutting at your boyfriend, “I didn’t say you could cum.”

“I’m sorry,” Jonathan says quietly, tears pricking his eyes from the intense orgasm and the shame of cumming so soon.

“Now, you get the pleasure of me riding your face until I cum. Since I didn’t get to cum around your poor little cock,” you mockingly pout, pulling yourself off him and watching Jonathan’s cum weep from your pussy, “You’re gonna eat your own cum and like it. How does that sound?”

Jonathan wordlessly nods, unable to form a coherent thought in his head at the moment.

“Use your words, Jonny.”

“S-sounds good,” he says meekly.

You slide upward to rest your cunt on Jonathan’s face, and he immediately attaches his mouth to it, lapping up the mixture of your arousal and his cum with his tongue. He circles your clit, suckling on it as you let out a soft moan. You buck your hips to establish a rhythm with Jonathan’s tongue as he fucks it inside you. Jonathan starts to grow hard once more, and you watch as his length becomes slowly erect against his stomach.

“Aw, is Jonny getting hard just from eating pussy? How cute,” you coo, “I bet you’re gonna cum all over yourself like the pitiful thing you are.”

Jonathan moans into you as a bead of precum leaks from his tip. You ride his face faster as the familiar warmth of pleasure spreads throughout your belly. You grasp your breasts, tweaking your nipples as your boyfriend skillfully nibbles your bundle of nerves.

“Just like that, fuck,” you praise, tugging hard at your sensitive buds as your orgasm creeps on you, “Gonna make me cum after all, baby.”

Jonathan hums, the vibration sending you over the edge. You cum all over his face and tongue, and to your surprise, Jonathan’s cock spurts its own hot white load all over his stomach and chest.

“I can't believe you just cum without me even touching you,” you chuckle, “How pathetic.”

You lean over and lick up his mess, playfully licking and biting his hardened nipples before dismounting his face. You take a deep breath before gathering the toy and telling Jonathan you’ll return in a second. When you return to the living room, Jonathan still lies haphazardly on the couch.

“Are you okay?” you ask, picking up your underwear and sliding them back on.

“Yeah,” Jonathan sighs, “I needed that.”

“I can tell,” you smirk, “You’ve been a dick lately.”

“I’m sorry, sweetheart,” he says, “I was thinking about it earlier and couldn’t come up with a solution to bring me back to earth. But it seems you came up with a solution on your own.”

“Sure did. Been thinking about doing this for a while anyway.”

“I didn’t know you were into being dominant,” Jonathan raises his eyebrows, and you offer him his underwear to put back on.

“It’s not something I do a lot, but yeah. I think it’s hot,” you grin, sitting on his lap.

Jonathan exhales through his nose, studying your face. He smiles briefly before stroking your cheek, “How about we take a bath and go to bed, hmm?”

“Sounds good,” you say, “Gotta get your bitchy self all clean.”

Jonathan snorts at that. Dinner and the dishes are long forgotten, and a nice, warm bath is drawn.

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anangelwhodidntfall · 1 year

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Mermaid In The Water: Tonowari

Avatar Masterlist

word count: 1.5k

Request: I would like to request something you don't have to if you don't want to but can you do one where the reader is a Navi from Pandora and had a crush on Jake but Jake was already with Neytiri so the reader leaves to go to the reefs of Pandora before the Sully family goes there, and when the Sully family gets there the reader is with tonowari instead of Ronald being with tonowari. I know it's a lot to ask but I've been thinking about this for days

You really thought you had a chance with Jake Sully I mean how could you not he was always sweet, giving compliments and flowers, and touches, and with his attractiveness it wasn't hard for a crush to form. You always looked forward to seeing him every day, he was the highlight of your day until that evening at dinner when reality slapped you in the face. You had gotten dressed up to impress Jake, only to see him and Neytiri kissing and flirting at the dinner, you thought you were gonna be sick so you got up and left.

You cried your eyes on the way home and eventually fell asleep until you woke up due to the noise. You sat there thinking about what to do and since there was no you could stay here and be happy, so you packed up your things and loaded them on your ikran and left in the night without telling anyone. You traveled for many days and nights until you encountered a strong thunderstorm making it impossible to fly in and you remember something spooking your ikran causing your fall and that was the last thing you remember.

"Where I am?" You asked looking around not too sure where you were.

"You are in Awa'atlu. It's a village off the Eastern Sea, you were found washed up on the beach unconscious." A voice said making you turn and see someone that looked like an Olo'eyktan of the clan.

"My...Ikran? Is she okay?" You asked remembering the strong winds and the fall into the ocean.

"She is. I'm Tonowair, the Olo'eyktan." He said offering you a hand to shake.

"I'm y/n, formerly off the Omatikaya clan." You said to him.

"And that brings me to my next question what is someone from the Omatikaya clan doing all the way out here?" He asked you.

"I don't have any family left there anymore. I was looking for a new place to start fresh." You said as he frowned there was no way he was going to let you go back into the world alone.

"You are more than welcome to stay here but you would have to learn our ways if you decided to do so." He said.

"I would like that. Thank you so much Olo'eyktan." You said bowing your head.

"Please just call me Tonowari. We will get a Mauri set up and everything while the healers finish looking over you.

Now almost twenty you and Tonowari were happily mated and you had found your place in the Metkayina Clan as a teacher. Sure you missed your friends back in the forest but this was your home now and Jake Sully was a distant memory or so you thought.

You were out in the water playing with some of the village children when you heard the sound of a meeting horn meaning something important was happening on land. You passed them off to your assistant knowing your presence was needed on land with your mate.

"Ma, Tono, what is going on?" You asked walking up to him as he laced his hand with yours.

"Ma y/n, Jake Sully and his family have come here to seek shelter." He said making you look up at that name you hadn't heard in a long time.

Your eyes landed on a much older Jake and Neytiri and their children standing in the middle of the beach with the whole clan standing around them looking at them in curiosity.

"Y/n?" Neytiri asked shocked.

"Y/n is that really you? We thought you were dead. It's been almost..." Jake started to say making you squeeze your mate's hand which didn't go unnoticed by Jake.

"20 years, I know. You know you can't bring your war to our island, we won't allow it." You said as you watched Neytiri sigh.

"We aren't. I'm just trying to keep my family safe. Please y/n, we have nowhere else to go, you know you can trust us." He said as Tonowari turned and looked at you.

They were granted sanctuary and were shown to their mauri's while you went back to your own to process everything that just happened. You took a seat inside and heard the footsteps of your mate enter and shut the flap to your mauri so you guys could have some privacy, he took a seat next to you and reached for your hand.

"Ma y/n, how did Jake Sully know who you were?" Your mate asked once you were in the privacy of your home.

"He was the man I was in love with before I ended up here." You said quietly as Tonowari process your words.

"I thought he might have liked me back but he was already with her so I left because I knew I could never be around him without being sad or I don't know how to better explain it." You said wiping your cheeks.

"You knew you could never find love as long as you were around him. I get it ma y/n. I can send them away if it's too much for you." He offered.

"No don't do that. I no longer harbor any romantic feelings towards him, I was over him after our first date, I have someone so much better in my life and as my mate." You said pressing a kiss to his cheek.

"I'm glad that I found you too. You are the love of my life ma y/n." He said placing a kiss on your lips.

Jake had been anxious to talk to you since he saw and heard that you were alive and apart for years he had thought you were taken by the RDA or were dead. He had found you talking with a few members of your clan, he approached you nervously but you gave him a soft smile as you excused yourself from your group.

