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mermaidgirl30 · 16 days ago

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✨Saving What Was Lost Part 3: You Trust Me?✨

Pre-Outbreak! Joel Miller x fem! reader

Series Masterlist

A/N: I’m so excited to bring you the next chapter! This has been one of my favorite series to write, and I have so much more in store for these two! Joel is so so soft for reader 🥹 Happy reading! I love nothing more than to read your comments on what you thought, so please consider leaving me comments and reblogs 💕

Chapter Summary: You’ve got so many reasons not to trust another man again in your life, but Joel seems to give you ten for why you should trust him. One of them being calming a panic attack in the middle of a parking lot.

Rating: Explicit 18+ only MDNI

Word Count: 9.7k

Chapter Tags: Mentions of being trafficked, flashbacks of being abused, angst, soft and protective Joel, PTSD, no use y/n, age gap (reader is late 20’s, Joel is late 40’s), pre-outbreak au, mentions of an acoustic guitar, panic attacks at the store

Dividers by @saradika-graphics

The long days seem to dwindle by with your heart still lodged deep in your throat. It doesn’t seem to matter that the calming rain patters on your foggy window, doesn’t matter that fall used to be your favorite season. You feel hollow, torn apart piece by piece with every second that brushes past your icy skin.

You feel broken. You are broken. And you’re not sure anything will ever fix that.

Every day you find something new that’s too hard to manage to get your body to do. Brushing your teeth, getting yourself dressed, making yourself eat when all you can stomach is the empty feeling inside you. You’re just so tired of fighting, so very exhausted of trying to just get by. But your body screams at you to fight.

Fight for yourself. Win. Get out of bed, eat, make an effort to survive. So, you do. You try because that’s all you hear ringing in the back of your mind. You have to keep going. Don’t let Angela or any of the ones that dragged you down keep you from thriving.

Live.

Today is like all the other days you fight to not let your depression win. Except today marks two weeks that you’ve been here. Two weeks that you’ve survived. And as much as you feel like giving up every second of every day, you always seem to find one tiny reason to get out of bed. Joel seems to be that reason.

Joel… and his warm cups of coffee. The kind that he douses in creamer and sugar and caramel just for you. Because that’s how you like it. And it never fails. Every single morning your cup is there just waiting for you, including Joel’s warm smile and soft brown eyes…

That’s your reason for getting out of bed. Joel.

You discovered that Joel reported you as found to the police department a few days ago. You should feel relieved that he did that, but it didn’t matter. There was no one looking for you, so it didn’t make a damn bit of a difference. No one was coming to get you… Nobody even tried reaching out which makes you feel that much worse.

You battle with yourself, wrestling your way to slide on a pair of black leggings, along with a long cashmere sweater that falls clear down your thighs. You fight to comb the knots from your hair, clenching your teeth with every painful drag of the brush.

Fight. Win. Don’t let them control you.

Flexing your trembling hands, you squeeze a generous amount of spearmint toothpaste onto your purple toothbrush and jam it into your mouth, scraping it back and forth until you don’t taste the bitter aftertaste of almost two years in captivity.

Your fingers tremble beneath you with every slide of the toothbrush, every clinking noise against your teeth making you gag at the memories of you being left alone with disgusting men in a tiny bathroom against your will. It’s too much, this is too much. So you rinse your mouth and scamper out of the bathroom, closing the door until you can’t feel the goosebumps rising on your skin anymore.

You’re safe. They’re not here. You’re free. But you don’t feel free because those painful memories are alive in your mind, painting vivid pictures that make you instantly want to vomit and recoil into bed. But you don’t let the monsters take you back down into the darkness. You flee to sunlight and hope. You make your way to something that makes you feel lighter, where you can breathe easier, to something that gives you hope.

And that something is Joel.

You smell the fresh coffee brew in the air, inhaling the rich scent as if you can already taste it. When you turn the corner you see Joel’s broad back to you, busy with the coffee machine and the daily newspaper, his large hand brushing past the blur of small-print words.

Instead of stopping to say good morning to him, you decide to venture down the hall. You haven’t been brave enough to really take in the house and explore, but now? Maybe you could try.

The sunlight shines through the open glass windows, making the photographs and hanging art glitter like specks of gold surrounding the black frames. Your eyes skim the family photographs, taking in Joel’s big smile in each of them. One is of him and Tommy, arms clasped around each other’s backs with a little girl standing in front of them, who you suppose is Sarah. Her dark curls spiral to her shoulders while she wraps an arm around her dad.

They look so happy, like a normal family who has never been broken. You wish yours looked like that. But again, it never was. You were always surrounded by screaming parents, right on the brink of a divorce while you’d stay tucked in your room with your hands covering your ears, praying for the noise to just stop.

But it stopped alright. It stopped the moment they crashed their car on top of a mountain and left you to fend for yourself at your uncle’s house. An uncle that never loved you. An uncle that abandoned Washington the moment you moved out at just eighteen-years-old. And then he did too…

You keep moving, holding your composure and tears in. Even though you feel like collapsing right in this spot, right under Joel’s family picture. A family that was still together to this day while yours was nonexistent.

You wish you still had a family, but you never really did in the first place. Did you? No. Mom was always too busy with looking perfect, constantly obsessing with lessening her wrinkles and getting plastic surgery. And dad? Well, he was always too busy working at the law firm and hooking up with his assistant behind mom’s back. You were always left to fend for yourself, so now isn’t any different than it’s ever been.

You’re alone. You’ve always been alone, always just survived. Ever since you were little, that’s all you’ve known — how to be independent and just make it. So what’s different now? Now you just have to swim through the trauma and hope you don’t drown in the process. Because this right now is too much to handle, even for you.

It’s too fucking much.

Choking down the held back tears, you make your way down the long hallway, your body moving on autopilot just to escape the visions that blur into muted noise. The pristine white walls clash against the polished floors, painting you a picture of hope. Something you’ve never really had before.

Keep fighting. Live. Make a change. Break the cycle.

Holding on to new hope, you keep going until you turn the corner and find a large, open room that makes you audibly gasp. All memories of broken families and internal fears are suddenly forgotten, pushed aside to take in this glorious sight.

Holy shit.

Towering mahogany bookshelves sit stacked against the white walls, the cascading windows letting in enough sunlight to reflect off the broken-in spines of each book. Two plush ivory oversized chairs sit in the corner of the room, one opposite the other. An electric fireplace sits idle against one of the bookshelves, draped in vines from the tropical plant that splays atop the bookshelf nearest the fireplace.

This room is… magical. Exactly what you needed. An escape from reality. An escape from your mind.

You trace lines against the smooth covers of the various books, feeling the cracked spines and intricate cursive letters on some of the older books. There’s genres of everything you could ever imagine. Starting from ancient history and going all the way to popular fictional books that you’d see on New York’s best seller’s lists. This room has everything.

You could get lost in here.

Forgetting where you are, your hand snaps back when you hear a deep chuckle behind you. “Thought I heard you come down this mornin’. See you found one of my favorite rooms.”

When you turn around, you see him smiling over at you, the glow of the sun making his brown eyes sparkle an almond brown honey color. If you’re being honest with yourself, it makes you feel a little lighter because his eyes are so warm.

He’s warm.

“These are all yours?” you ask with a gasp as your finger continues to trail against the golden spine of an old history book.

“All mine. Well, a lot of ‘em I got for Sarah. You see, she’s a bit of a bookworm, and she might’ve got me into the classics. So, now I’m jus’ as bad as her,” he laughs as he leans against the bright wall, his smile light and easy like the relaxed state he’s in now.

“This place, it’s incredible,” you breathe out, continuing to skim over the spotless shelves, your fingertips clashing with leather and the feel of worn pages. It smells like freedom and escape, someplace where you could stay buried for days.

He runs his fingers through his slicked back curls, bicep flexing against his dark blue flannel, an easy smile hanging on his lips. This might be the most relaxed you’ve seen him since you came here. He looks almost… happy the way he’s looking at you all light and carefree, like he’s enjoying the view. Like he’s happy that you’ve found something else you lost.

“You like it?” he asks, his eyes caramel pools that you could almost sink into.

“I love it,” you reply enthusiastically, your voice almost unrecognizable.

A warm smile spreads on his mouth, making his brown eyes sparkle that much more in the dewy sunlight. “Then it’s yours, sweetheart. Borrow anything you want, read what you want.”

“Really?” you ask with a raised brow, sliding a book back into its place on the second shelf.

“Really,” he nods with a smile.

“Joel, thank you. This is… this is perfect.”

“Jus’ glad I found someone I can share my books with again.”

You stay just like that for the next minute — Joel on the other end of the room, looking back at you with the warmest smile you’ve ever seen. It makes your heart flutter, makes you want to smile back, but you just give him a tight-lipped smile and look back at the cream rug covering the floor, suddenly too shaky to say anything else.

Your eyes snap to something hidden in the corner of the room, a ray of sunlight hitting at just the right angle to make out something you missed entirely when you walked in. You guess you were too enamored by the books to notice the acoustic guitar sitting neatly on a stand right by the sheer curtain hanging over the window.

“Is this yours?” you ask, pointing to the acoustic guitar.

“Oh. Yeah, s’mine.�� His eyes fall to the dark wood, the body glossy and sleek as it shines against the draped curtain. A splash of sunlight makes it shimmer for just a moment, until rain clouds cover the sun and cast the guitar back in shadows.

“You play guitar?” you question curiously as he takes a long, slow stride across the room.

“I used to. A long time ago.”

You watch him make his way over to the guitar. It’s like he’s tiptoeing across glass, careful in his steps to not trip and cut his tanned skin up. That’s how it seems when he hesitantly reaches out to glide his fingertips down the tight strings, skimming his thumb meticulously against the smooth surface of the polished neck as if he’s memorizing every single particle of the instrument. Like he’s reliving something he keeps hidden away from the rest of the world to see.

He’s quiet as he analyzes the guitar, almost like he’s reliving memories that only he can see. Were they good or bad ones? Judging by his wary stance and slow movements, you wonder if maybe they’re fragile memories.

“Used to?” you ask quietly, careful not to disturb whatever storm’s blowing through his mind.

“‘S’right. Haven’t played in quite some time,” he answers defeatedly as his thumb tracks along the outline of a carved moth. He lingers there for a moment, pinching his eyebrows together as if he’s trying to fight off whatever images are haunting his mind.

He looks… sad. Looks as if that guitar holds years of painful memories.

“Why’d you stop?” you push, afraid you’ve just struck a nerve by the way his back muscles tense and his jaw clenches up.

His hand wraps around the neck of the guitar, veins bulging in his neck as his eyes grow a shade darker. In the flit of sunshine that creeps through the window, you see a glimmer that looks a lot like a held back tear in the center of his right eye. That in itself sends a shot of pain through your chest.

He clears his throat and takes a step back, just enough to where he can only graze the edge of the guitar. His dark brown eyes are in a faraway place when he replies hesitantly. “It jus’—it… I guess it’s got a few memories attached to it that makes it hard to play now.”

When he drops his hand to his side and looks up at you, you see a man who’s hurting deep inside. You can see it in his weathered stare, in the dark circles beneath his sad brown eyes, in the way his bottom lip twitches each time his gaze falls on that acoustic guitar.

There’s something he lost, too. You just don’t know what.

Before the room gets too stifling and stuffy, he shakes off his frown and nods toward the hallway. “C’mon, I’ve got your coffee waitin’ on the counter for you. Don’t want it to get cold now.”

“Yeah, I’ll be right there.”

He gives you a tight-lipped smile and exits the room, leaving you all alone once again. You find yourself looking back at the guitar, your eyes feeling heavy as you stare at the little moth ingrained into the smooth wood. There’s just something about it that makes your stomach drop.

This guitar was special to him, maybe it still is. You just wonder what can make a big, strong man like him crumble. You don’t want to see him turn to dust like you; you’ve got enough pain for the both of you. He doesn’t deserve pain. He’s too… good. And while he doesn’t technically wear his heart on his sleeve, you can see he keeps the pain hidden behind a mask.

Maybe one day he’ll show you his scars, too.

When you make your way back to the kitchen, your warm cup of coffee is sitting right there on the quartz island, the steam billowing out as if he just poured it. As you slip into your chair, you notice his shoulders are more relaxed and the weathered stare he had back in that room is nearly gone. Whether he put on a mask or tucked his feelings deep inside his pockets to where you can’t see, you still notice the dark lines that edge beneath his brown eyes.

Something hurt him, and it still haunts him to this day.

Slowly taking a sip of the sugary drink, your eyes snap up to him when you hear the deep timbre of his voice. “Used up the rest of the caramel this mornin’.”

You swallow the coffee down your throat and shift forward on the barstool. “Already?”

He chuckles and nods his head your way. “Apparently someone who’s got a sweet tooth used it all. Can’t imagine who that was.” He winks at you, and you can feel the bright blush stain your cheeks the wider his smile gets.

Clearing your throat, you push a lock of hair behind your ear and try to stop the red tint from spreading any further. “Looks like you found the culprit.”

“Looks like it,” he smiles, his lips tugging at his tanned skin, making a deep dimple press into the middle of his cheek. You can’t help yourself, so you give him a shy smile back in return. It seems to make his brown eyes sparkle that much brighter as he stares at you.

You take a few more sips of the caramel drink, enjoying every single drop like it’s the best thing you’ve ever tasted. Joel sets down his glass cup and bites his bottom lip, chewing nervously as he glances over at you. “I need to go pick up some things at the grocery store today. Shouldn’t take long at all, but I was wonderin’ if you wanted to come along with me?”

You choke on a sip of coffee and struggle to find your words. You haven’t been out in the real world in a very long time. You don’t even know how to even interact, nonetheless see strangers passing by you.

Tapping your nails nervously against the glass cup, you fight to get the words out. “Oh. You… want me to go to the store with you?”

“Only if you want. Figured you’d wanna pick some things out.”

“Umm. Okay. Sure. I can go with you,” you breathe out nervously, pushing all your fears down as you swallow back the answer you really wanted to say.

“Alright. Well, how’s ‘bout you finish up breakfast, and we can go after you get ready?” His thumb brushes over the curve of his coffee cup, and your eyes track his movements as he slowly brings the edge to his lips.

And then you’re swallowing back fears again and dropping your eyes to the floor, awaiting the panic that’ll surely flood your system when you get to the store.

You can do this. Fight the fear.

Biting the bullet, you look up and give him a slight nod. “Okay, after breakfast.”

Joel grins and turns back to the refrigerator, away from your now wide eyes. You’re suddenly regretting your choice, but you have to go through with it. You have to be brave. For yourself.

You can do this.

Light rain patters on the passenger window, sending water droplets splashing along the side mirror. It’s only sprinkling, but the thunder in the near distance makes it seem like it might pour down at any second.

The engine hums as the wheels roll on the pavement, green trees blurring as Joel drives along the long, straight road. An old country song seeps through the speakers as Joel’s thumb taps along to the catchy tune. It’s oddly peaceful, driving with him in his truck. It almost makes you forget the nerves crawling up your spine.

“Does it always rain this much in Texas? I thought it was supposed to be like a desert here,” you ask, your eyes tracking the sea of trees outside your window.

“Usually is. Hell, we’re usually in a drought. But for some reason, we’ve been gettin’ a record amount this year. It’s unlike anything I’ve ever seen,” he says as he continues driving through the mist.

“That’s strange.” You trace the condensation on the window and draw little lines, hoping you’ll forget you’re about to go out in public.