"Come walk with me? I know you have questions." You said to him.

"Y/N what happened to you? You just up and disappeared one date without a note or anything. For the last twenty years, I thought you were kidnapped or dead, but you were here this whole time?" He asked you.

"I know Jake and I'm sorry but I needed to do it for my own reasons. I could never stay there with the people with you specifically while being in love with you when you already had a mate, I need to go somewhere new and find my own happiness which I did." You said shocking Jake as he had no idea you were in love with him.

"You were in love with me?" He asked you.

"I was. I had a crush on you and thought you might have liked me back and no idea you were with Neytiri until I saw you guys that night at the dinner before I left. I was so heartbroken but I wasn't mad at you or anything, I should've known an attractive guy like you would already have a mate." You said to him.

"Y/N you are a beautiful girl but I'm sorry if I ever gave you that impression that I liked you back and for not telling you about Neytiri sooner." He said.

"Jake it's alright really. Things worked out the way they were supposed to, you and your family will be safe here." You said squeezing his hands.

"Thank you for that y/n. I hope that maybe we can try to rebuild our relationship now." He asked you.

"I would like that Jake." You said as you heard your name being called by one of the children you taught as you excused yourself.

"How did it go with Jake today?" Tonowari asked as you guys got ready for the community dinner.

"It went well, we talked about everything and we agreed to start our friendship over." You said to him.

"That will be good for you guys, I know how much you missed your people but I am glad you ended up here." He said placing a kiss on your lips.

"Me too. I love you ma Tonowari." You said smiling at him,

"I love you more ma y/n." He said.

Later on during the dinner, Jake watched how you and Tonowari talked and smiled constantly and he could practically feel the love radiating off of you two. Even though it had hurt that you left the way you did, he was glad that you had found your own happiness here.

#tonowari #tonowari x reader #tonowari x you #atwow tonowari #jake sully x reader #jake x neytiri

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tgmsunmontue · 5 months

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More than movie magic... 20/24

Hangster AU. Explicit (eventually). Jake is a Hollywood actor and Bradley is a stunt coordinator. Jake's about to make a few self-discoveries. So is Bradley.

ONE TWO THREE FOUR FIVE SIX SEVEN EIGHT NINE TEN ELEVEN TWELVE THIRTEEN FOURTEEN FIFTEEN SIXTEEN SEVENTEEN EIGHTEEN NINETEEN

Chapter 16 is pretty much the only explicit chapter (so far), so you can skip it if you like, but it's not explicit by my standards, and it's very soft/tender.

CHAPTER TWENTY

Bradley’s used to the way Pete and Tom arrive and approach large gatherings, including movie sets. Pete is loud and brash, draws the eye and attention from nearly everyone. Tom arrives quietly, silently and makes his presence known to only a select few people that he wants to talk to. His name is very well known, but how he looks is lesser known, especially since he got sick. He’s better now, back to the size and shape Bradley remembers from his childhood and not the gaunt skeleton of a man he was for a few years.

Pete is busy talking with Marcia and Arnold, and he knows any time they made up for this morning is now likely to be wiped out if he can’t get Pete distracted with something. It’s well after lunch, and he’s not had a chance to get more time with Jake, although they’ve caught each other’s eye and smiled at each other plenty. He’s ignored the retching sound Natasha made each time, telling her to grow up, which Rueben had agreed with. Bob had wisely kept silent. He hasn’t seen Tom, and the fact that he can’t spy Jake either is making his fingers itch.

Jake can look after himself.

He heads over to rescue Marcia and Arnold from Pete.

… … …

Jake leaves Tom with his dad, after he makes Jake promise that he will bring Pete and Bradley both for dinner. He hopes his dad is going to be the one to tell his mom, because he does not want to be around when she hears she has two guests for a meal that she hasn’t prepared, and doesn’t know she has extra guests for. Bradley is one thing, someone he’s pretty sure his mom would have swept under her wing regardless of how Jake felt about him. Pete and Tom are a different ball game. He guesses his dad is lucky she loves him the most.

He drives back to the set, knows he’s fucked up the filming schedule but also hopes that Pete Mitchell has maybe bought him some time with his sheer presence and fucked it up even worse. He jogs over to where Bradley is talking to them, clearly trying to coax Pete away from whatever he’s talking about with Marcia and Arnold.

“Pete. How about you come and do some riding. Must have been a while right?” Bradley says, and Jake raises an eyebrow at Bradley where Pete can’t see him.

“Oh! Yeah! That’d be great.”

Jake promises to be right back, and Marcia looks torn between pissed but also relieved that they’re removing Pete. Arnold just looks resigned to his fate.

“Can he actually ride?” Jake asks under his breath, and Bradley grins at him, bright and warm and Jake can’t help the smile in response.

“Who do you think taught me? Bad habits and all. At least I don’t have his fashion sense.”

“Uh,” Jake doesn’t know what to say to that, because while Pete might be a little eccentric in his styling choices, he definitely has his own style. Bradley seems to live in Hawaiian shirts unironically. Worse, Jake likes it. A lot. He keeps his mouth shut.

Freddie comes running over and listens attentively as Jake asks him to help Pete saddle up, and to take him to the main house if he wants to see Tom, or even take him riding around the ranch if that’s what Pete wants, which Bradley is nodding frantically and subtly trying to give a thumbs up to behind Pete’s back. They watch as Freddie and Pete ride off, Freddie chatting away in response to one of Pete’s questions and he can feel the tension coming off Bradley in waves.

“You okay?”

“Yeah. Just… parents you know?”

Jake raises a disbelieving eyebrow, because Bradley has met his parents now, knows what Jake’s dealing with in terms of a family that is determined to be involved in his life through thick or thin, meddles with the best of intentions, loves him and want what’s best for him. And also aren’t afraid to hit him upside the head if they think he’s being stupid. Bradley clearly reads his expression well enough and laughs, gives him a quick hug and then jerks his head back at the arena.

“We better get back.”

“Yeah. Filming. You’re coming for dinner again though.”

“Am I now?”

“Well, your… uh, Tom is there. I took him to just have some peace and quiet while Pete wrecked havoc.”

“Oh. Nice. Wise move. He’ll have appreciated that.”

“Yeah. Left him talking with my dad.”

“Okay. I think they’ll get on.” Jake hums in agreement. Is pretty sure they could sit in silence and both come away of thinking they had a good talk. “How about after we finish up, I have a shower and then you pick me up and we go and face this ordeal together?”

“Bradley…” Jake murmurs, because Bradley hasn’t stepped away, has his arm around Jake’s waist as they walk, his mouth close to Jake’s ear.

“We could shower together,” Bradley offers and Jake definitely likes the idea of that.

“We could. But then I’d have no motivation to go to dinner at all. We’d just end up in bed. Also it’s not going to be an ordeal. It’s dinner with my parents. We did that already.”

“Yeah. Without Pete and Tom there. Trust me, Pete just dials the drama up.”

Jake has to agree that he’s probably right.

… … ….

Bradley showers quickly, rinsing off the dust, sweat and sand from the day. Again he dresses casually, unable to dress up in anything more because he doesn’t have anything even slightly dressy with him. He hears a knock on his door and he pulls it open to find Jake, looking fresh and like he’s ready to head to a photo shoot.

“God you look good.”

“You too. Shame we just can’t go back to my trailer…”

“Later right?”

“Oh yeah. Definitely later.”

He presses a quick kiss to Jake’s lips, hopes he can read more into the gesture than just a simple kiss. They drive the short distance to the main house and the truck is thrown into park.

“Into the breach, Macduff!”

“No… no. Not a tragedy,” Jake says, although he’s clearly amused. “Don’t waste your love on somebody, who doesn’t value it…”

“Romeo and Juliet is still pretty tragic,” Bradley muses, wracking his brain for a quote because Jake’s sentiment isn’t something to be joked about. He knows that much. “One half of me is yours, the other half is yours, mine own, I would say; but if mine, then yours, and so all yours.”

Jake is just staring at him, mouth slightly open and eyes wide and Bradley reaches over and gives him another soft kiss.

“Jake Patrick Seresin! You get your ass out here right now!”

He jumps at the yelling and he looks at Jake with wide eyes. Jake in wincing, rolling his eyes and thumping his head back on the headrest.

“She just full-named me and swore. This is not going to be pretty.”

“If I come with you will that make it better or worse?”

“Better for now but worse much later. Just… give me a few minutes?”

“Of course. You know Pete and Tom are in there right?”

“If she kills me I trust you to avenge me…”

“Drama drama. She won’t kill you.”

“No. She’ll just make me wish I were dead.”

Bradley laughs and shakes his head, pushes Jake toward the house.

“Go! Before she gets angrier!”

TWENTYONE

#Hangster #Sereshaw #more than movie magic #Top Gun Maverick

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rippersz · 1 year

Note

Miranda Priestly and f Reader. Reader gets in between an altercation between Miranda and Stephen. She later tells Miranda "I'll never let anyone talk to you like that again"

𝙰 𝙷𝚎𝚊𝚝𝚎𝚍 𝙸𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚛𝚞𝚙𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗

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(Fem!Reader x Miranda Priestly) (Pining) (TW: Abusive language)

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“Oh give me a break! You don’t have to make up excuses to try and salvage my ego, Miranda!”

The minute you walked in, you knew something was wrong.

The townhouse air in the evening was usually still and quiet, but the stomping footsteps on the second floor provided a tension that made you pause in the foyer. Stephen was home, you realized. His weird manly cologne filled your lungs, nearly bringing tears to your eyes with how strong it was. Almost a year as Miranda’s assistant, spending time around her husband at least once or twice, and you still couldn’t get used to his smell. Probably because every little thing about Stephen was either utterly boring or terribly annoying. Emily said it was both, but she only expressed that when he called so frequently that Miranda told her to instantly send them to voicemail. ‘If he has something important to say, he’ll leave a message’ but every time he did, it was just a stream of complaints.

If you were in his shoes, something you didn’t think about often because why would you, then you knew you wouldn’t take her attention for granted. She gave it when she could and a loving partner would understand that, and such understanding would lead to a lack of tension, and a lack of tension would result in more of her recognition. Or that’s what you thought. Again- not that you thought about it frequently of course - cuz that would just be silly and unrealistic and strange because she was your boss and she was the most emotionally unavailable woman you knew and even though she loved her daughters, her love for her partners was different and-

“I can’t go one day without them shooting looks at me- like- like I’m some dog! Probably wondering where my keeper is!” His voice echoed upon every floor, making you wince as you slid the Book into its assigned place.

Evidently, they hadn’t heard you come in. They should have been expecting you; at least Miranda should have, but it was easy to lose track of time during the winter months. It seemed to move so quickly, with a prime example being that it was 11:20 on the dot once you got there. Miranda had to attend a small dinner party at 9, so she eventually returned home at 10:30. Not the worst timing for a Friday night, but if Stephen had been ranting from the very moment she stepped in, well then you had no doubt she was tired. Too tired to argue perhaps as you barely heard her murmured response.

“We can discuss this in the morning. It’s late.” She sounded worn. It made your heart ache as you looked up at the ceiling, momentarily debating if you should stay or leave.

“Oh yeah? Just so you can escape back into your job to try and distract yourself from the real issues? Stop acting like a child, Miranda. We’ll talk about this now like adults.” The way Stephen ‘put his foot down’ was nothing in comparison to Miranda’s method. He was too loud about it - too demanding. It wasn’t very effective, even though it did make up your mind for you.

Staying was risky, of course. You could get caught, of course. You could get fired, of course. But honestly? You didn’t trust your boss’s husband. You didn’t trust his demeanor or his drinking or any other little thing about him. And although you didn’t think he would really hurt her, the worry that planted itself in the back of your brain grew swiftly; festering like a disease as you inched yourself toward the stairs and placed your hand on the cold bannister. Worrying for your boss was not your place, but above that, worrying for Miranda Priestly was not your right. You weren’t hers and she wasn’t yours - so there was really no need to stick around. She was entirely capable of taking care of herself.

…And yet?

And yet, something in your gut told you to stay. It was quiet but present - and it murmured softly, convincing you that the second you stepped out of the door and got into the car with Roy and drove off into the night, something would happen. Something bad. Something that you could have avoided if only you were there.

So no, you couldn’t leave. Not yet. Even though Miranda was most likely prepared to tear Stephen a new one.

“I am acting like a child? Calling your wife at 9:45 PM to complain about her absence at a dinner you didn’t confirm is far more childish than me doing my job. What did you expect me to do when you called? Run out of an important business dinner to dash over and wipe your tears before drowning my embarrassment in an overpriced ‘welcome bread basket’? Don’t be absurd, Stephen. You knew I was busy.” And she proved you right - speaking in a low edgy hiss that you suspected was only reserved for her husband. Interestingly enough though, even alone in her house, arguing with this person or the other, Miranda never raised her voice.

No one else thought it was noteworthy enough to mention in quiet conversation, but you were often tempted to bring it up to Nigel. You figured it was because of her childhood - whatever that had been like - and that she vowed to keep her vocal cords safe. It was a small little detail, but when one conversed with Miranda, sometimes it seemed like the only thing to focus on. Her words are always important, yes, but watching her lips move… and seeing the way her teeth formed each syllable… well it was mesmerizing in a way you’d never be able to properly explain. And Stephen, who was pacing the floor above you, was far too daft to understand that.

“What, so if I want to have dinner with my wife, I have to confirm through her assistant? You barely pick up, Miranda!” The sudden growl in his voice had you placing one foot on the stair next to you.

‘This is just a precautionary measure’ you told yourself, knowing that was far from the truth.

“And you pick up too often.” Her quip was breathy and sharp - a clear end to the conversation as you heard her soft footsteps trailing off into another room.

“What does that even mean?! I’m trying to be a good husband, but you are ruining my reputatio-”

“Your reputation?” The venom in Miranda’s voice silenced her husband immediately. “Your reputation…,” you pictured her shaking her head before letting out a little mocking laugh; “…I have no effect on how much you succeed in your career. If you can’t separate work and life, that’s not my problem.”

Their voices were drifting away, lost to the floorplan of their home as you slowly skirted your way up the stairs. It seemed that Miranda had taken your common sense with her when she walked off, leaving Stephen (and you) to follow like lost puppies. Although, she still didn’t know you were there. And you still weren’t going to leave - not until he stopped raising his voice and waking the entire neighborhood.

“God you know- you always treat me like shit, Miranda.” You winced, knowing very well how much she hated cursing. “I am your HUSBAND. You should be speaking to me with respect - not like I’m another worthless magazine you can get rid of. I’ve given you EVERYTHING I have and what have you given me? A few hours of your time? Nothing? Just enlighten me, because I’m really at a loss right now!”