“You must’ve brought some rain from Washington.” He smiles over at you and continues tapping his thumb along to the rhythm of the upbeat song.

“Guess I did,” you laugh under your breath as you finish off your window art of a blooming flower.

The music goes silent as Joel turns down the radio with the pad of his index finger. When you turn to look at him with questions in your eyes, he clears his throat and looks warily over at you. “Do you… do you miss it?”

“Miss what?” you whisper, letting your fingers pull against the edge of your warm sweater.

“Washington,” he responds back, eyes flicking between you and the road ahead.

You take a moment to envision the forest green trees, the frigid air by the edge of the sea, the cliffsides you used to hang over to stare into the deep blue ocean. And that’s when you feel a sharp pain jab inside your chest. “Sometimes… I miss the waterfalls, the salty breeze of the ocean, the beautiful nature. I’ve never seen a state as gorgeous as Washington. And how green it is? Yeah, I guess I do miss it…”

The front of the truck grows quiet as Joel takes in your answer. His palm rakes against his dark beard slowly, brushing across his mouth like he’s thinking really hard about your answer. And just when you think he’ll drop the conversation, he says something that leaves you speechless.

“I’ll take you back.”

Your eyes blow wide as you repeat the sentence in your head. I’ll take you back. Why would he do that…

“What?” you ask, jaw dropped like you just got slapped in the face.

He gives you a small smile and looks over at you with the softest brown eyes you’ve ever seen. “When you’re ready, that is. And only if you want to go back. I could help you get your feet back on the ground, find you a nice place where you’ll be comfortable. If that’s what you want.”

You stare at him dumbstruck, your words lodged deep in your throat with every second that ticks by. He’ll take you back. But why would he do that for you? Why would he do what no one else would? Why does he care what happens to you…

“Joel, that’s—that’s too much. I can’t ask you to do that,” you protest, shaking your head like what he just said is impossible.

He shakes his head, making a sandy lock of hair fall against the side of his forehead. “It’s not too much, and I’d do it in a heartbeat. S’no trouble,” he says adamantly, like he won’t hear anything else about it. It’s settled for him.

“Thank you…” you whisper out, your voice barely audible above the hum of the engine.

He arches an eyebrow and looks over at you, tugging his lips into an easy smile. “Ya know, gonna have to get you your own car, too.”

“Joel,” you warn through clenched teeth. He is not getting you a car. Absolutely no way.

“What?” he shrugs. “You can’t get around without a car.”

You shake your head unbelievably and open your mouth wide. “I can’t pay for a car.”

“‘M not askin’ you to. I’ve got money.”

And again, you can’t believe how insistent and easy-going he’s taking this. “Joel. I can’t ask you for a car. Absolutely not. And besides, I’m not ready to drive yet.”

He flashes you a smile and gives you a nod of encouragement. “S’alright, sweetheart. You’ll get there in time. And when you do, you’ll have a car.”

You lick your bottom lip, frustrated slightly that he’s being so kind to you. No one has ever been this nice in your entire life. Not even your parents… Why is he treating you like you’re important? You’ve never been important. So why does he act like you’re the only thing that currently matters?

“There’s no stopping you, is there?” you give up, your back flush to the warm seat as you stare into deep brown eyes that belong to the kindest man you’ve ever met.

He thinks you’re important.

“Not a chance,” he chuckles, his airy laugh floating through the cabin of the truck, striking another nerve in your heart.

He’s so kind, more than that. He genuinely wants you to thrive, to live. That takes a little weight off your heavy chest.

It’s quiet for a moment, only the light wind and patter of raindrops taking up the space. But then he shifts uncomfortably and flicks his wandering eyes back over at you. There’s a deep crease between his thick eyebrows, and that look has you back on the edge of your seat. “Can I ask you somethin’?” he asks delicately.

You swallow back nerves and nod your head in response. “Umm, okay. Sure.”

“What, umm. What happened to your parents, if you don’t mind me askin’?”

The question makes you tilt a little off your axis, throws you off just enough to where your right hand is discreetly clenched so tight around the side of the seat that you swear it turns pale white. You weren’t prepared for that question. You’re never prepared. But, you might as well just spill it. What else do you have to lose?

“They—they died when I was fifteen… Crashed their car on the side of a mountain, and they ended up rolling off the edge. On the very same day they were driving to get a divorce…”

His eyes blow wide for a second and in the next he’s dragging a heavy hand over his mouth. “Oh, sweetheart. ‘M so sorry. That’s… traumatic.”

You can’t help but to puff out a pathetic laugh from that. Your life has been nothing but traumatic; you just learn to live through it.

You silently nod and continue on. “After I found out, the judge decided I’d go live with my uncle. An uncle who barely talked to me. He didn’t even want me there, but I had no other options. So, I left as soon as I turned eighteen and moved into a dorm when I went to college.”

“Is he still…”

“He moved out of Washington as soon as I left. Last I heard, he died from a heart attack. So I’ve just kinda been on my own since I was eighteen. But really, I’ve been alone for much longer than that.”

The inside of the truck goes completely silent, except the quiet hum of the purring engine. You don’t exactly like talking about your family drama and your awful past, but it’s easier when you already feel dead inside. Maybe if you talk enough Joel will decide to drop you off on the side of the street and leave you with a good luck wave.

He wouldn’t do that, though. That’s just your unhinged mind spiraling like your entire life is.

“That’s… fuck. No one should ever be put through that. What you did, what you had to do. M’so sorry.”

You shrug it off and act like you’re just fine, but really you just don’t want to cry. You don’t want to show him how weak and pathetic you truly are. You used to be stronger than this…

Holding in a sob, you play it off like it’s nothing. “It’s alright. I mean, I’ve been through a lot worse since then. I guess I’m good at being alone…”

It gets quiet again, only light breathing and shifting uncomfortably in your seat, trying to hide the pain that’s serenading through your body. Joel’s eyes keep flicking over to you, a pained expression masking his tanned face. He’s clenching his jaw, running his fingers through his dark locks, fisting the steering wheel until his knuckles are white.

His head turns to you when he’s stopped at a red light, and his eyes turn a lighter honey color, and those soft eyes nearly shatter you in your seat. “You don’t have to be. Alone. You don’t have to be alone anymore...”

You swallow back the tears building in your eyes while your mouth drops open in awe. Before you even get the chance to say anything, he’s stepping on the gas and looking back into the fog of the rainy day.

You don’t have to be alone anymore.

The rest of the ride is silent as you contemplate his words and their meaning. You don’t have to be alone. He means you don’t have to be alone because he’s here now. He won’t let you be alone. Joel is the one person who isn't giving up on you.

He’s so patient, so generous, so good. He’s too good for you but here he is, wading through the rough waters to make sure your head’s above the waves. He won’t let you drown. Not today, maybe not ever…

After a few more minutes, the truck is abruptly stopping, and Joel is cutting the engine. Your head lurches up, and you stare vacantly at the semi-busy parking lot.

The parking lot…

It looks just like the one you got taken from… Rows of parked cars sit along the damp cement, empty carts are scattered ahead in the little blue cart holder, people rush to and from the store back to their cars. And then you see a man exit his white Sedan with a black baseball cap backwards on his head. The sight has you flinching, your nails digging into the leather of the seat when he turns his head and looks directly at you. It’s only for a second, but you feel those black pits searing into your skull just like that day they took you…

“Well, here we are. A little more crowded than I thought it’d be for a Wednesday afternoon. We can jus’—.”Joel’s hand clasps the side of the driver’s door as he steps out, looking back at you with worried brown eyes. “Hey, you okay?”

It’s like your voice is lurched deep in your throat as water consumes your entire vocal cords. You can’t swallow, can’t speak, can barely even blink as you watch the shady man cross the road, taking one look back at you until he disappears behind the clear sliding doors of the store. And it still feels like he’s watching you, planning his next move to where he can get you alone.

You remember that day all over again, just like it was yesterday. And now, all you can think of to do is panic.

“N… no. I—.” You can’t even finish your sentence, only able to throw your seatbelt off and claw at the door handle, feeling like you’re suffocating on thick air that nearly strangles you to death.

You need to flee, run until your lungs collapse, but you have nowhere to go.

Tears well in your eyes as you fight to push out the images of the day you were taken, but they only push back harder, igniting your memories into fresh ones. You’re hyperventilating, holding your chest so tightly that you feel your heart skyrocket as you shake in your seat while your feet are planted on the wet cement of the parking lot.

Joel hurries around the side of the truck and throws your door open, trying his best to calm you down. “Hey, hey. It’s alright, sweetheart. You’re alright. Breathe for me.”

“Joel… I…”

“Breathe,” he coaxes in a soothing bravado voice. He kneels down in front of you to where he’s looking right up at you, and he’s got those soft brown eyes — the ones that always seem to calm you down. And when you have enough courage to lift your eyes, there they are. Warm, brown, soft, soothing. He’s soothing.

“That’s it. Take a nice deep breath for me. Jus’ like that. Attagirl,” he praises, keeping his honey-colored eyes right on you.

“I—I was…” you start but like always, you can’t finish.

You’re pathetic.

“S’alright, sweetheart. M’right here. Jus’ breathe for me. And when you’re ready, tell me what’s wrong.” His hand brushes past your feet, close enough to touch your exposed ankle, but he never does. Because he knows better. He knows it’ll just set off a string of catastrophic events that’ll only lead you into a deeper black hole than you already are.

But yet, you can’t help but want it. Because you feel how warm he is. Just like that night he carried you to the bathroom. You remember how warm and comforting you felt with your face nuzzled in the crook of his neck, remember his woodsy cologne drowning out your fight or flight panic, remember how gentle he was with you…

You slowly lift your eyes up and push away the screaming voices in your mind. They seem to come to a jarring halt when you meet those soft brown eyes and a face you swear has an angelic glow about it. His fingers flex against the floorboard, just enough to where you can feel the warmth from his tanned skin, and just that motion causes your heart to still for just a beat.

Warm. He’s so warm.

After a few more seconds of steady breaths and his heavy gaze honing in on you, you get enough courage to shakily let your words out. “I was—I was taken in a parking lot just like this. In the middle of the day. And I—I guess I wasn’t quite ready to see another one.”

He falls silent, and his face drops like he’s just seen a ghost. His eyes glaze over as a heavy hand rakes down his clipped beard, slowly dragging it over his lips as he takes in your words. “Oh. Christ, m’so sorry. I didn’t know. I didn’t even think ‘bout that before I brought you here. Fuck, I’m so sorry.”

Shaking your head back and forth, you swallow and grimace. “It’s not your fault. I didn’t tell you. I didn’t—I didn’t think I’d freak out. But then the memories hit me and I—I… it’s my fault. It’s all my—.”

He leans into the side of the truck, careful not to touch you, but still close enough to where you can almost taste his woodsy breath. “Shh. Don’t for a second think of apologizin’, sweetheart. None of this is your fault. Not one fuckin’ bit of it.”

He looks at you so intensely, so cautiously that you can clearly see the amber flecks that swirl under the cloudy skies, his jaw flexing back and forth as he searches for more to say, but he doesn’t have to say anything. You feel what he’s feeling. Regret, rage, sorrow. He wishes it never happened to you.

You take a shaky breath and glance up behind him, right as an older couple with two kids clinging to their arms passes peacefully by. A car door slams shut across the way, and it makes you jump in place, remembering that very moment you were corralled into a black van as the door slammed shut behind you, warning you that you were trapped.

As you cringe in your seat and feel your knuckles go white, you whisper, “I’m scared, Joel. I can’t—I can’t...”

“Hey. Can you look up at me?” he asks gently, slightly brushing the pad of his thumb against the side of your shoe. When you look up with watery eyes, he gives you an encouraging nod. “There ya go.”

Your body is trembling with every swift movement and every screeching halt of tires in the parking lot. You start to drift back into a panic, but Joel sees right through you and pulls you right back out with his chocolate brown eyes.

“Keep your eyes on me. Right on me. That’s it. Such a brave girl,” he coos; his voice sounding like a melodic tune that vanishes all your dark thoughts from wrapping their tangled vines completely around your stirred mind.

As you continue to stare at those beautiful caramel eyes, you get lost in the sound of his Southern drawl. “I want you to focus on one thing. It can be anything. A scent, a color, whatever brings you comfort. And I want you to focus on that one thing until your mind starts to quiet down.”

You look around the truck, searching the fresh leather, letting your eyes wander to a nearby green tree, focusing on some drifting stormy clouds that cover the sun. But none of that makes you feel good or even remotely calm, so you let your eyes wander to the rugged, Southern gentleman who’s kneeling right in front of you, begging with those soft brown eyes for you to get even just a semblance of a second of peace.

Warm. He’s so warm.

You get lost in his cinnamon, woodsy scent, fade into his coffee-colored eyes and feel like you’re crashing right into him. You can’t seem to stop staring, almost like you’re under a lovesick spell, but really it’s just your body telling you he is what brings you comfort. Joel Miller, the man who saved you from your impending doom.

So, that’s what you focus on. Him and his warm brown eyes.

“Okay,” you finally whisper out, never dropping your eyes from his.

He looks at you a second and tilts his head, making sure he heard you right. “You got it?”

“Mhm,” you hum back.

A faint smile appears on his mouth and then his hand is skimming the brim of the floor, close enough for you to feel the electricity from his touch zapping your leggings. But still, he doesn’t dare touch you. He’d never do it without your permission. You know this now.

“Now, close your eyes and picture that one thing that’s gonna drown out everything else,” he says through the light rain pattering on the tips of his broad shoulders, right onto his soft blue flannel.

“Joel…” you reply back leery.

“You trust me?” he asks with knit together eyebrows.

You chew your bottom lip for a second before you answer, throwing the question back and forth between your brain. “I—yes.”

He gives you a smile and nods. “Close ‘em for me then. Jus’ for a second.” You do exactly as he says.

When your eyes are fully shut, his Southern drawl floats through your ears. “Focus on my voice, sweetheart. Focus on how still it is; make your heart that same rhythm. Slow it down, jus’ like my words.”

You focus on every breath he breathes, every sound of the shift of his shoulders, every whisk of the wind sweeping through his tousled curls. For this moment, every single other restless sound outside the truck is silent. For the first time, all you hear is him.

You center your mind on him and him alone. And when that whiff of cedar trees and mahogany swirl all around you, you relax and breathe him in like he’s the last thing you’ll ever smell.

“Now, open your eyes,” he says after you lose track of time.

You slowly lift your eyelids and look out beneath your lashes as those bright brown eyes send you into a cloud of serenity. And in that moment, you really do feel like you’re home.

“There ya go, nice and slow. Feel that? Things are a bit quieter now,” he says gently, giving you a soft smile that makes you choke back tears.

Nodding, you reply, “Yeah, it actually is quieter.”

It’s quiet for a beat as you sit there, your palms on your thighs, fingers digging into your leggings, but his presence right in front of you is oddly calming. Just like taking a deep breath of Washington air in the mountains. You swear you almost smell those pine trees like you’re there, but it’s Joel you smell.

“You feel a little better?” he asks, scratching his fingers down his greying scruff, brown eyes flicking up at you like you’re the most important thing in the room.

“Yes,” you nod, still trying to wrap your mind around how quickly Joel was able to calm you down.

“See? Knew you could do it.” His smile tugs at the corners of his lips, and it makes you give him a shy smile in return.

When’s the last time someone was able to get you to smile? You can’t even remember.