There was a bang then. It was strong and hard and it sounded like he hit something- maybe a side table or a wall- but it didn’t matter to you. He had hit something and if he could hit something- an inanimate object- he could hit his wife and if he hit his wife, he could hurt her and you couldn’t just stand there- you couldn’t just listen to his slander when his wife was giving him everything!; when she was providing and taking care of the children and doing her job all at the same time. You gulped, noticed that you had gravitated up to the second floor, and decided in a split second that if Miranda had anything to say, you’d simply come up with an excuse.

Then, as you listened for where they had gone, you heard hurried footsteps coming back toward the stairs.

“Don’t ignore me, Miranda! Stop hiding behind your job and just admit that you don’t give a fuck about us! I try so hard every day and every night and all you can do is- is- is whore yourself out to those fucking businessmen!”

The gasp that bubbled up in your throat escaped without hesitation. You had never heard anyone talk about Miranda like that - and especially not to her face. If anyone else had spoken so wickedly, you were almost certain that they’d be blacklisted from every bloody establishment in New York City, whether it had to do with fashion or not. But Stephen… well you knew that she had her own reputation to protect - and an escaping husband was not ideal.

But still…

Still…

She didn’t deserve that. And the injustice that had sparked earlier welled up like water boiling over the lip of a full pot. How dare he? How dare he speak to her like that? Your hands balled into fists at your sides; painted nails digging into the skin of your palms.

“Still nothing to say? Huh?!”

A split second later, followed by the sound of Stephen’s yelling, Miranda walked around the corner.

And there your eyes met.

She looked tired at that moment… and small… and utterly incensed at the idea of you being there and witnessing that. The shock played out on her face in the span of a millisecond; with a wide blue gaze and perfect lips parted and sculpted eyebrows raised onto her forehead - which was half covered by a swooping waterfall of messy white hair. It was beyond clear that she was ready for bed and that Stephen was just prolonging her suffering, but you sent a silent prayer to the gods asking to keep your job just before her husband showed up. His hands were on his hips, his face was screwed up into a tired and angry frown, and upon seeing you- he let out a loud scoff.

“Are you kidding me?!” His yell was right in Miranda’s ear but she didn’t seem to care. She didn’t even flinch.

Instead, she was staring right at you. At you. With some sort of fury- some sort of strange deep emotion- swirling around in pearlescent eyes. You felt your knees grow weak but held your ground. If she was going to yell, let her yell. If she was going to coldly dismiss you, let her coldly dismiss you. But at the end of the day, the longer you stared, the more you knew that she knew. That she understood. In the strange telekinetic way that most women shared - the concern that compelled you to stay was reflected in her gaze. And there, in the lull of irritation and tension, was a conversation that only the two of you shared.

It was spoken softly, slowly, and through your eyes alone.

‘I stayed because I was scared for you.’

‘I know.’

‘Are you mad at me?’

‘I don’t know. This wasn’t your place.’

‘I understand. I’m sorry. I just wanted to make sure you were okay.’

‘I can handle myself.’

‘I don’t care.’

‘…I know.’

“Did you plan this? Is that why she’s here?! What- did- did you call her? To witness us fight? See I knew you were fucking crazy! From day one I told myself ‘Stephen don’t get involved with her’ and now look where I am!”

Your silent conversation was snapped in half as he ranted; all while shoving past Miranda to walk further into the hall and throw his hands up in the air like a kid. You felt your body jolt at the sight of her being pushed, but like the impenetrable wall she could be, your boss stood her ground and allowed her husband to brush past her shoulder. As if there wasn’t force in the way he walked. As if you weren’t this close to throwing a punch.

And Miranda could see it in you. She could see the irritation- the sense of injustice and everything that came with it- but she also knew you wouldn’t do anything. You were too kind. Too understanding.

Well… unless someone like Stephen said what he said next.

“You know what? No. I’m done. You listen to me right now,” and then he rounded on your boss, walking right up into her space so quickly that you couldn’t help but push yourself to get closer. And from where you stood then, you saw the way he pushed his finger into her chest and seethed with an unnecessary amount of rage.

“You listen and you learn. I have had it up to here with your bullshit. The cold shoulder, the missed dinners, the terrible schedules, the fact that you don’t even care if the twins like me or not - I’m sick of it. You treat me like an accessory. Another bag for the queen of fashion to throw out but guess what. Guess what, Miranda! I don’t care anymore. We’re separating - and you’re gonna end up like all of the other sad washed up celebrities: Pathetic and- and- weak and alone. Because no one- no one- could possibly love you like this,” and you watched with disgust as he shook his head and let out a cruel laugh. “No one could possibly look at you, with your stuck-up bitchy behavior, and see something worth loving. And-”

Before he could continue, you heard yourself speaking.

“You are absolutely pathetic.”

Two sets of eyes turned on you - one of them confused and the other severe, silently telling you to just shut your mouth. Normally, you would. Normally, you’d listen to your boss and obey her commands- silent or not- because you appreciated her authority and you were halfway in love with her. But it was for that last reason, the very reason why your ribcage felt like a zoo butterfly exhibit, that you decided not to listen. Sure, Miranda would hear your angry love-sick quips, but that didn’t matter. You were going to spill your heart out onto the floor, take a page out of your boss’s book…

…and kick Stephen’s ego into the dust.

“What did you just say?” His eyes were disbelieving as he turned to you; and though a twinge of fear dug at your heart, you pushed on.

“You heard me. You’re pathetic. Pathetic and weak and honestly? Really really embarrassing. It’s no wonder she doesn’t wanna spend time with you. Aside from being the busiest person on Earth and providing you with a roof over your head, she has kids and a job to maintain. But it’s fine- it’s fine!, because you get to complain and she doesn’t. Because you think she owes you everything, but she doesn’t. And she never did. And she never will.” You weren’t sure when you had gotten so close to him, but the backwards step he took gave you enough confidence to continue. “And if you think you mean anything to her, above her children, above her passion, then you are so sorely mistaken that it’s almost funny. Because me, and so many others, have seen how much Miranda cares about those closest to her - and if she’s not making you better, then you’re clearly not worth her time. But maybe if you exercised some more respect, maybe if you showed you cared, she’d bother to call you back and she’d bother to act like your wife. But you don’t do that. So why should she show you what you don’t show her? Huh? Why should she love you when there’s other people out there- when- when there’s people like- like Nigel, like Emily, like me,” you took a deep breath, nearly choking on your words because you were talking so fast, “who would give her the world if she asked for it. Who would do anything to have her attention. So- so why should she love you when you take it for granted? When you, who gets it for free, don’t have to bend over backwards for her affection? When- when- you- you attend events with her, you have dinner with her, she calls you darling! And you take it all for GRANTED - BECAUSE YOU JUST DON’T CARE!”

Your eyes were most likely bloodshot. Your body was shaking. Your head was pounding and your heart was in your throat.

But Stephen looked shocked, having taken more steps backward toward the stairs as you approached him like a blood-thirsty lioness. And at that, watching the way his hand scrambled for the banister, you felt a strange twist of pride creep throughout your heart.

…But it wasn’t enough. You wanted him gone. So you cleared your throat, straightened your spine, and sniffed.

“That’s enough.”

Of course. Miranda cut in, her cool voice dousing your rage like a bucket of water over burning coals; dragging you back into yourself from where you had gotten lost in the clouds; reminding you that you weren’t supposed to be there in the first place. That you were just an assistant. Just a young woman who had stepped out of line to try and protect a woman who didn’t really need it. And instinctively, as though you had been slapped in the face or tugged by a leash, you backpedaled until Miranda’s soft footsteps came over and her back faced you. Stephen’s expression was hidden.

“…I’ll contact Leslie in the morning,” her voice was soft… introspective… distant in a way that made you nervous. “Until then… find somewhere else to spend the night.”

And things grew very quiet.

The only sounds you heard were the bustle of the city and the individual breathing of the three of you. Everything else was silent. The rest of the house, empty without Patricia and the twins (all of which were visiting their grandparents), felt like a movie set with a hidden audience. As though, at about any minute, the credits for the end of the episode would roll and you, Miranda, and Stephen would let out sighs of relief and walk off set and go get cups of water and coffee. But even as you stood there, trying hard not to tilt to the left to watch Stephen walk downstairs and out of the house, you knew what had happened was no fun and games. No, you’d definitely be facing consequences once he was gone.

And finally, after a few more moments of prolonged silence, his footsteps were going down the stairs and into the foyer. Your eyes traced the contours of Miranda’s silk shirt, watching the way it flowed over her shoulders as she walked closer to the staircase to watch Stephen go. One minute- two minutes- and then the front door was opening and closing behind him…

…and silence fell again.

You swallowed, feeling as though you had suddenly been thrown into the center of the sun. The heat of your embarrassment was excruciating - and if Miranda turned around, she’d spot the blush on your cheeks instantaneously. But that was a strong if, because she hadn’t just yet. Nope, instead, she stood staring at the door, letting the air settle. And you weren’t going to interrupt that, so you kept your mouth shut and tried to rationalize mentally.

If she asked, you’d just tell her the truth. That the world got crueler each day and it was in your nature to worry and that no wife should ever come face to face with a furious partner - at least not without the chance to talk civilly at first. And then you’d tell her that it was okay if she wanted to fire you and that you were sorry for being so open and that if you had fucked things up, you’d do whatever you could to fix them.

…

The silence eventually became deafening. And there was an itch in your legs that was getting to you. And your hands were slowly untensing, left with an ache from the pressing of your fingernails. And the exhaustion from the long day was getting to you - so you cleared your throat and prepared yourself.

“Miranda, I’m so sor-”

“That was unnecessary.” You couldn’t hear an ounce of emotion in her tone.

And all you could do was nod and look down at your feet.

“I- I know. I know. But I just… I just couldn’t leave, Miranda.”

“You couldn’t or you didn’t want to?”

Well that was a brilliant question. One you wished you could answer without crying. One you wished you could answer without feeling like a complete loser.

“…Both, I guess.” You settled on the best option you could think of and began shaking your head when the only response you got was a low hum of acknowledgment.

And Miranda still hadn’t moved. She was probably compartmentalizing - or disappearing into her fashionable mind palace - all while you stood there looking at her like she had just smacked your ice cream onto the floor.

Well… if there was one thing you knew, it was that the tension-filled silence couldn’t continue. She could either fire you quickly or make it slow and painful, but either way you weren’t going down without a fight.

“Look, I’m sorry. I am. I know it was out of line and it was too much and I should’ve just kept my mouth shut but I promise I did it with good intentions. And I promise I wouldn’t have stayed if I wasn’t worried and I wouldn’t have said anything if I weren’t genuinely upset. And… and I don’t know if you want to fire me because of that, but if you’re gonna do it - please just get it over with. I know I’m a good assistant, I- I know I’ve learned quickly and I’m sorry that I just completely ruined that right now but if you somehow just gave me another chance, I wouldn’t make another mistake. I promise. And I wouldn’t- I- I-,” you stumbled over your words, feeling the intense pounding of your heart press up against your chest, like it was begging to bounce onto the floor and tumble down the stairs. And the feeling felt so sickening that you had to take a deep breath and shake your head and push down the angry, anxious, terrified tears that yearned to spill into your eyes. “And I- I’ll- I’ll never let anyone talk to you like that again… I promise.”

Your voice was frail. The fire from earlier was gone - as though it had never existed at all. And Miranda still just stood there, with her phone in one hand and her face turned away from you…. Like you weren’t good enough to see her. Like you didn’t deserve to know what she was thinki-”

“You talk too much.” It was the only thing she said before she turned around and walked right past you - faster than lightning.

And you blinked just in time, turning on your heel and staring after her.

“Wh-what? That’s it?” You called. No firing? No scolding?

The room she was heading into looked like a study - but that swiftly became unimportant when she paused at the door and turned to you.

Her face, lit up by the hall light, looked tired in the same way it was earlier. But her eyes… well there was something in them that you couldn’t place. It looked like amusement… and something softer. Something- dare you say- grateful. But it was probably just a trick of the light - and you were probably just hallucinating because of your own exhaustion - and she was most likely just itching to get her duty done and go to bed.

And you suspected that was the case until she took a second to look you up and down in that way that she did- with her blue eyes searching and her gaze laser-sharp- and eventually, eventually, she made it back up to your face. Her expression was blank.

“…On Monday morning, tell Emily that the clothing department has a new opening. Then tell everybody else.” There was a pause. “…And be prepared to start interviews on Tuesday.”

And the last you saw of her then- of the sweet poison you called Miranda Priestly- was the statuesque shape of her body’s side profile as she softly closed the study door.

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Thank you for the request, anon! I understand this isn't terribly fluffy, but I wanted to make it as realistic as I could. I hope you enjoyed! - Ripley

(P.S. DWP is my favorite movie!)

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#fanfictionwriter #fanfic #fanfiction #dwp #dwpfanfic #miranda priestly #miranda priestly x reader #miranda priestly fanfiction #devil wears prada #ripsanonreply #request #anon request #devil wears prada miranda priestly #miranda priestly devil wears prada #the devil wears prada #tw #tw fanfic

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offside-the-lines · 10 months

Text

tell me who i run to (if not you) | anthony beauvillier | Ep 1. Blue Christmas

This is a completed series! Read Full Fic | 🧸 Series Cover Page/Masterlist 🧁 | 🎵 Playlist 🎶 Ep 1. || Next Episode >

Episode Synopsis: Evie and Tito are both starting life anew in Chicago. It's an unfamiliar city with unfamiliar faces. They're both alone on Christmas. Maybe it's fate that brings them together. Jason and Alandra Dickinson are already smelling the smoke from this fire.

A/N: You can refer to the cover page for the series summary, author's notes, tropes, general warnings and other fun tidbits. This series contains mature themes. Minors DNI. Disclaimer: This series is set in Chicago but does not mention the name of the team.

Word count: 4.9k // 44.5k

Requests (open) | Masterlist & Who I Write For | Join My Taglisst

Blue Christmas

Tito — December 20

Mat keeps telling him to unpack when they FaceTime every time he catches a glimpse of the boxes still neatly stacked in the corner. To be fair, Tito didn’t need any of the stuff in those boxes. He was fine for the first two months in Vancouver when he lived out of his suitcase; he’ll be fine now. He reckons he’ll probably need to get Liana something really nice for packing up the Vancouver apartment that he had just signed the lease for. He vaguely remembers a FaceTime call where Mat just ran with Tito’s monotone “okay”s; he hadn’t really been listening.

Mat keeps asking Tito if he wants Liana to help look for a sublet, and Tito just can’t bring himself to care. He guesses it can just sit empty for the remaining 7 or 8 months on the contract.

Contract. Tito snorts bitterly. The word’s beginning to lose all meaning to him.

Tito lays on the grey couch and stares at the scuff marks on the white ceiling. He probably should sublet it— save some money— given he just got traded to the worst team in the league and will be, by all accounts, unemployed come June. No guarantees he’ll even get an extension here.