“I did it because you helped me,” you confirm, wanting to make sure he knows he was the reason you had the courage to break through your panic attack.

“That’s right, sweetheart. I helped you, but you were the one that broke the panic attack. You’re so very brave, and I hope you know that.”

You’re so brave. He called you brave.

The way he’s looking at you makes your heart skip a beat. All soft and gentle and warm. You’ve never been around a man like Joel. Never once knew how good a man could be. But Joel, he’s like an angel sent from Heaven’s gates just for you. Or so it seems.

You swore to never trust a man again, but you can trust him.

“Now, you think you can make it in the store?” He tilts his head in the direction of the sliding doors, just as a young couple walks in with an empty grocery basket.

Gulping some courage down, you nod. “I—I think so.”

“Attagirl. Now, c’mon.” He holds the door open for you and calls your name softly, giving you that jolt you need to exit the truck. “It’s alright. Nobody’s gonna hurt ya. Not while I’m here.”

“You promise?” you ask when your feet hit the concrete, your voice shaky like you don’t quite believe him, but you do.

“Promise,” he nods, his crow’s feet pulling at the corners of his bright eyes. It’s enough to get your legs moving.

“Okay,” you whisper.

You follow closely on his heels, your fingertips grazing the bottom of his flannel, close enough to grab on if you need to. Your heart is galloping a thousand miles an hour with every step you take, but his woodsy scent is just enough to quiet down the yelling in your head.

When you get to the edge of the sliding doors, you freeze when they open to a busy grocery store. The loud noises of rustling bags and screeching wheels of carts is enough to make you want to run the opposite way.

Joel must sense your worry because he brushes his arm next to yours and looks down at you with knitted eyebrows. “S’alright. I’m gonna be right by your side every step of the way. You can do this.”

You can do this.

Looking up into his syrupy brown eyes gives you that little bit of strength to get you moving again. And when he grabs a shopping cart and beckons you to follow him, you do.

“Thanks for believing in me, Joel,” you say graciously.

“Always.”

You keep right by his side, the fluorescent lights feeling like spotlights shining down on you. It’s like every single person shifts their eyes toward you, faces distorted and smiling like they’re laughing at your fear. The music that filters out of the speakers makes your ears ring. Children run rampant around a restless mother, a tall man with a backwards baseball cap reaches across a barrel full of pineapples, and it’s as if he’s reaching for your wrist.

Without thinking, you grab on to the end of Joel’s flannel and tug it toward you, digging your fingers into the soft cotton as if it’s a safety blanket. The smell of fresh firewood and green grass envelops your senses and for the moment, everything becomes a little more still.

“You keep tuggin’ on my flannel and you’re gonna pull it right off,” Joel chuckles, giving you a small smile as he looks back at you.

“Oh, sorry,” you apologize, dropping your fingers as if you just upset him.

“Don’t gotta apologize. You jus’ hang on if that’s what you need right now.”

You slowly reach back up and flex your fingers around the blue material, peeking up hesitantly beneath your lashes.

“Your flannel, it smells like the forest. Reminds me of the mountains in Washington. It umm… it calms me down.”

“Well then, it’s yours, sweetheart.” Those pools of honey liquid melt you on the spot; his warm smile takes the edge of fear off your chest for just that moment. And when that whiff of autumn from his white t-shirt floats through the air, it’s like he saved you all over again.

He drops his hands from the shopping cart and starts unbuttoning his flannel, carefully shrugging it off his broad shoulders as you stare blankly up at him. And then, he’s holding out the faded blue material to you.

“No, I can’t. I’m fine. I—.” You take a step back and press a palm his way.

“Here, put it on,” he insists, stretching his arm until you have no option but to take it.

“Are you sure?” you squeak out, unsure of yourself.

“Mhm. Want you to feel safe. And if this makes you feel a little calmer, want you to wear it.”

Hesitating, you carefully pluck it from his reach and end up sliding your hand against the back of his, feeling a tingle of a spark from his worn, calloused skin.

“Thanks, Joel,” you whisper above the monotone music playing over the store speakers.

“Anytime, sweetheart. Anytime.” He nods his head toward the produce section and smiles. “C’mon.”

You stay right beside him, almost flush to his hip with every wavering stride you take, but Joel doesn’t seem to mind. No, he just keeps his brown eyes flickering over to you every minute that ticks by, encouraging you with that kind smile of his, telling you with the curve of his lips that you’re doing so well. You can almost hear that Southern drawl sliding off his tongue.

I’m so proud of you, sweetheart. Doin’ so good. Look at you, bein’ the bravest girl I know.

Even though he’s not verbally saying those things at this second, you can tell he’s thinking it with the way his doe eyes soften every time they look your way. You can tell by how warm and kind his essence is, how his smile seems to send a flicker of sunshine your way even behind a thick wall of grey clouds.

He’s just… safe. You feel so safe around him, and that’s something you’ve never felt in your entire life. You’ve never been safe. But with him, you just might be.

The clicking of heels and the stare of curious eyes makes you physically cringe and tense your shoulders, thinking one of them will snatch you away yet again. You keep your mind busy by counting the threads of Joel’s blue flannel, training your eyes on his slicked back tan curls, meticulously staring at every single strand that’s wrapped in a silver glow. It seems to help, gives the impression that maybe you can do this. And you are.

At times when he strays too far, you reach for him unintentionally. It’s like your hand is magnetized to the feel of his cotton shirt, your fingers curling into the thick material. And again, he doesn’t seem to mind, only smiles and goes on with gathering groceries.

He doesn’t forget the caramel, doesn’t forget to grab a few bottles of vanilla creamer and extra sugar. In fact, those were the things he went for first.

He doesn’t forget things. Doesn’t forget what you wanted. And that in itself proves something. What, you’re not sure. But it proves he cares, that you do know.

You follow him to the produce section and watch him shift his focus on picking the best meat, promising to get the best steak for dinner. You haven’t had steak in years, and you don’t doubt for one second that Joel can cook a mean one.

Averting your eyes from his pensive stare and flexed jaw, your gaze wanders over to the cereal aisle, and you suddenly have the biggest craving for a box of Cocoa Pebbles.

Saliva gathers in your mouth as you think of how sugary and good and delightful a mouthful of chocolatey goodness would taste right now. Without thinking, you pull on the end of his shirt, stretching the material mindlessly as your brain transfixes on the mountain of sugar just a few feet away. It’d be so easy to go grab a box, but your feet won’t move, your words won’t form because you’re terrified to be alone for even a second in a grocery store of all places.

With one more slight tug on the edge of his t-shirt, he turns with a soft expression and questions, “What is it, sweetheart?” No anger or hint of annoyance in his Southern drawl, just pure warmth.

Your voice stays silent, your immense stare fixed on that aisle of sugar and thousands of calories you’d happily inhale. You’re sure your frail body would thank you, even if it was just junk. Joel’s eyes trace over yours, following to where yours end, and then a small chuckle leaves his lips. “You wanna go grab some?”

“Yeah.”

“Go on then. Why don’t you go pick some out?” He nods to the empty aisle, encouraging you on. But you stand there like your feet are cemented to the shiny floor, and you have no intention of moving.

Fear pulses through your blood, and anxiety is trickling down your spine. Joel takes a step forward and drawls in a low but soothing voice, “S’okay. I’ll be right here watchin’. You can do it, sweetheart.”

You look up and see warm pools of honey staring down at you and a smile that makes your knees feel weak. He’s so fucking soft with you.

Nodding, you take a step forward and then another, dragging your feet toward the aisle of boxes of sugary goodness. The further you get away from him, the more anxious you get.

What if someone takes you, gets too close to your liking, grabs your arm and drags you away? Looking back toward Joel, he gives you a small nod, telling you it’s okay. You’re okay.

Turning back to your task at hand, you start scanning the shelves, your appetite suddenly stimulated as you scavenge for what you’re looking for. Saliva is coating the back of your tongue, your stomach rumbling. There’s too many choices, too many kinds you want.

When you finally spot a box of Cocoa Pebbles, you see two more kinds you want. Lucky Charms and Cinnamon Toast Crunch sit right next to each other, calling your name for you to take them. Gritting your teeth together, you make a choice. You want all three, so you dip into your impulses and grab them all up. Hopefully Joel doesn’t mind.

A middle-aged man passes you in the row, and your muscles tighten around you, making you squish the boxes together in your arms. You focus on deep breaths, telling yourself he’s not going to hurt you. Not every man is out to get you, but it certainly feels like that now. Maybe one day you’ll be able to break the cycle of thinking that.

Quickly passing the stranger, you prance up to Joel, all three cereal boxes shoved together in your arms, just like you’re a kid in a candy store. You hear him chuckling before you lift your eyes up to him, and then he lets out a belly-aching laugh.

“Look at you with three boxes. You really do have a sweet tooth, don’t ya?”

You feel your cheeks grow warm as you set the boxes down in the cart. Nervous laughter filters out of your mouth. “I couldn’t quite decide what I wanted. I can put some back if…”

“No. I’m jus’ teasin’, sweetheart. You get as many kinds as you want. Ain’t got a limit with me.” His wide grin and crow’s feet makes a small smile tug at the corner of your lips.

“Thanks,” you say shyly. “I guess it’s been a while since I’ve had any cereal, or really any kind of sugar. So, this is different. I’m not used to any of this.”

Understanding hits his brown eyes and his jaw clenches as something tosses through his mind. “Well, we’re jus’ gonna have to change that, ain’t we?”

Pursing your lips, you nod. “Call me a work in progress.”

He gives you a soft smile and wraps a large hand around the cart. “You’re doin’ jus’ fine, sweetheart. Makin’ plenty of progress jus’ by steppin’ foot in this store today. Proud of you.”

He’s proud of you.

“I wouldn’t have even made it into the store if it wasn’t for you…”

He takes a long look at you and just stands there for a few seconds, searching for the right words to say. “It was all you, sweetheart. You jus’ needed a little push in the right direction and someone to be there for you.”

“Thank you for being there when I needed someone, Joel…” you whisper, your eyes a little misty with emotions running rampant through your body.

It looks like he wants to reach out, but he just grips the handle of the shopping cart tighter and tips his head. “‘Course, sweetheart. Whenever you need me.”

Whenever you need me. The words get stuck on repeat in your brain as you follow him through the rest of the grocery store. You think you’d follow him anywhere.

When you’re all checked out and the bagged groceries are sitting inside the cart, you realize Joel’s flannel is still wrapped around you. You don’t want to take it off necessarily. It smells like him, and it’s so warm and cozy and basically drenched in forest air. But, it’s not yours. You slowly start to shed the warm layer, but he stops you before you can get it past your elbows.

“Keep it, sweetheart.” He presses a palm out, pausing you in your tracks.

“Don’t you want it back?” you ask with knitted brows.

“Nah, you go ahead and keep it,” he answers. Before you can walk out the door, he turns and smiles warmly at you. “Besides, it looks better on you.” And then he continues on, like he didn’t just give you a compliment.

It looks better on you.

You hug the blue flannel back against your body, breathing in the very essence of him that seems to calm every single nerve in your body.

He gave you his flannel.

Once the groceries are all packed away in the back of the truck and both you and Joel are buckled up, he turns to you before driving out of the parking lot. “So, you wanna go get ice cream?”

“Ice cream?”

“Mhm. Ice cream,” he confirms.

“Whatever for?” you giggle.

“Don’t you like ice cream?” he inquires, flicking his brown eyes over your way.

“Well, yes. But…”

“I think brave girls deserve ice cream. Don’t you?”

You study him, looking for any sign of lies in the crow’s feet that pull tightly around the edges of his chocolate brown eyes, but you find none. He isn’t messing with you or your mind; he’s being completely sincere when he uses the word brave. “You think I’m a brave girl?”

“The bravest.” He smiles, his eyes twinkling like golden orbs under the grey skies, and it just confirms how warm he is.

You gawk at him, your lips parting as you just stare and stare at him. He thinks you’re brave, and he wants to take you for ice cream? Who even is this man?

“What?” He catches you staring and probably wonders why you’re just marveling over him. He must not realize you’re completely mesmerized by every single thing he does.

No one’s ever treated you so human. Like you’re important and matter. Joel sees you. He really sees you. Your layers and all. Just like transparent glass.

“You just surprise me, that's all,” you answer hesitantly, eyes still focused on his tanned skin and wrinkles that line like maps across his face. Something you could trace easily. “You’re not exactly what I expected, I guess.”

“And what’d you expect?” He quirks an eyebrow up as the engine hums under your seat, his eyes making their way back to your face.

“I don’t know. I guess I didn’t think you’d be so… kind.”

He curls his lips into a sideways smile while he taps his thumb against the leather steering wheel, eyes still focused directly on you. “I try my best, sweetheart.”

“You don’t even have to. You just are. Just like that first night I saw you sitting there across the room. Your eyes seemed so… kind.”

Everything seems to quiet down for a moment, only the sound of your heart, the slow motion of the tires hitting the wet pavement, the thick tension coursing through the air, and Joel’s clear brown eyes that are smothering your insides. They speak louder than tidal waves, those deep brown irises. And right now, they’re making your heart clench in your chest.

He clears his throat and then the tension dissipates. “So, how ‘bout that ice cream?” He wraps his large palm around the steering wheel and smiles over, making you mirror one right back to him.

“I’d love some ice cream.”

“Attagirl. Let’s go get you sugared up, then.” As he pulls out of the shopping center and drives down the smooth road, you giggle silently and watch the trickles of raindrops drip down the side of the passenger window.

“Have you ever tried espresso ice cream?” you ask, shifting your weight so you can see the question roll over his brown eyes.

“As a matter of fact, I haven’t.”

“I think you’d like it,” you chirp.

He turns his head and looks at you, pulling his lips into a smirk. “Reckon I would. That what you recommend?”

“Mhm,” you hum. “Since you like coffee so much, might be your new favorite flavor.”

He huffs out a laugh. “Well, looks like that’s what I’m gonna have to get. Let’s see what other recommendations you have for me.”

As you lean against the window, you place the back of your hand over your mouth to cover the blush that's building in your cheeks. Who knew this is where you’d be in the middle of Wednesday afternoon this time of year? In a truck, wearing Joel’s flannel, getting ice cream, being free of your captors… And all you can smell is the fresh woodsy scent of him surrounding you.

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#joel miller x reader #joel miller #joel miller x you #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller the last of us #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller angst #healing fic

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moon-lit-petal · 1 month ago

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From Chaos to Comfort Pt1

George Weasley x Fem!Hufflepuff!Reader

Summery: George becomes acutely awear that sometimes, people aren't the biggest fans of his and Freds pranks.

Warning: enemies to lovers(?) George fell hard and fast. I tried to do a slow burn but you can tell I gave up lol. Also, Y/N is a little mean to George Ngl

Word count: 2.5k

Notes: I have almost 12k words written already xD But after my 5k Neville fic, I figured I'd take this one a little slower and give myself time to proofread and make adjustments, for now? Chapter One!!also georges face in this Gif omfg

Part 2 Part 3 Part 4

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The quiet halls of Hogwarts were where Y/N felt most at ease—especially in the dimly lit corners of the library or the serene grounds at night, where the only sounds were the wind rustling through the trees or the occasional hoot of an owl. As a reserved Hufflepuff, she preferred these moments of tranquility, keeping out of the spotlight and far from the bustling excitement that so often dominated the school.

Unfortunately for her, Fred and George Weasley didn’t share her preference for peace and quiet. In fact, their favorite hobby seemed to be drawing attention to those who tried to hide from it—particularly Y/N.