Mat keeps telling him he should still go out with the boys: get some drinks, laugh a little, and learn the names of some wives and kids. Mat’s probably right. Mat would probably say that he’s always right and that Tito should listen to him more. He snorts at that out loud. God, things were so much easier on Long Island. That feels like a lifetime ago.

He glances at the boxes in the corner and decides that tomorrow— yeah, tomorrow— he’s going to go buy a box cutter from wherever it is that sells box cutters.

Evie — December 24

Evie feels the tension finally drain from her body as she slips into the warm bath; she closes her eyes and rests her head against the cool ceramic. It was a good evening. It was.

She’s grateful that, although her job's entirely remote, she has some colleagues who live in Chicago. She’s doubly grateful that Leanne would invite her to join them for their Christmas Eve dinner. It was awkward, sitting among people who all knew each other well and trying to keep up with whatever drama Leanne and Kelsey gossiped about, but she likes them. She is grateful that she likes them.

She lets her body melt deeper into the lavender-scented water and looks out the window. Chicago does look beautiful: a light dusting of snow, miles of twinkling lights, the quiet hum of city living.

When she had packed up her entire life in July, she had just rolled the dice and picked Chicago out of a list of cities. It had been a while since she had lived on her own, and it took some getting used to. Bit by bit, her apartment had started to feel more like home. As much as a rental apartment with mostly rental furniture could feel like a home anyway.

Her parents had been understanding, albeit worried, when she said she didn’t want to come home for Christmas this year. It would be her first Christmas alone. Looking out at Chicago, she isn’t sure if it was the right decision. She wonders where the line is between loneliness and enjoying her own company.

Careful to not flood her bathroom floor, she sits up to grab her phone. She remembers seeing a massive Christmas tree downtown by the park. Luckily, after some googling, the rink under it has a lot of openings tomorrow morning. It would be nice to get out on the ice, even if it’s just to absorb some joy from the families that'll be there. She always loved skating with her brothers on Christmas morning as a kid.

Tito — December 25

Tito wakes up on Christmas morning to a dead silence he feels in his bones. Groaning, he rubs his hands over his face and tugs on his hair. It’s still early, at least it looks that way from the low light streaming in through the windows, but, he supposes, it’s as good a time as any to get up.

He runs through his morning routine like any other day: coffee, shower, breakfast, phone. Now that his teammates are spread all over the continent, there are a lot of messages to respond to. He ignores them in favor of calling his family, making the most of the virtual time with his parents, brother, and nephews. Once they hang up, he starts to pick through the messages before his phone inevitably buzzes with a Facetime call from Mat.

“Hey, Barz,” he says, the corners of his mouth twitching into a smile against his will.

“Beauuuu.” Mat’s as energetic as ever. “Merry Christmas!”

And just like that, they fall into an easy rhythm. In these moments, against Tito’s better judgment, he likes to imagine he’s still in New York. It’s hard not to keep thinking of it as home despite his not being back for more than a night or two since January.

Almost a full year.

If he were still in New York, they’d probably be over at the Martins’ place. Sydney always loved to host, and she’d never complain about some free babysitting.

His thoughts are disrupted by the message banner popping up:

Nick Foligno: merry xmas kid!! we still on for dinner? we would love for you to join us.

Tito doesn’t entirely cover up his sigh.

“Beau?” Mat interrupts his long tirade about avocados or sloths or something. “What was that dude?”

He considers lying for a second and just shrugs. “Oh, Foligno was just texting me to remind me about the sort of team Christmas dinner at his place tonight.”

“That’s great, dude! I told you you’d feel better once you got to know the boys.”

“Yeah, they’re nice.”

“Doesn’t Foligno have kids? You love that shit, I know that!” Mat's as enthusiastic as always, a broad grin on his face.

“Yeah, he does. They’re cute. Hudson’s about the same age as Winnie, actually.” He feels his heart clench. He doesn’t really know if he has it in him to say goodbye to another set of kids; looking at Winnie’s heartbroken face as she asked, "When’s Uncle Beau coming back?" just about broke him.

“Aww, that’s sweet,” Mat smiles. He doesn’t press, though. He just tells a funny story about Marty and Pageau doing some weird wrestling during morning skate last week. Tito feels the smile come back to him naturally.

Eventually, after some reassurances on Tito’s end, he’s allowed to sign off, but only if he promises Mat that he’ll go to the dinner tonight.

“Yes, Mathew. I promise. God, you’re so annoying sometimes,” Tito grumbles, but the smile on his face betrays him.

“I know, that’s like, one of my top 5 features.”

“More like the only feature.”

“Alright, asshole. Merry Christmas. Call me, yeah? I want to hear all about dinner.”

“Seriously, you’re worse than my mom. But yeah, I’ll let you know, I promise.”

“I’m choosing to ignore that dig at both me and my girl, Dominique,” Mat interrupts.

“Ew, don’t call my mom ‘your girl.’”

“So dramatic; you insult both of us. Anyway, I gotta run. Have a good Christmas, okay? Love you, dude.”

Tito sighs, “Yeah, yeah, love you too.”

“Bye.”

“Merry Christmas. Bye.”

And then, he’s once again left in the quiet of his apartment, feeling slightly lighter. Looking out at Lake Michigan, he can’t help but be reminded of home— of the river at the heart of his childhood. He thinks back to all those Christmas mornings and wishes for the hot chocolate his mom used to make. He looks ruefully at his empty kitchen before deciding that he should go for a walk anyway.

It’s a surprisingly mild day out. There's still the bite of winter cold, but the light dusting of snow from yesterday has melted in the sun, making everything glisten. The cold air in his lungs feels so good that he’s content to just wander where his feet take him. Eventually, he finds himself in Millenium Park. He hasn’t come here yet, but the giant Christmas tree brings a smile to his face. Next to it lies a rink; it isn’t super busy on Christmas morning, just a few families.

He almost laughs to himself. Of course, that’s where his wandering feet would take him. He stands and watches as kids toddle around before finally deciding to bite the bullet. He obviously didn’t have his skates with him and can’t be bothered to walk back to his apartment to get them. It’s been a really long time since he wore rental skates; how bad can it really be?

As it turns out, bad. The skates are uncomfortable and unsharpened. But that doesn’t stop Tito from sinking into the feeling of having ice under his feet, a smile blooming across his face. He’s only gotten around a few laps when someone bumps into him from behind, causing him to lose an edge and fall ungracefully onto his ass.

“Osti de calisse,” a voice behind him swears, his ears pricking at the familiar sound, “Shit, I’m sorry. I knew I shouldn’t’ve been going backward at a public skate.”

He barely hears the last part as his ears are still stuck on hearing his mother tongue. Before he can stop himself, he turns around, and the words spill from his mouth: “You speak French?”

And that’s when he’s captivated by the woman herself. There’s something familiar about her chocolate eyes and warm smile.

“Ouias,” she smiles as a flicker of recognition tugs at the corner of her mouth. “Aren’t you supposed to be good at this? Not getting enough ice time?” she laughs, gesturing around them.

He feels his cheeks warm as he finally stands up. “Uh, I am good at this,” he says, affronted, “These rentals are just trash.”

“Mhm,” she shrugs, trying to cover up her amusement, before pointing to her own skates. They might be a little old and beaten up at this point, but they’re still entirely her own.

He dusts off the snow from his pants before he starts skating next to her, not entirely sure what’s stopping him from parting with this stranger. They do a few laps in silence before he can’t hold the question in any longer. “I’m sorry, I’ve got to ask. Have we met before?”