On this particular evening, Y/N had settled down in the library with a stack of books, hoping to get some quiet reading done before the day ended. The library had a hushed atmosphere, with only the occasional whisper or the soft turning of pages to disturb the stillness.

But that all changed in an instant.

One by one, the books she had carefully chosen began to glow faintly before bursting into song—loud, off-key, and echoing through the entire library. It started with the first book in her stack, a thick volume of Transfiguration spells, which suddenly belted out a shrill tune:

"♬ I’m a magical tome, filled with spells and rhymes, cast a charm on me, and I'll sing for all times! ♬"

The next book joined in, followed by another, until her entire pile of books formed a chorus. Y/N could feel the eyes of everyone in the library turning toward her as the cacophony grew louder and louder. Laughter rippled through the students around her, and even Madam Pince, the strict librarian, seemed too flustered to immediately react.

Y/N's face flushed a deep red as she frantically tried to shut the books, but they wouldn't stop singing no matter how many times she slammed them shut. The laughter and whispers grew louder with each failed attempt. Her humiliation only deepened when she spotted the identical grins of Fred and George Weasley from across the library, clearly enjoying their handiwork.

That was the last straw. Furiously shoving the singing books into her bag, Y/N stormed out of the library, her cheeks burning with embarrassment. She could still hear the faint echoes of the enchanted books singing behind her as she hurried through the corridors, ignoring the amused glances and hushed snickers from passing students.

"I swear, I’m never speaking to either of them again," she muttered to herself, her fists clenched in anger. She couldn't even tell Fred and George apart half the time, which only made it worse. It was easier to avoid them both altogether, and that's exactly what she intended to do.

But deep down, a part of her wondered if it would be that simple. After all, it was Fred and George Weasley—masters of mischief. Avoiding them might prove to be an impossible task.

----------

In the days following the library prank, George couldn’t shake the memory of Y/N’s reaction. While Fred had laughed it off, pleased with how the prank had turned out, George had noticed something different—something that stuck with him more than he expected. He had seen the hurt flash across Y/N’s face, the way her cheeks flushed, not just with anger, but with humiliation.

At first, he tried to brush it off. Pranks were what he and Fred did. They brought laughter, lightened the mood, and sometimes, yes, embarrassed a few people in the process. It was all in good fun, wasn’t it? But George couldn't quite convince himself this time. For some reason, the image of Y/N storming out of the library, her fists clenched in frustration, kept playing in his mind.

Fred, on the other hand, barely gave it another thought, moving on to plotting their next grand joke. George, though, found himself paying more attention to Y/N in the days that followed. It wasn’t something he did consciously at first. He’d catch a glimpse of her in the corridors, her head down, her pace quick, always avoiding eye contact with others. In the Great Hall, she often sat at the very edge of the Hufflepuff table, picking at her food while quietly observing the lively chatter around her, as if she were a part of the scene but always apart from it.

The more George noticed her, the more his curiosity grew. Why did she keep to herself so much? Why did she seem to go out of her way to avoid people—even more so after their prank in the library? And why, of all things, did her quietness intrigue him?

During one particular afternoon in the library, George found himself sitting a few tables away from Y/N. She was engrossed in a thick book, her brows furrowed in concentration. He watched as she absentmindedly twirled a strand of hair around her finger, completely absorbed in whatever she was reading. There was something peaceful about her in those moments—a calmness that contrasted sharply with the chaos of his own life.

Fred, of course, remained blissfully unaware of George's growing fascination. He saw Y/N as just another target for their pranks, and to him, the twins’ antics were a way of livening up the mundane routines of school life. But George found himself torn. The more he observed Y/N, the more he realized that there was something about her that went beyond the surface—something he admired. She didn’t seek attention, didn’t thrive in the spotlight like so many others did. She seemed content in her own little world, even if that world often seemed lonely.

But Y/N, still furious about the library prank, had no interest in any of the Weasleys—least of all George, who she still couldn’t distinguish from Fred. As far as she was concerned, the twins were a package deal of trouble and mischief, and the less time she spent around them, the better. Whenever she caught sight of George, she would quickly turn the other way or disappear down a different corridor, determined to avoid them both at all costs.

George, however, wasn’t ready to give up just yet. The more Y/N distanced herself from him, the more he found himself wanting to understand her, to know what lay beneath that quiet exterior. Maybe it was guilt, maybe it was curiosity, or maybe—just maybe—it was something more.

----------

The days at Hogwarts had grown increasingly tense for Y/N. No matter how hard she tried, it seemed impossible to escape the pranks that followed her like a shadow—pranks she was certain came from both Weasley twins. Whether it was her quill turning into a puff of glitter mid-essay or her robes suddenly sprouting a cascade of flowers, Y/N felt like a constant target. Every laugh that echoed in the hallways after a prank only deepened her frustration.

And George, always nearby—watching her, noticing her—was no exception in her mind. She never saw him without assuming he was plotting alongside Fred. Every time he appeared, she would tense up, bracing for whatever prank they’d cooked up next. To Y/N, they were the same—partners in crime who found amusement in humiliating others, especially her.

Unbeknownst to Y/N, George had slowly started pulling away from the pranks, his growing guilt making it harder to join in on Fred’s antics. He had tried to distance himself, letting Fred take the lead while he hung back, watching Y/N more than participating in the mischief. But to Y/N, it didn’t matter. She saw him as guilty by association, and every time she spotted him, her resentment flared.

The tension between them simmered under the surface, waiting to boil over. That moment came one afternoon when Y/N, in a hurry to get to her next class, rounded a corner and collided with someone—George.

The impact was sudden, and Y/N’s heart leapt into her throat. Her body tensed, and she flinched instinctively, taking a step back as if expecting an explosion of fireworks or an instant prank to follow. Her breath caught in her chest as she braced for whatever humiliation would come next.

But nothing happened.

George, equally surprised by the sudden collision, raised his hands in apology. “I’m sorry, I didn’t see—”

Before he could finish, he saw it—the way Y/N had recoiled at his touch, the way her eyes flickered with distrust, her whole body stiffening as if she were preparing for yet another prank. His stomach dropped at the realization.

“Y/N, I—” George began, but the words faltered. He could see the wariness in her expression, the way she avoided his gaze, the way her shoulders remained rigid, ready for disappointment. His chest tightened with a pang of guilt. She saw him as no different from Fred, no different from the pranks that had made her the center of unwanted attention.

Y/N didn’t give him a chance to explain. Without a word, she brushed past him, her shoulder grazing his as she hurried away, her head down.

George stood there for a moment, frozen in place, watching her retreating figure disappear down the corridor. Her reaction stung more than he’d expected. He hadn’t meant to scare her, hadn’t meant to make her feel like this. But how could he undo all the pranks that had come before, all the times she had flinched at the mere sight of him?

Fred’s voice echoed in his mind—“Come on, George, it’s all in good fun!”—but it no longer felt like fun to George. Not when he saw how deeply it had affected her. He clenched his fists, determined to show Y/N that he was different, that he wasn’t what she thought he was.

But for now, the tension between them lingered, thick and unspoken, a rift caused by misunderstandings and misidentification—one that George desperately wanted to bridge, even if Y/N wasn’t ready to see the difference yet.

----------

It was another dreary Monday morning in Potions, and the last thing Y/N wanted was to be paired with any of the Weasley twins. But, as fate would have it, Professor Snape announced the pairings, and her heart sank when she heard George’s name called alongside hers.

Y/N shot a glance at George, her lips pressed into a thin line. He walked over to her, offering a tentative smile. "Guess we're partners, huh?"

Y/N barely looked at him, focusing on gathering the ingredients from the shelf. "Looks that way."

George rubbed the back of his neck, sensing her reluctance. "Listen, I know you probably think I’m going to mess this up somehow, but I promise I’ll be serious about this. No pranks."

She finally turned to him, raising an eyebrow. “Is that supposed to be reassuring?”

George chuckled, trying to ease the tension. “Well, considering my track record, yes. I really do want to help.”

Y/N sighed and handed him a few ingredients. “Just don’t blow anything up, and we’ll be fine.”

As they started brewing, the conversation remained minimal, but George kept trying to break the silence.

“You know,” he said, stirring the cauldron, “I’m actually pretty good at Potions. Don’t tell Fred, though. He’ll never let me live it down.”

Y/N gave him a sidelong glance, clearly skeptical. “Right.”

“Seriously,” George said, trying to sound casual. “You’d be surprised.”

Y/N couldn’t help the small smirk that tugged at her lips, though she quickly hid it. “I’ll believe it when I see it.”

As the potion bubbled away, George continued to sneak glances at her, noticing the small expressions she tried to hide. There was more to her than her quiet demeanor, and it only fueled his curiosity.

“I’m not as bad as you think,” he said after a while, his tone more sincere this time.

Y/N didn’t respond immediately, focusing on measuring the next ingredient. “You still think this is all a game, don’t you? Even now.”

George’s smile faded, and for a moment, he looked unsure. “No,” he said quietly. “I really don’t.”

Y/N paused at his words, glancing at him again, this time with a hint of surprise. But before she could say anything more, the potion bubbled over, and they both scrambled to fix it, their brief moment of connection slipping away in the chaos.

----------

Later that week, Y/N was sitting in the library, trying to concentrate on her studies. The library was her refuge, a place where she could escape the noise and chaos of the school—and, more importantly, avoid the Weasley twins.

But just as she was getting lost in the words on the page, a familiar voice interrupted her thoughts.

“Mind if I sit here?”

She looked up, annoyed to see George standing there with an uncertain smile. “The library’s big enough,” she replied coolly. “I’m sure you can find another seat.”

George hesitated, but instead of leaving, he sat down across from her. “I wasn’t sure if you’d talk to me after Potions.”

Y/N scowled, clearly frustrated. “Did it ever occur to you that I don’t want to talk to you?”

“I figured as much,” George admitted, leaning back in his chair. “But I also figured it wouldn’t hurt to try.”

She huffed, focusing on her book again, though she wasn’t really reading. George’s presence was too distracting. He wasn’t like Fred. There was something quieter about him, something that made her defenses waver ever so slightly, though she hated admitting it.

After a few moments of silence, George spoke again. “I’m sorry for everything. I know Fred and I have caused a lot of trouble for you, and...well, you’re probably sick of hearing it, but I really didn’t mean to make things so awful.”

Y/N’s eyes flickered up to him, and she could tell from his expression that he was being sincere. But she wasn’t ready to forgive so easily.

“You think an apology will fix everything?” she asked, her voice sharp. “You and Fred don’t get it. You don’t care how it affects people, do you?”

George frowned, sitting up straighter. “That’s not true. I do care. Fred… well, he doesn’t think before he acts, but I see what it does to you. And I don’t like it.”

Y/N narrowed her eyes, skeptical but slightly softened by his words. “Then why haven’t you done anything to stop him?”

George hesitated, looking away for a moment. “I guess I didn’t realize how bad it was for you until recently. But I’m trying now. I’m not like that, I dont mean to be. I want to be better.”

Y/N’s expression softened, if only slightly, as she studied him. She could see the sincerity in his eyes, but she wasn’t ready to let her guard down yet.

“Then prove it,” she said, her voice quieter now. “Stop making excuses and prove you’re different.”

George met her gaze, determination flickering in his eyes. “I will.”

They sat there in silence for a few more moments, the tension between them palpable. Y/N finally returned to her book, and George didn’t push the conversation any further. But something had shifted between them—a tiny crack in the wall Y/N had built around herself, and George had noticed it too.

Part 2 Part 3 Part 4

#fanfic #harry potter #hogwarts #george weasley #george weasley x reader #george weasley x you #george weasley x y/n #George #harry potter fanfiction #george weasley fanfiction #hp #hp fanfic #hp fanfiction #harry potter fanfic #hp fandom #Puff's Writing #x reader #x y/n #x you

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stargirlrchive · 2 years ago

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ocean eyes: chapter three ✩ jake sully

masterlist ⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ ocean eyes masterlist

summary: widow!jake sully x female!reader, 10 year age-gap. jake is lowkey sunshine <3 reader is grumpy! arranged marriage/marriage of convenience, eventual smut, arguing, Jake being a flirt, that’s all + wc - 2,424

comments: part three lovers, reader x ronal interactions are my fav to write fr so this was fun, also i know this has been more reader!centric as opposed to reader x jake but just wait ;) chapter four is literally my favorite from the whole series i am so excited, kk bye <3

previous ✩ next

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚

You walked into the marui, Tsireya instantly running into your arms as she cried. The younger girl was at times too sensitive for you. Still you wrapped your arms around her, pulling her closer, “Are you okay?”

“Yes syulang, I am fine. Calm down.”

She took a deep breath, removing herself as she looked over you once more. Her ears pinned back roughly in fear as her mother entered their home. “You are so irresponsible!”

You huffed out an annoyed breath, removing Tsireya from you as you moved deeper into the home. “Yes sister, whatever you say.”

Ronal despised how much you dismissed her, her frustration with your lack of care finally reaching its boiling point. “Tsireya, Ao’nung- out!”

“Sa’nok-”

“Out!”

Both of the younger children scurried away, scared to be caught in the crossfire. “You have no regard for anyone but yourself! You are so careless! Stupid girl!”

“I am not a child, Ronal! Stop treating me as such!”

“No, you are far worse! You behave worse than any child I have ever raised!”

Your anger was rising quickly, causing the deepest throb to pound on your temple, ringing angrily in your ears. “I do not know what you want from me sister. When I was younger you wanted me to step out of my shell, now that I am happy, doing as I please you find issue in it. You find issues in everything I do!”

“Yes because you are too wild, you do not understand responsibilities because Tonowari and I have let you run amuck for far too long!”

An angry hiss left your lips, “How many times do I have to tell you? You are not my mother! I was fifteen when you took me in, I had accomplished my Iknimaya well before you began to acknowledge my existence again. I do not need you to mother me!”

Ronal was not sure when her relationship with you got this way, when had your strings tangled so horribly that neither of you recognized the other? Unwilling to see eye to eye. “You have changed so much from when you were a child. I do not recognize you.”

Despite wanting it to, her words hurt you. “You choose not to see me. Refuse to acknowledge that I want to be my own person.”

“Being your own person entails you to be selfish? You hurt the people that care for you! And if that is who you are, then no. I refuse to get to know this new person.”

Selfish.

Her words stung, all you wanted was the attention she ripped away from you when she left your home. You missed her terribly, and since then never found your place with her again. “You will continue to fight this, but know you will be mated. Whether that is with JakeSully or someone else. But I will make sure of it, I want you out of my home as soon as possible.”

Hot tears instantly fell from your eyes and this time it was Ronal who walked out on you.

Jake nervously made his way to his family’s marui, his palms were sweating uncomfortably as he thought of how he should bring up the subject with his children. It had been a few years since Neytiri had left their life, and though they had learned to live without her, he wasn’t sure how they’d take the news.

Worried he’d need to make arrangements for them to leave once more. He sighed quietly, nerves bubbling in his chest as he walked in. His youngest, Tuk, instantly ran into his arms. “Sempul, you’re back!”

He scooped her up in his arms, smiling as she clung to him, “Told you I would be back quickly.”

He moved deeper into the home before setting her down, “Sully meeting, fall in.”

All his kids crowded around him, curiosity filling them as they saw their father fidget with nerves. “You know back in the forest, as Olo’eyktan I needed to make decisions that benefited the clan?”

He was answered by nods, “Well-Tonowari has the same responsibility as I do. He must make decisions with the assistance of the Tsahik, to make sure the safety of their people is ensured.”

Tuk’s lower lip wobbled, “Have they changed their mind?”

Jake instantly brought her into him, flattening her hair as he tried to soothe her. “No babygirl, but they have asked something of me. And I have agreed. But-”

He let out a deep breath, “If you all do not want me to, I can back out and we will take our leave once again.”

Lo’ak was the one to ask, “What do they want, sir?”

“They need to be sure that I am loyal to the clan, that just as they are welcoming us, we are doing the same. Holding loyalty for if any issue ever came to be they need to know I will stand with them.”

“And how will you do that?”

“By taking a mate.”

He waited with baited breath, trying to memorize the micro-expressions on his children’s faces, “Oh.”

“Like I said-I can back out, and we can leave.”

“I don’t want to leave, Sempul.”

Tuk laid her head on his shoulder before she continued speaking, “I like it here.”

Lo’ak stared at Neteyam, he didn’t know how to feel but he knew his older brother's stance on the matter would be the correct one. His expression was unreadable, “With who, sir?”

Jake’s eyes fell to his oldest, “Ronal’s sister.”

Kiri laughed as Neteyam sucked in a breath, “I heard she’s more reckless than Lo’ak, sir.”

It caused the four of them to laugh, Lo’ak sulking in the corner as his oldest brother teased him. “If you believe it is the right thing sir, we do too.”

Jake let out a quiet breath, sending a smile to his oldest three. “We still have a few weeks to go, give you some time to get used to her, yes? And if any of you change your mind, say the word and we’re gone.”

The night after that slipped away comfortably, and in the quiet of the night when his children were asleep Jake made his way towards the beach. He sank into the cool sand and called upon Neytiri, asking her to give him a sign that this was the right thing to do.

He was about to head back when a small glowing figure in the water came towards him. He instantly recognized the shape. An atokirina.

Jake let out a deep puff of air, a heavy weight lifting from his shoulders as the seed swam around him, his fingers dipped into the water and the atokirina tickled his fingers. After a few seconds it retreated, floating deeper into the water.

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚

You spent the majority of the night tossing and turning, Ronal’s words unable to let sleep come to you peacefully. It was short circuits of bliss, being ripped away by nightmares as her words taunted you. You sighed quietly, the sun barely peeking out by the horizon and you decided it would be best to just start your day. Changing into some of your more comfortable pieces of clothing, deciding to take a quick swim before fetching the Olo’eyktan.

You tiptoed out quietly, not wanting to wake anyone. Once you stepped out of the marui, your pace increased. Your feet digging into the warm sand as you sighed quietly.

You could tell by the tides that the day would be beautiful. Your feet dipped into the water before diving in.

The coolness shocked your senses awake and you couldn't help the giddiness that nestled into your chest. You swam deeper into the freshwater, a small laugh leaving your nose as one of the ilu’s nuzzled their head against your own. You signed to the animal, ‘Hello.’

The animal clacked back at you, only swimming backup to feel the warmth of the sun. Your eyes locked on the blur of dark blue, hands on his hips as he watched you. Your eyes rolled slightly, dipping back into the water to swim for a bit.

Jake’s day had started early too but unlike you the Toruk Makto was well rested. He laughed quietly when he noticed you turned away from him, dipping into the water once again. He decided to wait, he did not have much to do besides learning whatever it is you need to teach him.

Nearly ten minutes had passed and Jake was starting to feel a bit foolish, thinking you must have swam away. He sighed quietly going to turn around and head back to his marui but you reappeared once again. “Well, come in.”

Your voice dripped with annoyance, Jake once again found joy in how he pushed your buttons despite barely knowing you. His feet were moving quickly into the water, it was cold, shocking his senses and it caused a shiver to run down his back. His teeth began to clank roughly the closer he got to you, and it caused a laugh to rip from your throat. “Is the water too cold for you, Toruk Makto?”

“Just a bit.”

“Well, you better get used to it. I enjoy getting my chores done early in the morning.”

Your jabs did nothing to his ego, he enjoyed it actually, “Very well. Do me.”

Your mouth dropped in shock, eyes narrowing in on him as you splashed him with the cold water, “Stupid man!”

“You called me a chore, so let’s get it done.”

You huffed quietly, turning away from him before clicking your tongue softly, an ilu rising from the water. The docile animal nuzzled its head against your hand, chirping happily at the attention, “This is an ilu.”

“Really?”

You looked back at him, throwing him an angry glare. “Go on, mount her.”

“Can we go ahead and skip to the Tsurak?”

You rolled your eyes, “No we cannot. They are very difficult animals to tame and you are not ready.”

That jab did annoy Jake, only a bit, but still. He scoffed quietly, “I claimed a Toruk, I can tame a Tsurak.”

Maybe it was your annoyance with the whole situation, with your sister and Tonowari, with the man next to you, but you wanted to see him fail. You wanted to rub it into his face that he was in fact, not ready. “Very well, Jake Sully.”

He was a bit suspicious at your willingness to oblige but decided against commenting on it, excited to show off to you. “Either way, the Tsurak do not swim by here, you need to mount an ilu so we can get there.”

You swiftly connected your queue to an ilu that was swimming by, mounting the animal with ease. Jake followed your motions, feeling the strength of the animal course through him. You said nothing else, only moving forward through the water. He was glad you were ahead of him, you missed the way his body jolted roughly as the animal began to move. Maybe he was getting a bit ahead of himself, but he was never one to back down from a challenge.

The swim to the Tsaruk was quiet, the only noise was the sound of the water crashing against your bodies. You cut the Tsaheylu bond, diving into the water for a brief second before coming back up.

“We are here. Off.”

Jake tried his best to follow your motions, but dismounting his ilu was far less graceful than yours. It was only for a brief second but he felt nerves bubble in his chest. “Since it is only the two of us, I will need your help to catch one. Which will only make this all the more difficult for you.”

“Thank you for your words of encouragement.” His words dripped with sarcasm, and it caused your eyes to roll. “I am not here to coddle you. I am here to teach.”

Jake said nothing else, just watching you swim by the animals, “Much like your bird, a skimwing will pick you. By trying to attack you, so be ready.”

In the next instant you were swimming away from Jake and he was surrounded by the large animals. The majority of them scattered away, only nipping in his direction lightly before leaving. But there was one, larger than most, that began to circle Jake, nipping harshly in his direction. Jake’s ear barely missed and his heart started to thump roughly against his chest. “Okay! Now you must grip on the handle, and use the rope to tie yourself to the animal!”

You had begun to swim towards Jake, ready to pounce on the animal to deter it from thrashing around. Jake listened to your instructions, gripping tightly onto the handle before throwing half his weight on. The animal trashed around, screeching in annoyance as Jake tried to wrap his wrist. You jumped on the animal's lower end, trapping its lower wings between your legs, “Hurry up!”

Jake grunted in exhaustion, he was not as lean as he had once been, the task proving to be more difficult than he liked. With a final wrap of his wrist, Jake threw his leg over the animal, “Go!”

You released the animal's wings and he was off in the next instant, “Let your legs fall flat against him before you dip back into the water!”

Jake tried to follow your instructions, after easily positioning himself when the animal took flight, but he lost his footing when dipping into the water. The leather strap unwrapped from his wrist as he got dragged deeper and deeper. He felt the sting as he finally released his hand, swimming up quickly to try and fill his lungs with air. “Fuck!”

He raised his hand, it was raw with cuts, throbbing aggressively in his palm.

“Are you alright?” Your voice was dripping with your amusement, you weren't even trying to hide the smile on your face.

“Peachy.”

Your face scrunched up in confusion, not understanding the word that fell from his mouth. After calming down he looked at you again, his eyes glossed over a bit as the sun glimmered off the teal of your skin.

Jake could not place what it was, but he wanted to impress you. He felt the need to prove himself to you. Maybe it was the way you were unwilling to bend the knee to anyone’s will and he enjoyed the challenge. So the words slipped off his tongue as he watched you, “Again.”

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magneto-was-fucking-right · 11 months ago

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The Ghost Next Door - Chapter 4

Prompt: After suffering an almost lethal injury in combat, Simon "Ghost" Riley expected a dull, and uneventful leave back at his shitty apartment. His new next-door neighbor ruins his plans. Pairing: Simon "Ghost" Riley x Reader (named Riley Thomas for plot purposes)

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 5

Disclaimer: slow burn; neighbor!Simon; will eventually contain very graphic descriptions of smut;

Chapter summary: In which Simon fixes his neighbor's leaky faucet and thinks about fixing something else... Word Count: 1.4k

When Riley Thomas had walked into the building’s unreliable elevator that night, barely beating its closing rickety doors, she hadn’t expected to see Simon already inside, sulking. His black hoodie and faded jeans were just as soaked as her woolen jumper and bell-bottoms, her hair in significantly worse disarray as she wiped the rain drops from her forehead, cheeks rosy from the cold.

The young woman hadn’t seen him for almost two whole weeks, the scarce discreet noises stemming from the thin walls hardly giving away his routine – she left too early in the morning to notice signs of movement and usually returned well into the evening, precluding the chance to ever see him return from any possible outings. When she did hear something – anything at all – it was usually late at night, as his tossing and turning in bed caused the mattress’ springs to creak noisily. She knew at least that their rooms fell on adjacent parts of their respective homes (not that she cared), and that he most likely shared her terrible insomnia. If she hadn’t met Simon, she’d think she had no neighbor at all, a vacant apartment next door inhabited solely by a ghost. Mostly silent, eerily quiet.

“Hey! Haven’t seen you in a while.” Her cheeks reddened and she hoped she didn’t look as breathless as she sounded, the quick run from the grocery store to the building tiring her out.

He nodded once in acknowledgement, barely eyeing her, a Chinese food container secured in his large hands. Riley’s smile faltered slowly as she realized he wasn’t planning on indulging her chit-chat. As her hand moved to the elevator buttons, fingers purplish and swollen from the cold, Simon grunted:

“Already pressed’em.” She blushed once again, feeling anxious sweat form in every pore as the elevator doors shut.

“Right…Sorry.” A nervous giggle made its way out her mouth, and she took a deep breath before attempting a new social interaction.

She looked up, observing his side profile as discreetly as possible, eyes fixed on his black facemask.

“Can I ask you something?”

Simon sighed before replying.

“No.”

“Why do you always wear a mask? Got covid or something?” She deliberately ignored his moody reply.

“Would you stay away from me if I did?”

“Maybe.” She shrugged, and the man forced a sickly cough so dramatic she couldn’t help but laugh.

As they reached their floor, Simon patiently waited for the young woman to exit the lift first, trailing behind her smaller frame like a massive shadow.

“I love that place” She pointed at his food from the Chinese restaurant across the street, the delicious smell from its contents having filled the elevator, and now wafting down the hall. “Funny…Never took you for a spring rolls guy.”

Simon rolled his eyes “I usually go for chicken fried rice.”

“That’s my favorite!” Riley smiled excitedly.

“Great.” He replied dismissively as he fished for his keys.

“How’s your leg?” she asked, and Simon halted at her soft look of genuine concern, his keys dangling between his thick fingers.

“Quite decent.” He conceded, eyeing his own thigh. He didn’t limp nearly as much, and he had been as cautious as possible with the sutures she had skillfully provided.

“Great, and I’m sorry if it’s been too noisy lately, I’ve been cleaning up the place and I’m still finding permanent homes for most of my rescues.” Riley grimaced slightly, aware of how inconvenient her presence was as a neighbor.

He shrugged, remaining silent as she kept talking.

“Do you happen to know anyone interested in the German shepherd pup?” She asked with pleading eyes “I love Rex, but he’s no dog for a crammed apartment with other pets.”

She observed him as he seemed momentarily lost in thought, his pensive gaze zoning out before returning to hers.

“I do, actually.” Simon shifted his weight “I’ll let you know.”

“Perfect...I’ll be waiting.” Riley smiled brightly at the prospect as she unlocked her door.

She was just about to bid him a good night when he blurted out:

“I didn’t thank you.” He mumbled awkwardly. They stared at each other for a few uncomfortable seconds. “For the stitches. An’ the groceries.”

A slow, mischievous grin crept up her cheeks, two characteristic dimples dotting them as she replied.

“Day off tomorrow. I’ll be waiting for you to come fix my faucet.”

“But-”

“And I love your new rug, by the way!” She taunted as she quickly scurried inside, leaving him baffled on his doorstep.

He huffed as he looked down at the pink rug she had gotten him – the one he had reluctantly placed outside his flat, those three annoying words right under his muddy boots.

“Bloody fuckin’ hell.”

***

“Hold the light still.” A moody grunt.

“I’m trying!” A whimper of despair.

Simon Riley found himself lying on his aching back under his neighbors’ kitchen sink, firm hands holding a rusty wrench that stained his calloused fingers.

He could easily bear the straining of his muscles on the awkward position, as well as Riley’s aptitude to point her phone’s flash to anything but where he actually needed it, if it wasn’t for the dog constantly biting on his boot, and a large, old cat trying to sleep on top of him.

“I’m sorry about Milo.” She frowned as she tried to push her feline companion away. “He’s old and tired.”

“Me and you both, mate” She tried to suppress a giggle at his comment.

“Can I ask you something?”

Simon grunted “Does it matter if I say no?”

“No. I’ll still ask, but your consent would be greatly appreciated.”

“Go on then.”

“What’s your rank?” He couldn’t see her face from where she kneeled beside him, but he rolled his eyes as he pictured her curious expression.

“Non’ of your business, kid.” He huffed as he tightened the pipe.

“Oh, c’mon…Why are you so grumpy today? Grumpier than usual, I mean.” Simon held her wrist firmly from under the sink, startling her. He felt her body stiffen under his touch, tense silence filling the room.

Slowly, softly, he pulled her wrist to the right position, so she finally held the light properly, and if his thumb had merely grazed her soft skin as it parted his, then it was purely accidental. Surely.

Simon felt awkward as he recalled the way her eyes had momentarily lingered on a glimpse of his abdomen when he had first laid on the floor, his shirt riding up as he lifted his arms to work, rolled up sleeves revealing numerous tattoos. A part of him – a part he longed to bury and dissociate from - tortuously replayed the glint in her innocent, curious eyes, the way her lips had slightly parted, and her cheeks and neck heated involuntarily.

As he finished the task, sliding from under the sink and sitting up against the cupboard, Simon avoided her gaze as he readjusted his black facemask.

“Lieutenant.” He conceded, killing the silence between the two.

She tried not to look too pleased about having her way, pocketing her phone and petting Rex distractedly as she considered the implications.

“Regular army?”

“SAS.”

“Wow…A seasoned soldier then.”

“A bit.” Simon groaned as he stood up, his joints cracking painfully.

“That’s the sound of victory right there.” She taunted and he shot her a glare.

“Jus’ turn the bloody thing on.”

He rolled his eyes as she stood upright, saluting him.

“Sir, yes sir!”

“I’m never tellin’ you anythin’ ever again.”

“Copy that, Lieutenant.” Riley giggled as she turned on the faucet. “Success!” She yelled excitedly as there were no more leaks.

Simon nodded in approval, satisfied with his work.

“I guess you’re good at laying pipe.” The young woman joked, winking playfully.

“Shut up, kid.” He turned around, heading slowly for her door so she wouldn’t notice his flushed ears. “Bugger off with your yank expressions.”