This gets her attention; there's a moment of silence, and he feels his cheeks heat again, embarrassed, before her warm laughter fills his chest. “Wow, Beauvillier, I'm actually quite offended. You played with my brother Brandon in Shawinigan, remember?” She clutches a hand to her chest in mock outrage.

His face is blank for a second, and he racks his brain before his eyes go wide. “Oh! You’re Brandy G’s sister! I obviously know about you, but I don’t really have much memory of meeting you… I’m sorry?”

Her laughter rings, settling warm in his bones as she lightly bumps his shoulder. “I’m just kidding. We only met, like, two times.” She skates out in front of him, holding her hand out, “Genevieve Gignac. Enchanté.”

“Enchanté. Anthony Beauvillier,” he shakes her outstretched hand. “I do think I remember you. You go by Viv, right?”

“Not really— Actually, I mean, you do remember correctly, Anthony, but only my family calls me that. Or sometimes it’s Evie. Usually, my friends call me Gigi. Not Genny, though.” A shudder moves through her at the old nickname she now hates.

He hums, “I'll have to test drive them and see how it feels. You can call me Tito or Beau. There’s no need to full-government-name me. It makes me feel like I might be in trouble.”

She flashes him a smile, “Maybe you are—” She’s cut off when she almost runs into a child behind her.

“You should turn around before you knock someone else on their ass.” He's rewarded with another laugh before she rejoins him at his side.

“So,” her voice, curious, “You don’t get enough skating in at your fancy NHL gig or what? What're you doing here on Christmas morning? In rental skates, no less.”

He sighs, “I was actually taking a walk to look for hot chocolate. Which turned into more of a walk to clear my head. And then I saw this. For some reason, I just really wanted to get on this crappy ice in crappy skates. Something about the feeling of ice under my feet always settles me.”

Evie looks at him out of the corner of her eye and lets the silence hang for a little while. Eventually, she asks him, “Did you ever end up finding that hot chocolate?”

“No, actually.”

“Do you want to grab some? I’m feeling kinda ready to be done here.”

“Sure, let’s do it.” He smiles warmly at her without any hesitation.

She returns his smile as they get off the ice, her eyes bright.

Evie —

She’s putting her skates away when she catches the sight of Tito signing something for the guy at the rental counter. She watches him joke, his face so open and kind. It strikes her that that’s how she remembers him from their youth, and she guesses it’s that familiarity— that touch of home on an otherwise lonely Christmas Day— that makes her chest feel too tight.

They end up finding an open Starbucks, catching up on the last 8 years of their lives; their hot chocolate cups sit empty on the small table that they're leaning over. Tito shares stories of living the NHL dream on Long Island and how hard it was to leave behind his best friend and his teammates, who felt like family. Evie talks about the late nights in the library and the sticky floors of frat house parties from her time in college, and she talks about miraculously landing her dream job where she gets paid to read books all day— and edit them, of course. They both also discover that 2023 has been their most challenging year yet, glossing over how they both ended up in Chicago alone on Christmas Day.

Tito leans back in his chair, picking at a loose thread on his hoodie. “Actually, some guys on the team invited me over to a half-team-half-family Christmas dinner tonight.”

“That’s amazing,” she beams before glancing down at her watch. “Oh shit, it’s like almost 3 pm. What time's your dinner?”

“Wow, really?” his eyes widen as he pulls out his phone, swiping away the long list of notifications with the intention of checking them later. “Damn, I’m so sorry to take up so much of your day. I’ve got to be there at like 5 or 6.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Beau. I had literally no other plans today. I was thinking about being a Grinch and just doing some writing today. Kinda sad when you think about it; younger me would barf if she saw that.”

“Writing? Like a book?” Tito asks, eyes wide and sparkling with interest.

“Yeah, I am.” She clears her throat before waving her hands. “Anyway, it’s not that exciting. It's barely a book yet. Are you excited for dinner? I’m sure you haven’t had much time to get to know your teammates yet.”

There’s a beat of silence where she sees him fight back a frown, pasting a smile on his face that she can already tell is fake, even after having spent only a few hours with him.

“Yeah, yeah, I haven’t really. This will be the first time, actually.” He runs his hands down his face, nervously scratching at his messy stubble. He presses his hands against his eyes as he mumbles. “God, I didn’t even go to the store this week to get a bottle of wine or something. And everywhere's definitely closed now, right? I can’t show up empty-handed.” He groans a frustrated huff as he pitches forward.

Without even thinking about it, Evie reaches out and pulls his hands from his face. “Well, I have an idea. The stores are closed, but I’ve got plenty of baking supplies at mine. We can bake something for you to bring for dessert! If you have time?”

She can see a twinkle of hope appear in his eye despite the furrow of his brow. “Yeah, I can probably make it work. But are you sure, Gigi? I don’t want to impose. I’ve already taken so much of your time, and I definitely can’t bake. I only just learned how to cook edible food.”

“Oh, come on, I don’t mind.” She stands up, gesturing towards the door. “We’re like childhood friends; it’s whatever.”

“Childhood friends,” he scoffs with a laugh, sauntering backward to the trash can with their empty cups, “I think we had maybe said two sentences to each other before today.”

“You remember that now, do you?” They walk to the door shoulder to shoulder, calling out a goodbye to the barista on the way out.

“Well, I’m pretty sure I was terrified of you. You were G’s older sister, and you were in college, which meant you were, like, cool and hot.”

She laughs, throwing her head back, and bumps his shoulder hard as they step out into the cold Chicago afternoon. “Oh, shut up. I’m only like two years older. And I definitely wasn’t cool or hot.”

He hums, smirk firmly on his face. “Mmmm, okay. Agree to disagree.”

They walk in silence for a few moments before she realizes she doesn’t actually know where they’re going. “I actually drove here this morning. Do you want to drive to my place together or take separate cars? I can text you my address.”

He thinks about it for a second: “I should probably drive myself, right? It's going to be hard to get a Lyft today. I might change, too, so I can head straight there after.”

“Oh yeah, good idea.” She takes her phone out and hands it to him. “Here, enter your number, and I’ll text you my address.”

He types in his number and sends himself a text, so he has hers as well. Once he hands hers back to Evie, he pulls out his own phone. She texts him her address and adds him to her contacts.

After fiddling with his phone for a moment, he scrunches his nose. “I don’t think I like calling you Gigi. It’s a little close to G, and that’s weird.” He studies her, head cocked to the side, making a soft curl fall in front of his calm blue eyes, the attention making her shift on her feet. “I’m not huge on Viv or Vivi either. I think I like Evie, though. You look like an Evie.”

She feels a smile overtake her face. “And what does an Evie look like?”

“I don’t know. You? I guess?” His eyes are soft as he looks at her.

“Okay then, you can call me Evie if I can call you Tito,” she blurts out before her mouth can say something stupid instead.

“Deal.” The way his face lights up when he smiles makes her smile back, unbidden.

“Well, alright, Tito. I’ll see you at mine? There’s guest parking in the garage. I’ll buzz you through.”

“Sweet. See you soon, Evie.”

He squeezes her arm lightly as he turns to leave, sending her a final smile over his shoulder. It’s a short walk to her car and, from there, a short drive home; she’s walking through her apartment door before she even knows it, the smile never leaving her face.

A short while later, she gets the call on her intercom. When she buzzes Tito up, she remains near the door, rearranging the ingredients on her kitchen counter; she opens the door as soon as she hears the knock.