Despite being more cluttered, her tiny flat seemed much cozier than his, and he made sure to avoid stepping on her clean carpet as Milo tried to waddle between his feet.

“Leaving so soon?” She seemed disappointed by his quick retreat, but he didn’t dare face her soft gaze again.

Simon stopped by the doorway and stared at Riley’s baby picture on the thrifted entrance table. She was chunky and missing half her teeth, but the same dimpled smile brightened up the dull background. Right beside it stood a picture of her father, his medals humbly kept in a small glass display.

“I can’t stay.”

“Not even for a cup of tea?” He could almost feel how hard she struggled to blurt out the invitation, her tone laced with shyness.

“Maybe next time, love.”

A/N: I'm back! I'm so sorry I took forever to post another part, holidays were crazy! I hope you guys are enjoying it and feel free to drop any feedback or ask to be added to the tag list :) Thank you guys for reading <3

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@xaestheticalien @lillysfrogsandbogs

#ghost cod #ghostxreader #cod #ghost imagine #simon riley smut #simon riley imagine #simon riley x reader #ghost smut #neighbor!ghost #TGND #modernwarfare2

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ellesthots · 2 months ago

Text

Fateful Beginnings

XXXII. “superglue”

parts: previous / next

plot: rumors spread about the circumstances of your interview with Bruce Wayne. You might have been more partial to each other than you realized…

pairing: battinson!bruce wayne x fem!reader

cw: 18+, depression, passive suicidality

words: 8.3k

a/n: it’s getting warmer in hereeee !! ahhh!!! this might be my favorite chapter yet!! as always I LOVE hearing what you think, please tell me everything!! <3

Watching the door close behind Bruce again, you felt a bruise forming.

All you’d done was check in on him, and he’d shunned you for it. Shut the door. Threw away the key. It was evident he wanted nothing to do with you.

Maybe it was all in your head—he hadn’t said he was done with you, he’d just… acted exasperated and absolutely finished with any semblance of your concern. How were you supposed to navigate that with only a week separating him and his attempt?

The phone buzzed in your hand. Dr. Crane. How were you going to navigate that while having to answer to someone else?

“Hey!”

Dr. Crane cleared his throat. “Ms. Y/L/N! Wanted to check in. Have you made contact with Mr. Wayne since we last spoke?”

“Yes.”

“And how is he?”

“Well, he said he was feeling bad. But he didn’t want to talk about it further.” It sounded worse than it was (at least you hoped it wasn’t so bad) so you pivoted. “He thanked me for helping him. He came over and cooked me some food a few days ago. We visited. Asked if I was okay. After seeing it.” You set the phone on the counter, taking a few steps back from it. Maybe if you spoke further away from the receiver, it would make the lie less painful. Make your conscience a little quieter.

“Hmm… anything since then?”

“Yeah, today. He visited again. To check in, I uh, I got in a tussle last night.” You winced at how it came out. Tussle? Really? You didn’t want him thinking he’d visited just to say ‘bad’ and then left. “That’s when he said he was feeling bad. But thanked me.” Your breath caught on the last sentence. You didn’t know if you’d ever be able to reveal it to Bruce, and you didn’t want to think about what he might do if he found out you’d been lying.

“I see a city hall meeting slated for this evening. Do you know if he’ll be in attendance?”

“I don’t know. Maybe.”

“Let me know after. We’re in the sweet spot for another issue.” He said it like the ‘issue’ was something as trivial and inconsequential as traffic on the way to the grocery store. You heard him typing on a keyboard in the background. “Are you aware of the side effects for the class of medication Mr. Wayne is on?”

“No.”

“In addition to assessing the state of his nervous system, I have a few more symptoms I want you to be on the lookout for. Rashes, fever, trouble breathing, fast heartbeat, seizures, uncontrolled movement of any part of his body, fainting, heat intolerance. Some of these are relatively benign, but I want to be kept informed if you gather any of that happening. Alright?”

You’d taken as many notes as you could while he spoke, and had zero concept of how you would know about most of those. Bruce could probably make fainting look intentional, or play it off before anyone could notice.

It was a short call, and he prompted you to trust your gut before signing off.

Showering was annoying; the Tylenol had taken the brunt of the pain away, though your head still ached when you delicately massaged shampoo against it. You had your phone in a baggie sitting on a ledge of the shower in case you slipped. You wished Mar could’ve stayed for you to shower, to make sure you were alright. Part of you was surprised she had stayed until you woke up. If you’d slept another hour, would she have left with Gianna? Would she even have left a note?

While you toweled off you tried to boil down the last 24 hours to something tangible. Mar had nearly been assaulted. You’d both gotten fucked up. Bruce had saved you. Mar had seen Bruce. Mar knew Bruce. Mar thought you and Bruce were together. Bruce knew she knew that, as far as you knew. The phone sat in the baggie on the bathroom counter, holding all of its secrets. You got out your blow dryer and started in on your soaked hair with one hand while the other scanned the video.

At 4:18 in the morning, Mar had emerged from your room. You turned up the volume, barely edging out the roar of the dryer.

“Hey.” She rubbed her eyes and walked to the medicine cabinet. You could only see her back from this POV. Bruce stood up to help, but waited. She pulled something out of a cabinet and he spoke. “Tylenol is better.” Bruce left frame for only a second, and returned with the bottle of it from where you laid on the couch. They exchanged bottles and you heard the sink run for a second.

You couldn’t see either of their faces, just their torsos, only hearing their voices. Mar was situated by the sink on the opposite side of the island. Bruce stood on the other by the middle stool. She didn’t let there be much silence.

“Where did you meet Y/N?”

“City Hall. She asked me for an interview.”

Oh, it felt strange hearing someone talk to him about you. To hear him talking about you. Couldn’t tell if you liked it or hated it.

“Why’d you accept her interview?”

He waited a few seconds, and from knowing her, you knew she was about to drill him if he didn’t speak. You wondered if he sensed it too, and that was why he was being forthright. “The timing aligned. I declined them for so long, people stopped asking. Worked out with the graduation speech.”

Mar’s tone was cold, investigative. She sounded a lot like she had back at Mora’s. Not wanting to deal with nonsense. You figured they were cut out for each other, if Bruce was cut out for anyone. They both didn’t give a fuck what anyone thought. If they had a goal, they didn’t mind being pegged an asshole on the way to meeting it. “All the way back in Spring, huh? Interesting.” You heard a slurp of some water.

“How did you and Y/N meet?” It was so fucking weird to have him talking conversationally. Lightly. Politely. Couldn’t be more out of character. You had an itch to start a spreadsheet of all his different personas.

“College. We took some sociology classes together. When did you ask her out?”

AH! She was so nosy. Your stomach clenched. “I haven’t.”

“She’s just gonna tell me tomorrow if you don’t.”

“We’re not together.”

“Whatever pact you guys made, I respect it, but I’m not a fucking fool.” Pact. At least she was making it seem like you were saying the same things he was.

“There must have been a miscommunication.” He sighed.

“What are your intentions? None of that bullshit stands here. I have a really good radar.” Her face moved slightly into frame, a glare set as she gave him a once-over. “If it’s just to fuck she needs to know that, man.”

You could’ve wrung her neck.

“It’s business.” If he was exasperated, his voice didn’t give him away. He was getting better at this.

“Fine. Keep your fuckin secrets. But if you mess her up, I don’t give a fuck who you are, or how many lawyers you have. I know who you are, Bruce Wayne, and I will not hesitate to use my voice to send you into the darkest pits of hell.”

“Noted.” Spoken genuinely, without sass. You mused on how he might’ve said it to you, and smirked.

“I won’t hesitate to fuck you up. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to fucking sleep.”

Bruce sat at the table, far enough away from the lens that you couldn’t make out his expression. He sat there on his phone for the next few hours until Mar entered again. It was hard to scrub while heat stung the back of your head, but you were forced to multitask.

“Did you even sleep?” It was like she was talking to someone completely normal; no worry about if he might hurt her, yell at her, no dancing around it like he was a stranger. The same framing situation: only able to hear their voices and see their torsos.

“I stay up late.”

Mar muttered something you couldn’t make out. He spoke again. “How are you doing? Y/N said you might have been drugged.” You hadn’t gotten used to him saying your name.

“You don’t have to act concerned because you’re fucking my friend.”

You nearly dropped the hair dryer, the hot metal grazing between your fingers as it slacked in your grip. Jesus fucking fuck. You wished more than anything you could crawl into his thoughts. “I wanted to check in. It’s a fucked up thing to go through.”

She paused. She actually paused. When she spoke again, her tone was gentler. “Not the first time it’s happened. And this time nothing actually happened.” She scoffed. “Piece of shit. He was acting so fucking nice at the bar, I should’ve known something was up.”

“You took his behavior at face-value. No blame in that.” Damn, an actually nice sentiment.

“Thanks for last night.” She uncrossed her arms and started rummaging by the phone, which was by the pantry. Bruce spoke unprompted. “Someone from the GCPD should be in contact within the next 48 hours. For your statement.”

Mar scowled. “Love doing those.” She’d done one before? She sighed. “Have you eaten?”

“I’m good. Thanks.”

“Well, I’m gonna make pancakes.”

“I can help, if you’d like.”

“Trying to impress me?”

Bruce didn’t respond. They didn’t speak again until you heard a rustle by the couch; probably you adjusting. “How is she?”

Bruce’s voice was dryer now, and you watched him reach for the dregs of his energy drink. “Seems fine. Pupils are reactive, she’s oriented to time and place.”

“What are you, a doctor or something?”

“Special interest.”

You grinned knowing the real reason. Nah, he’s just Batman. You’re not only talking to Bruce Wayne right now, you’re talking to a vigilante. She’d probably shit herself.

As soon as she had finished making breakfast and sat at the table opposite him, she started asking the frivolous questions. You felt a bit jealous of her. Getting to talk to someone she perceived as a celebrity without all the baggage, without all the fear. It might have been interesting, cool, fun. Regardless of if you thought he deserved it, or any ideological ick you got from his upbringing and social status, he lived a life entirely out of reach, kept exclusively behind a locked curtain. His life was the carrot on a stick dangling in front of every American chasing The Dream. He didn’t make it seem very fun. “What’s it like to be a billionaire?”

“I don’t think about it much. Lots of financial meetings.”

“You grew up in it so of course you don’t think about it.” A pause. You almost laughed thinking about what she was probably… “You wouldn’t miss a couple thousand, would you?” … yup. A laugh actually did escape you. As frustrating as it was to be on the receiving end of her questioning, it was decidedly enthralling to watch her do it to someone else. She took another bite and prattled more. “Nice disguise. Is it weird to have paparazzi follow you? It sounds annoying as fuck.”

“Certainly makes things more difficult.”

“What do you even do? Up in your tower, I mean. I don’t ever hear of any parties there.”

“Mostly keep to myself. Travel some. Prying eyes only got worse after my parents. Didn’t want to deal with it.”

“Damn, that’s right. Makes sense.” She finished her plate in thoughtful silence.

She put her plate away and offered some food to Bruce. At this point you looked at the recording and saw the time was one in the afternoon, just two hours before you’d woken up. He walked to the kitchen and grabbed a few pancakes, dry. In less than a minute his plate was clean.

Mar had gone back to your bedroom, telling him she was taking a nap. “Let me know when she wakes up.”

The next time you saw any movement was when Mar had made a slice of toast before speaking to you. You stopped the video when you heard her calling your name. You finished your hair, mindlessly combing through the strands, fretful about if she would ever put the pieces together herself. Black paint around his eyes. Good at fighting. Hell, she’d even said the word disguise! Why was it so clear to you, and no one else?

Between skincare steps, you’d perused Scypher, where you by far had the most notifications. It was soon evident why Mar hadn’t put two and two together: the people of Gotham thought Bruce Wayne no more than a reclusive drug addict. Maybe Bruce hadn’t had to put on the playboy show at all; everyone was already thrown off his scent.

He probably shoots heroin up in his ivory tower

swear i saw him buy on the east side

another rich scumsucker off his rocker

Then came conversations you were mentioned in. Your eyes widened at the sheer mass of them, and how cruelly they painted you. A particular thread stood out, having garnered tens of thousands of likes.

No one has talked about this STUDENT JOURNALIST — to me there’s no way someone like that would get the first pick. My sister works in editing and says people have been trying to get an interview with him for twenty years. What are we thinking, chat?

There was a poll attached that had thousands of hits. ‘See Results’ showed you that between Fucked Him, Scripted, or Both, most people had chosen… both.

The replies were especially heinous.

Is ‘sucked off his limp cock’ an option ? cant imagine the man has any stamina anymore with all that fucking dope. The man had an NFT profile picture and ‘your mom’ in his bio. Stellar. You’d been tagged right below it. what does @youruser think about this?

Someone had answered in place of you, coming off so high and mighty you had to put the phone down before reading more responses to it.

She got bought off. Scripted responses and interview. Wayne Enterprises didn't want stocks to go down. That's why they couldn't get a real journalist, no one would agree to that unethical mess. Screams litigious. Probably signed an NDA anyway with his fuckass company

this tracks. aint pretty enough to bargain that way. less then mid if were being honest. females only care about $$$ anyway, he could pull any one if that was it

You put the phone down. It didn’t matter. You had a life to get back to.

You couldn’t be bothered to wear heels tonight, but you needed to wear something dressy; you stared a little too long at the mirror before tugging on your dress, a haze of insecurity swooping over you. You forced yourself to walk away.

You had to stay off your phone, save calls. You turned off notifications for everything besides, noting Dr. Vry had called you earlier. She’d left a voicemail detailing that there were another hundred-fifty School of Journalism applicants. Apparently, before your interview, they’d only gotten around forty-eight a year.

Outfitted in a pair of old loafers and your same dress, hoping it didn’t look too haphazard a combination, you grabbed your PRESS badge, notepad, pen, and recorder. You tucked your ID and other personal things under your dress and into your shorts pocket. If you didn’t feel like total ass, you could’ve imagined you were a spy. Jetting off to the Meeting of the Elite to uncover clues and inquire between the lines. A resentful, anxious, overwhelmed, stubborn spy. It couldn’t have felt less magical.

You shook off the past week, the past summer, the past year. Bruce Wayne wasn’t your life, he was a minuscule part of it. No longer would you let him take over your brain space—his life was his, yours was yours. As massive a secret you held, as bizarre as it was to be on a first-name basis with a modern Kennedy, you had your own life to attend to. Interviews to conduct, business to get to, truth to find. For the first time in months, you began to feel a bit hopeful as you left your apartment. If Bruce showed up tonight. If not you would literally panic. You willfully ignored the contradiction, just as you ignored the nagging thought that this newfound hope was a fleeting attempt at coping.

Gotham was normal. Cloudy, smoggy skies. It was easy on your aching head. Flickering street lamps as the evening light got ready to wane were not, however. The bustle of the people on the sidewalks, the cracked concrete, the glimmering potholes that had every other driver making a face as they slammed into them. Everything was the same as it had always been. You walked past the same people on their same commute. Saw the same taxis pass. The walking sign on the left was still out of order, murdered by kids sticking their gum into the crevices.

You kept to your usual space, the furthest to the right you could possibly get without scraping your arms against the jagged—sometimes bloody—brick, or stepping in someone’s vomit. You recalled your first month here when you’d had to hold your breath for most of your walks. Breathing ‘fresh’ air here was like gulping someone’s rancid morning breath.

The walk to City Hall wasn’t long, but it was annoying. Cobbled streets, men who wouldn’t move out of the way even if they took up the entire sidewalk. Most of your shirt sleeves had snags from being squeezed against the sides of buildings on walks like these. You had half a mind to kick a dirty puddle at them whenever they forced you to the margins. You didn’t want to double your concussion.

The air was teasing you with autumn; a few excited trees plopped leaves for your feet to crunch, though there weren’t many of them in the area. The city was mechanical, industrial. Something as sensitive and nurturing as foliage didn’t have a place here. One time you’d seen a dandelion growing out of a concrete mound and you’d cried. Maybe you’d been unhappy here longer than you’d thought. That had been in the second month.

As you walked the last stretch of blocks, your destination sitting just in the distance, that hopeful, determined version of you dwindled. You thought about if he didn’t show up, and if he did. You thought about how unfairly singular your life was. You thought about that a lot lately.

On Tuesday, to pass the time, you’d read through Bruce’s interview responses again. This time had been a lot more painful. You’d forgotten about it in the flurry of the attack, but you’d sat with your notebook for hours. Looking at the way he wrote his letters, the Gs in particular, written with a long tail that folded in on itself, seeing the grains of the paper indented in black streaks. It made you feel better holding his writing. It made his being alive feel more real. You wanted to know more about his family camping trip. Where had he gone? Where had he traveled to? Where did he want to go that he hadn’t yet?

It was his loneliness. You smelled the burning sting of it on every page and it attracted you like a moth to flame. It was never written outright, but it was strong subtext, as clear to you as him candidly naming his nerves. It felt exceedingly intimate reading back even his most playboy responses, the hindsight of his desire to die blanching every pen stroke.

This city was brutally lonely, and everyone was so desperate not to feel it. People clustered to fragile friend groups full of superficial conversation, filled their bodies with substances, stayed out all night not daring to slow down otherwise the world might fall apart. All you were was slow. All you did was think, and feel, and think again.

You’d had a lot of time on Tuesday to think about his attempt. You had a horrifying feeling of jealousy about it. You never let your mind sit there too long. It wasn’t normal to feel that way. Reminiscing on the places depression had taken you always made you feel incredible shame. Its vice grip in the middle of the night, three in the morning, when the world was quiet and asleep, but you were so painfully, entirely awake. It was why you’d come to Gotham in the first place. This city never slept.

A masochistic part of you, as you carefully labeled it, thought that Bruce might be the only person in your life who truly understood despair. He’d come face to face with it. It had nearly won out he’d let it come so close. He was willing to show his sadness. Willing to sit in it. Willing to marinate in it, really.

“He doesn’t like to show it, but compassion comes easily to him.” Alfred’s voice punctuated your contemplation. Even if it was out of guilt, Bruce had stayed with you all night; and by the looks of the video, he’d stayed fully awake for it, even with nothing to hold his attention save whatever the hell he had on his phone. Mar had left before asking you how you were—Bruce made sure to ask. Possibly because he could handle it. Probably because he’d acclimated to pain. Your mind wandered to more projections.

Gabbi, Lara, and Rose hadn’t been able to handle the good you, the best behavior you. Your dad never wanted to talk about the reality of your mother’s sickness. Couldn’t even say the word cancer. Your mom didn’t want to dwell, either, and Debbie… she was an emotional wreck. If you stepped on a crack in the sidewalk she might burst into tears, lamenting on how she missed her mother, her father, her old pair of shoes. You’d always been the one to calm her down growing up. The one to hold it when no one could. Bruce seemed like he might be able to hold it. Engage with it. When you argued, he argued back. It wasn’t lost on you how he’d asked about your mom last Thursday when you’d started crying. You felt a lump forming in your throat. He couldn’t actually give a fuck, could he?

Perhaps you were propping him up on a pedestal, delirious from being forced to orbit around him for the past 168 hours. You weren’t exactly comparing him to the world’s finest communicators. His version of handling things was to storm off, deflect. His version of handling things was to argue. His handling things was violent, aggressive, impulsive. And, you thought wistfully, you were actively in the throes of suicide watch. He was everything and nothing all at once.

The steps were easier to climb in loafers, each step jolting you back to time and place. Why the hell had you ever tried to fit in and wear anything different? You tallied how much money you had left, wondering if you could afford a trip to Target for some slacks and a sweater. City Hall was exceptionally busy, even for being only five minutes early. Conversation appeared buzzier tonight; caterers were already handing out dozens of drinks. People were usually more subdued at this point. What had happened?

When you fully stepped inside (instead of just peering through the side window like a dork), every head snapped to you, the din going calm. A few people rolled their eyes, or sighed, and went back to their conversations, but some people continued to stare, leaning in to whoever was nearby to mutter something. You struggled not to squint as the lights pouring from the chandeliers bored a hole into your skull.

You went to your usual place of refuge, near the middle of the back wall, opposite the appetizers and wine where most clustered. Except… there was a group standing now, with PRESS badges in varying fonts, sizes, pins and lanyards. Some had beautiful cameras with lenses that begged to be inspected, adored. As far as you knew, the Gazette only had one Canon you could rent out, limited to once per term per person. Stingy.

“Y/N Y/L/N, is that right?” A gorgeous blonde woman with gleaming veneers and impeccably styled 70s curls held out a manicured hand for you to take. You took it, your hand threatening to go limp when you noticed the VOGUE logo braided into her lanyard. “Eva Reveé, chief staff writer. I read your interview with Mr. Wayne, it was such a pleasure.” You swallowed hard. You felt supremely underdressed. Understood why people had rolled their eyes at your entry. A mousey small-town wannabe student journalist scoring one of the most sought-after jobs in the industry. You wanted to sink into the floor and disappear.

“Yes. Y/N.” You smiled and did a small laugh, trying to act like you weren’t talking to someone who worked at fucking Vogue. She flashed another smile at you. “You are just the cutest.” Patronizing. “Get a chance to read my email yet? I am sure your inbox is positively flooded right now.”

You turned red. You needed to remember to upgrade foundation when you came to events, a tint wasn’t nearly enough to camouflage your nerves. “I haven’t, I’m so sorry.”

“You’re perfectly fine. I was only wanting to chat about your experience interviewing him! Potentially get some ins for other journalists like myself. We were all chatting before you arrived and were so impressed you were able to score a high-profile case for your first publishing.”

You didn’t like her tone, but you were probably just irritable after the concussion. To play up the awe, or play up the professionalism? Shortchange yourself or prop yourself up? You opened your mouth to speak, but then everyone gasped, hushedly. Before turning your head, you knew Bruce Wayne had just entered the building.

“Mr. Wayne!”

“Are you alright?”

“Your accident looked horrible.”

“What caused it?”

“Didn’t think you’d be here.”

Eva and the other journalists all inched toward him, eyes bright and ravenous. Glancing at him was a bit painful, more than it had been earlier when you were already desperate to escape his gaze, but you needed to assess—you quickly realized this was, in fact, the very worst type of event for you to get any true read on him. He’d never been more on than in this room every week. How were you ever supposed to assess his mental state when he was putting on a show between these four walls?

Last night was far from written on him, not even smudged. He had no bags under his eyes, they were clear and engaged, his posture was tall and at ease. Even his voice, when he spoke, had been relieved of its crackles. It was like the past 24 hours had been a ghost. The only evidence of his attempt were some scratches on his neck and jaw, and scabs on his hand. They already looked better than they had a few hours ago. You imagined a team coming to Wayne Tower to do some fancy makeup over his injuries. The image was hilarious, but faded faster than it ever had before. Usually you adored watching Bruce squirm, even if it was relegated to your imagination, but you saw through it. I feel nervous before every event, he’d written. I don’t like crowds.

“Folks,” Bruce walked toward the center of the room and clapped his hands together, holding them tightly at his waist. The room orbited around him, the audience going still listening to his words. It was eerie. You’d never seen him have this much control over a group. “I’ve heard a lot of discussion surrounding my accident this past Friday.” He seemed to make eye contact with everyone at the same time. “I want to reassure everyone that I am okay. By the grace of God and the incredible team at Gotham General, I’ve been healing wonderfully.” He paused and looked around the perimeter of the room again. His eyes flit onto yours, and held for a second too long. He blinked and continued, and you exhaled when he released you.

“Many people are speculating that substances were involved. I want to assure everyone in here—and outside of it—” He gestured toward you and the throng of press. “That is not the case. I take the safety of my fellow citizens very seriously.” He let that sit. “I have a penchant for fixing up old cars.” He did a dry chuckle. “On a test drive around Tower grounds, my steering went out. Thus, the tree.” He was referring to the viral photo of his car nearly entirely wrapped around a thick oak tree. You gulped.

Some people mumbled, a few grumbled. Bruce stood taller, straightening the last few discs in his spine. “I was disappointed to see how far I have left to go with the residents of this city, though I understand it. I hardly leave my parent’s estate for twenty years, and now I’m in campaigns, given a voice in the election for Gotham’s mayor, and it’s only been a few months.” People’s shoulders were beginning to drop. “I’ve forgotten that though I’ve been in the public psyche, that doesn’t mean we know each other, and it certainly does not foster trust. The reactions to my accident this week have been eye-opening. I’m excited to start working with you all, and the city, to build that trust in the first place. Being Thomas and Martha Wayne’s son is a ticket into a lot of rooms, let me tell you.” Leaning a bit more playboy rich kid. “But I realized you don’t really know me, and I don’t really know you. I want to bridge that gap with this campaign season, and beyond.”

Some people nodded, less grumbles. You were absolutely mesmerized by this version of Bruce. He commanded the room flawlessly, like every syllable was a meticulous sculpture, but made everything also seem casual, off the cuff. Alfred had to have given him public speaking lessons. This was jarring. Somehow knowing precisely what to say and how to say it to lend public favor, but making it look humble, unassuming. Without a lick of nervousness.

Right then, you remembered you hadn’t turned on your recorder. This was a part of the meeting, and a massive conversation right now. You’d have to report on it. You looked down to start fiddling with it, but the REC button was stuck.

“Hopefully, that began with the publishing of Ms. Y/L/N’s interview with me last Sunday.” He both looked at and gestured toward you, the room following his hand like a cat to a laser. You went still, frozen, with your hands clutching the plastic, as a hundred or more eyes, elite eyes, powerful eyes, fixed on you. Analyzed you. Judged you. It took all your power to grin and not faint. It felt like the entire world was in this room, and in a way, it was.

“It was a great honor, and I want to publicly thank Ms. Y/L/N for handling it with utmost tact, integrity, and humor. She could not have provided a more professional, comfortable experience. We are truly indebted to the hardworking, prodigious talent of our university graduates.” He turned back to the room, consequently removing his grip on your neck. “Now, enough about me.” He held his hands up. “Let’s all enjoy tonight.”

You felt like you were buzzing; the room quieted, noise fading to the background. The sensitivity in his eyes before he’d looked away, the firmness of his words, he must have been briefed on the conversations online. You headed into the conference room when Mr. Convoy propped open the doors.

As Bruce walked away, he hoped he had stilled the criticisms hurtling toward you. Alfred had informed him upon his very late arrival back at Wayne Tower that the internet was lit up after the accident, and that it had catapulted the critique of you (and him) from the fringes into the forefront. He’d gone on the Wayne Enterprises account to see some of the conversation, but quickly had to abandon it before typing something that would’ve made everything catastrophically worse. He hadn’t been in any mood to think about you, or to think about anything, but he couldn’t stop himself fuming until the very second the words had left his mouth in front of the group. Even now, as he followed after your lead into the conference room, every step was straddling a mine. His contact lenses irritated his dry eyes after staying up so long, and it didn’t help that this was the first time wearing them to City Hall. He wasn’t looking forward to having to replay that speech later.

The first thing he did after sitting down was scan the room for you. His eyes moved to the righthand corner, where you always stood with your notebook and pen. The lurch of panic cinched his chest until he saw you nestled in with the other reporters in the back left, just barely out of peripheral view.

Convoy started the meeting the usual way, sprinkling in some good vibrations toward Bruce and his continued healing. As he explained why the candidates had not come this evening (“They are getting ready for their first respective rallies. At the meeeting’s end, we will go over the election calendar.”), Bruce fought the urge to shift his chair toward you. He wanted to check your face and see if you were okay. He was shocked you’d shown up tonight; you’d barely been able to look out the curtained window at the filtered, low light without visceral wincing. Had you only come to check on him? He wanted to dead that. How could he do that without talking to you? Was he not going to talk to you anymore?

His mind argued with itself the rest of the meeting, distracting him entirely from its content. An innocent, passing thought interrupted his ruminations and the pros and cons lists he’d drawn up to interrogate himself: he’d just talk to you after the meeting and you’d bring him up to speed about what happened. That thought felt like the first nail in the coffin; his body was already instinctively reaching toward you, trusting you.

By the time Convoy had started listing the tentative schedule for the campaign rallies, he knew he had to lock in. This… fondness he felt toward you…

He visibly grimaced. He was tired, no, exhausted. Coming up on thirty-six hours without sleep, on new meds… gah! He felt the exasperation in his bones. It wasn’t fondness, it was illusive familiarity, when in reality: he didn’t know you, even if he felt like he did, and you didn’t know him, even if you felt like you did. You’d blackmailed him. You’d done an interview. You’d saved him. You’d visited him. You’d argued, caretaken, whined, and promised, and threatened, and talked to him. That was all.

He was crushed by guilt. He’d traumatized someone. He told himself he’d feel the same way if it had happened to anyone else. He felt responsible for cleaning up the mess he’d made of you. But as he glanced behind him to see you nonchalantly scrawling something between college-ruled lines, he couldn’t read any distress in you at all. Still, the need to save you remained.

You looked at him right then. Your eyes explored the injuries on his hands, then traveled to his chest. Still vigilant. Still worried. He didn’t know if you knew he was watching you. He considered having a final conversation about it all; express his thanks, reassure you he was—he suppressed a groan— prioritizing safety, and be done with it, but exploring the guilt with you would only keep it in the present. He’d just have to grit his teeth and bear it. Let the time pass without fiddling with it. Let your wound scab over. He wouldn’t be doing you a service picking at it.

He focused instead on how he’d handle Batman going forward. He could plan well into the night, concentrate this energy toward something useful. He’d need new protocol; he’d have to talk to Alfred about developing a second distress signal; one that was for mental things, not about to bleed out, come rescue. His throat threatened to close whenever he thought about it. How his brain wasn’t reliable. The fabric of reality would fall apart around him if he thought too much about it right then. If he thought about it at all, ever.

“Didn’t think you were the religious type.”

Bruce turned to the left again and saw you closing your notebook. You looked normal; loafers instead of heels, though. Smart. Wouldn’t want to risk falling again. Tiny glance about the immediate area, and he leaned in ever so slightly. “Gotta get on their good side somehow.”

Why did he lean in? Why did he listen to his body pulling closer to you? You’d caused this. You’d decided to talk to him, after he’d made himself clear. You rolled your eyes. When you looked back up at him, you squinted. Christ, if you were able to see his lenses too… You squeezed your eyes shut and brought your fingers up to massage your temple. It didn’t relieve his worry. “Just wanted to touch base. Surprised you came tonight.”

“Couldn’t not.” He led the both of you toward the door, stopped right before the doorway, and leaned down to ‘fix’ his shoe. He lowered his voice, pretending to wrangle a knot out of his shoelace. “I saw what they’re saying online. You and I can’t be seen together.”