“Hey, you found the parking okay?” She waves him in. His hair’s still slightly damp, and his stubble's neater; her eyes catch on the perfectly fitted wool coat that hides his tailored dark plum shirt and fitted jeans. She busies herself by taking his coat to the coat closet.

“Yeah. Plenty of spaces,” he says as he toes off his sneakers.

“Great!” her voice an octave higher than it should be. She shuffles on her feet a little before waving Tito further into her apartment. “Well, welcome to my apartment. It’s not very big, but it’s starting to feel like home. The kitchen is here. The living room is also right here. And the bathroom is right here as well, just behind that door on the right.” She pauses and adds with a wink, "Oh, it also connects to the bedroom, so don’t get lost.”

He walks over to the large windows by the couch and looks out at the view.

“Great view." He points, “Hey, look. You can basically see the United Center from here. I was going to say you’re only a mile away from where we play and train. You’ve got to come to a game!”

“Oh, yeah! I would love to.” They stand by the window, both looking at the tree-lined streets below. After a moment, she shakes herself out of her thoughts and walks back over to the kitchen. “Okay, so I scoured my pantry. I have ingredients for cookies or brownies. For cookies, we could do, like, cinnamon sugar or chocolate chip. Or brownies, but they take a little more time. What do you want to do?”

“I'm a huge chocolate guy, so I’m going to say brownies every time. I can be a little late. I think they’ll understand,” he shrugs.

She had expected him to just sit at the kitchen island, but to her surprise, he tried to help at every step, their conversation flowing easily as they worked in tandem.

When she turns around from putting the batter into the oven, he’s already rinsing and loading up the dishwasher; her eyes become transfixed on the gentle flex of his forearms that peek out from his rolled-up sleeves.

Shaking her head, she says, “Hey, you don’t have to do that. You’re going to get your shirt dirty.”

“Oh, don’t worry about it. It’s a dark shirt,” Tito smiles at her. “I’m almost done anyway. Do you want to watch something while we wait for it to bake? You said it was like 45 minutes, right?”

“Yeah, sure. Do you have a suggestion?”

“Nope. Just put on whatever.”

She flickers back and forth between a few apps before something catches her eye. “Hey, have you seen Brooklyn Nine-Nine before?”

“No, actually! I always thought it sounded good. It’s a comedy, right? Like Parks & Rec?”

“Yeah, it’s been on my list for a while.”

“Hell yeah, I love those types of shows. Let’s do it.”

As she queues up the episode, she pauses, “It’s set in New York. That isn't gonna be weird for you, right?”

He chuckles quietly as he settles on the far end of her couch. “No, I think it’ll be fine. It’ll be nice to see the city anyway.”

“Alright.”

The show rolls on as they sit in a comfortable silence punctuated by a few comments and a lot of laughter. They end up getting through three episodes while they wait for the brownies to bake and cool before Tito has to leave.

Eventually, when 5:50 pm rolls around, Tito stands with a sigh. “Alright. I should probably go; the boys'll chirp me to hell if I’m any later.”

“Oh yeah, of course. Have fun!” Evie says, handing over the container as he puts his shoes and coat back on.

He pauses, looking down at the box, and gently places a hand on her arm. “Evie, thank you so much for letting me come over and for baking these brownies for me.”

“Don’t be stupid, there’s no need to thank me,” she smiles and squeezes the hand on her arm, “Christmas spirit or whatever, right?”

He returns her smile, his eyes crinkling. “Yeah,” he breathes. He takes a step back.

“Well…” she reaches around him and opens the door for him. “Enjoy your dinner!”

He hesitates before wrapping her in a tight hug, “Thanks again. And Merry Christmas, Evie.”

“Yeah, Merry Christmas to you, too, Tito,” her voice barely above a whisper next to his ear. She smiles at her door and doesn’t go back inside until after she sees him step into the elevator. When she returns to her couch, she can’t bring herself to keep watching Brooklyn Nine-Nine. So she puts on an old favorite, Schitt’s Creek, instead and settles in with a hot cup of tea.

Late that evening, she receives a text from Tito.

Tito 🌞🏒: ur brownies were a huge hit. thanks again!!! Tito 🌞🏒: we actually have our last home game of the year tomorrow. i would love for you to be there if you can make it?

Evie — December 27

There's a flush on Evie’s cheeks as she leans against the bar, trying to get the bartender’s attention. The bar isn't busy on a Wednesday night around Christmas time, so it isn't as loud or cramped as it could be. But she's feeling a little overwhelmed at the thought of being here with Tito’s teammates— all basically strangers— after a win.

As she waits for her drink, her mind wanders. It had been a while since Evie had been at a hockey game, and it felt good just to absorb the energy of the crowd around her. It was nice to be able to repay Leanne for dinner with a ticket to the game. She was surprised at how easily their conversation flowed and how much fun they had at the game together. She had found it hard to make friends in a new city with a remote job, but now she thinks she might join the group more when they hang out.

She looks over at where the players are sitting and is warmed by the sight of Tito laughing and joking with his teammates, looking lighter than when she last saw him. She’s glad that the boys are taking it easy since they’re leaving for a road trip tomorrow. She already feels like she’s running on fumes.

So she’s surprised to find herself still sitting at the booth two hours later. Most of the team has left by now, leaving just her, Tito, Jason Dickinson, and his wife, Alandra. She’s trying her hardest not to think about the weight of Tito’s leg pressing against hers under the table.

“Aww, your baby is so cute,” Evie says, handing the phone back to Alandra.

“Thanks, you know, this is the first time I've been out since she was born. Thank god our families are here for the holidays,” she says, taking a sip of her fourth cocktail. She leans in dramatically, “Okay, you’ve got to forgive me, but I’m a new mother, and I’m bored out of my mind. You want kids one day, Gigi?”

She chokes on a sip of her cocktail, prompting Tito to gently pat her back. “Um. I mean, yeah? I haven’t really thought about it in a while, I guess. My ex was really—” She clears her throat. “I like kids a lot. It depends on a lot of things, I guess. But I’m not really anywhere to be thinking about that right now.”

“Bad breakup?” Alandra asks sympathetically.

“Yeah, something like that. I mean, it was a long time coming. So yeah, I’m not really dating right now anyway so— No reason to think about kids.”

Alandra hums, leaning forward. “What do you mean you’re not dating? You’re beautiful; you must get a lot of attention.”

Evie laughs, shrugging as she takes a long sip of her drink, “I mean, sure? I just want to figure out how to be me for a bit, you know? Besides, I’ve just never really been a dating person. Just seems exhausting, to be honest. I did it a little bit before— I just hated it. And I think I still do. The idea of going on dates makes me—”

“Oh yeah, I get it,” Tito jumps in, “I dated a bit in Vancouver, mainly on Raya, but also some mutual friends, or whatever. It’s rough when you’re in and out of town for hockey and the rest of it. I’m definitely not thinking about it right now, either.”

Evie nods at him and gestures wildly with her straw. “Oh god, dating apps. Yeah, I downloaded Bumble for a bit in the summer and just deleted it after a few weeks. It’s like I missed a whole chunk of the dating timeline. It just wasn’t really a thing, and now it feels like that’s all people use, and I’m just so lost.”

Neither of them notices the looks Alandra and Jason share.

Jason finally speaks up, “What, so you don’t hook up?”

They both laugh and say, simultaneously, “That's not what I said,” and “Of course I do. "

With that, the conversation moves on to the upcoming new year. They stay at the bar for almost four hours, and by the time she walks through her apartment door, she doesn’t feel as bone tired as she thought she would.

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