“I didn’t know it would be so… aggressive. I’ve only seen a bit of it.”

He was surprised you were. Always a pessimist, and you seemed to know much more about the social landscape than he did. Every single reaction you had eluded him, further solidifying you as a lock he couldn’t pick. He stood up and pretended to fix his hair. You weren’t looking at him, instead eyeing the ground as if wanting to speak. “What?” It wasn’t a conscious decision to egg you on, but, he’d done it.

“You don’t want it.”

“Pity?”

“Concern.” You tucked the notebook into your armpit and flipped your hair over your shoulder to get it out of your face. You got quieter, barely audible. Your eyes were all over the place, everywhere except him. “Are you sure you’re safe?”

His heart began to pound. The time to have the conversation had been thrust upon him, opportunity presenting itself on a silver platter. Maybe this wasn’t picking the scab, but applying ointment. His eyes latched onto the room you’d used last week, and he hid his next sentence under a cough. “Go to the bathroom.” He yawned. “Room from last week in five minutes.”

You left, your dress flouncing behind you, and he set out to find Convoy. After a seconds-long conversation about needing to make a ‘private call’, he’d gotten the man to open the room. “Make sure to lock it on your way out, Mr. Wayne.”

Now that he was alone in the room, he felt unsettled. This decision was impulsive, but necessary. The playing field needed to be leveled, in whatever way possible. The record set straight. A million other phrases and idioms whizzed around his thoughts, trying to come up with an itinerary. He needed to be grateful for what you’d done. What you’d witnessed. Sure, it was fucked up that you’d initially blackmailed him to get the interview, but the interview was assisting his public persona. He had to do one sometime. As much as he hated to admit it due to how uncomfortable it was to be known, it wasn’t your fault that you’d noticed it was him. He’d met a few people as both Bruce and Batman, in passing—as much or more than you had, and you’d deduced it.

You probably wouldn’t have stayed in his house if the flooding hadn’t happened. You’d seemed horrified at the prospect, remembering your gasp from across the table as he’d slammed himself out of the chair. You’d been rude, and intrusive, but you hadn’t committed any cardinal sins. And the elephant in the room: you’d watched him attempt to end his life. You’d seen him hit the ground. You’d gotten him help. He was sure that was etched into your memory like a scar. He had to be appreciative of that, and for calling Alfred in the alley, or he’d ruminate on it for the rest of his fucking life. Whatever guilt was eating him up, he needed to excise it to get back on his way. He needed to be the scalpel, detangling all the gluey tissue and muscle joining the both of you. So your thoughts wouldn’t ever wander back to him. So his thoughts wouldn’t ever wander back to you.

A crucial aspect of that was setting up expectations for future interaction. Unless you were leaving tomorrow, he’d have to see you again, here, every week, indefinitely. With public scrutiny at an all-time high, and you both getting wrapped up in vigilance for one another, everything was getting too complicated. You’d become entangled in his life, and his yours, to a lesser degree. Unless you were also a vigilante in your respective hometown, he didn’t think he could get caught up with you the same way. He needed to make you free of him. You were worried. He needed to soothe that worry, firmly, thoroughly, so that you might start keeping to yourself. You’d meant to leave last week, anyway. It appeared safe to assume the only reason you’d stayed was because of him.

Five minutes. He did a quick scan of the room with the watch on his wrist. The exterior was luxury, but he’d swapped all the internal components to check for bugs. The room was cleared in about five seconds. He let his shoulders drop.

When you entered the room his thoughts exited. The door clicked shut. The only light Bruce could chance keeping on was a lamp in the corner by a stray podium. He was being risky enough talking with you here, he didn’t need to draw more attention, but it was hard to see your face clearly. Also elusive: that his night-oriented vision served him in every other circumstance, but not with you. He gestured for you to sit down, and you did. He cleared his throat. “I wanted to talk with you.”

You looked afraid again. You looked like you were expecting him to lay out an imminent plan of taking his own life. Appreciation. Reassurance. Goodbye. “I left abruptly earlier. I wanted to reassure you I am safe, and I have no plans to take my own life or anyone else’s.”

He realized he’d been looking slightly above you, not at you, and dropped his gaze to your eye-level. You were squirming. Breathing too fast. He continued, choking back the grief that suddenly threatened to annihilate his body. The words came out of him with robotic monotony. “I promise that I am prioritizing safety. I’m adding a new distress signal into my suit. Keeping up on medication. Checking in with Alfred. I promise I will keep doing that.”

It was the lenses. He didn’t want to relive this. “Thank you for helping me. I mean it. From the bottom of my heart.” His jaw was starting to tremble, and he prayed you wouldn’t notice. He watched helplessly as your eyes glazed over. Fuck. Why did this feel so distressing? Grueling? Why was he starting to sweat? Long stakeouts, heated fights, he’d never been stricken by such apprehension. But you were shaking. And it stamped an ache onto his heart in a shape he’d never felt before.

You were so fucking close to blurting it out. You were trembling in an attempt to contain the lie clawing its way out of you, tooth and nail. I didn’t see it. I only said so so you might stay alive one more day. The words wouldn’t come, yet they couldn’t remain. It was a fucking prison.

Outside of him thanking you for effectively lying, it was evident this was the last time he wanted to talk to you. It was clear he was annoyed by you. That your concern and care wasn’t warm or cozy, it was sharp and inhospitable. A strange sensation settled into you. It was your first year of undergrad. Your boyfriend of three months had packed his car to head home with you for the holidays. You’d gone about four miles until you stopped in front of Lara’s house. He handed you a note. “I want you to read this.” He hadn’t even been able to say it to your face, speeding off right after he handed you a backpack of your things.

At least Bruce was looking you in the eye while he shed you.

You rid the comparison from your mind. You’d thought you were falling in love with that guy. You’d been infatuated with him from the moment you’d met. Bruce was just… Bruce. The only feelings you felt toward him were frustration, guilt, anxiety, and all of it was flooding you now. The mind was simple sometimes. Trying to find patterns even if they weren’t there, overlaying memories. Trying to make meaning out of a meaningless life.

You and him had formed a strange, flimsy, temporary camaraderie, if you could even call it that. He’d helped you, you’d helped him. He’d hurt you, you’d hurt him. He worried about you. You worried about him. Becoming intertwined in each other’s lives in secret, specific ways; suddenly, without asking. Moreso than camaraderie, you’d been in cahoots. Knowing something no one else knew was intimate, but not inherently special. Like a dollar store superglue. It got the job done of sticking things together, but the bond was easily broken apart, leaving a bunch of residue no one wanted. Whatever weird fairytale of connection sat dying in the pit of your stomach shouldn’t have existed in the first place. Before today, it hadn’t even reared its ugly, confused head.

You hadn’t realized he’d gotten a call until you heard his voice lower to a gravelly hue. You moved your eyes to look at him, unblurring your vision by focusing on the phone pressed to his ear. “Can they give it to him?” A pause. Whoever he was talking to, they knew him as Batman. It was uncanny seeing him speak like that dressed in polished Dior. You instinctively spun your chair around to look at the door, making sure it was closed. On the swivel back, you noticed his gaze slip away from you as you scooted back to the table’s edge.

“I’ll check it out.” Click. He got up and pushed his chair in. You followed suit. “What is it?”

“Miller made bail. Said something on the way out about security footage.” He was already nearing the door. It took you longer than you liked to recognize the name. Your brain was mush.

“I thought you said you were taking a break this week,” There you were, going right back to abandoned houses, bitter friends, empty fields.

He pushed past you, but stalled right after. “Tell your friend to stay away from the neighborhood until his trial. You too.”

“Bruce.”

He adjusted to face you and you took a stuttered step back, way too close for comfort. So close you could smell the detergent on his clothes, see the setting shine in his hair as it dried from a recent shower. The microscopic speck of black he’d missed by his tear duct. “We don’t need to do this anymore.”

You opened your mouth to protest but nothing came out; his eyes dropped to it for a half second before resuming domineering eye contact. You felt faint. “Don’t make this difficult.” His biting enunciation made your eyes narrow. So heartless, and for what? But it didn’t hold. I see right through you. His sensitivities were scrawled on the walls of your mind in sloping, hurried letters.

You both drew a deep breath at the same time, forcing the both of you to turn your head and avert your gaze. The only sound in the room was too fast, too shallow breathing. He turned around abruptly, whacking you with his cologne.

The room’s oxygen had been replaced with smoke. At last, facing the door he could gulp down a breath. He kept a tight rein on his tone so the ebbs of adrenaline rushing through him wouldn’t taint it. “Stay in here for a few minutes, lock it on your way out. Get a ride.” He grabbed the doorknob and walked out calmly, every muscle in his legs frenzied for him to sprint off. He smiled his way through the foyer and out to the valet. His sweaty palms left prints on the steering wheel as he drove off.

He needed to sleep. Staying awake so long had made him hysterical.

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yuikomorii · 10 months ago

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Helloo! I don’t know if you remember me but I sent you once something about Yui in LE and now, after I played some routes, I can confirm that she’s my last fav Yui. 😬

// I have a complicated relationship with LE Yui, haha. I appreciate her for being more lively than CL Yui, but she mostly gave me the ick because she was definitely one of the most annoying LE characters.

I typically don't mind characters that are represented as jerks and upright mean, since you know what to expect from them, but I really dislike when characters who are portrayed as goody-shoes, do such messed-up and morally wrong things.

When I first went through LE, I didn’t start with Ayato’s route, given that I heard from many people about how tough it is and I wasn't emotionally prepared, so I started with others. I didn't like how she talked ill about her lover behind his back (more than once) and how her foolishness caused her to disclose critical secrets to people she shouldn't have and get into more troubles than normal. Nonetheless, I didn't think she was too bad… until Ruki's route, where she convinced the Mukami brothers that Karl wasn't a bad person because he returned their lives to "redeem" himself when we all know he only used them as pawns. But, if I thought THIS was bad, Ayato's LE route came.

~Things wrong with Yui in Ayato’s LE route~

1. Yui tried to convince Ayato that despite the fact that Cordelia abused him, “she only did it because she cared about his future”. And then had the audacity to act surprised when he started feeling sick.

2. The main reason why Ayato didn’t want to trust Richter, wasn’t necessarily his trauma, but the fact Richter actually hurt Yui and, in his book someone hurting his girlfriend is unforgivable. Nevertheless, when his brothers started a scandal about Richter and all ganged up against Ayato, not even letting him express HIS point of view, Yui did nothing but stand there staring. Although, after Ayato blew up the mansion again as a result of reactive abuse, she acknowledged that his brothers attacking him like that wasn’t right, but she still didn’t say it out loud to defend him, when she knew the reason behind his actions.

3. After Reiji and Ruki became Ayato's enemies, she went to them without telling him, which made him concerned, to convey her man's sadness and loneliness. I'm sorry, but this was the dumbest plan ever, considering that it was evident they wouldn't have cared about it, and hearing such a thing made them even more eager to mock and plot his downfall. In the end, despite her good intentions, she solved nothing but made things worse, including being bitten by Reiji, which caused Ayato to lose his mind. Based on the previous events, I'm not shocked he believed she would betray him.

4. The scenes in which Ayato began acting coldly towards her were my favorite parts of his LE route. In other LE routes, after doing or saying stupid things, the disputes were resolved in the next chapter or those actions were never mentioned, but I enjoyed how she was actually humbled here. I love Yui in general, but in LE, she deserved this treatment.

5. I assumed she had learnt her lesson, given that Ayato still cared for her despite his coldness, but then she goes to the Viboras to prove herself worthy of his trust. I liked how she tried to solve something (even if she didn't), but what made her behavior even WORSE was that 1) she justified Ruki giving Ayato a hard time and joining forces with the Church to kill him, and 2) she talked ill behind her lover's back despite telling Ayato the exact opposite face to face. I understand that Ayato didn't act very king-like, but at the same time, no one truly took him seriously or believed in him. Also, idk, but she should have tried to defend him, at least this time, instead of empathizing more with someone who hurt her man—?

Credit to: dialovers-translations on Tumblr

I also find it amusing how LE is the only main DL game with no wedding at all, especially since Ayato was usually the one to marry her. I think he secretly didn't want it in LE, given that he didn’t even think of proposing. :”)

She’s definitely not a bad person though, but she kinda started acting up. I think that’s another reason why I don’t want a new game. I’m afraid they’ll ruin her even more. T-T

#admin

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wutheringmights · 2 months ago

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Anyone ask for the commentary yet for the latest chapter >:3 *dies*

You’d be the first!

So this chapter is cursed. Let’s talk about that first.

You probably noticed that my writing output has been in the gutter this year. I have not written half as much as I should have. There are two main reasons why. The first is that I finally decided to get off my ass and have a more enriching personal life. This means a lot more of my evenings and weekends have been spent exploring other hobbies or taking weekend trips. I don’t regret any of those, and they have really improved my life overall (but I do write more when I am a sad little shut-in).

The second, more pressing reason was that there was a very important wedding I was the maid of honor for. That means I have spent a lot of my free time this year planning a bachelorette, a bridal shower, and helping with general wedding prep. I honestly was not nearly as busy as an expert maid of honor would have been, but all of this took up so much of my brain space that I was having trouble being creative. Multiple times, I would go to a coffee shop with plans to write, only to spend the entire time stressing about buying a new dress or researching hotels.

I did not realize how stressed I was about this whole thing until literally this week. The wedding is over now, and I am already biting huge chunks into the upcoming chapter. I just have so much more brain space to write. I feel free.

All that’s to say that this chapter was primarily written the month leading up to the wedding, and my head was Not There. I was struggling to figure the chapter out, and that struggle is reflected in the quality of the prose. For that, I apologize, as inevitable as it was.

I won’t make any major revision to this chapter, but I have plans to redo my proof-reading. There is an egregious number of typos in this chapter, more than I consider acceptable for a one person team of me.

(That being said, my typos have gotten worse this past year; ever since AI was integrated into Grammarly and Google Docs, both have been godawful for helping me fix errors. I appreciate how lenient you all have been with my most blatant mistakes.)

Now that all of that is established, let’s talk about this chapter.

This introduction to Proxi is really, really bad. I am frankly a little embarrassed that I went ahead and published it. While I had a vision for the first few scenes of Link trying to help Proxi and Jakucho’s aid afterwards, I didn’t realize until the day of writing that I actually had 0 plans for how Warriors and Proxi’s first conversation would go.

I am not even joking. I have a bunch of plans for their interactions together afterwards (which will appear next chapter). But their first conversation once Proxi started to get better? None.

So what little they talked together here feels like a waste of space. What’s worse, I don’t even know what I would change the dialogue to in order to fix it. My brain is blank. I don’t know. It’ll probably hit me in a few weeks. This is the trouble with publishing what is essentially the first draft of a story. If my initial ideas are solid, it’s great. But when my brain farts, I’m screwed.

That being said, my favorite part of the past section is that first half where Link frets over how to help Proxi, as well as Jakucho’s speech about the fairies disappearing.

I have been trying to subtly establish this era of Hyrule as being one that is shocking devoid of magic; having Jakucho mourn the loss of fairies and what omen that could mean feels like I am ruining things. Nonetheless, I just really like the idea of Jakucho having this small moment of wonder over seeing a fairy, as well as her verbalizing these fears that darker times are ahead.

I think I just enjoy reading about older people having the same anxieties about the world as younger people. It’s more comforting to me than an all-knowing mentor.

So this chapter has a lot of random names splattered all over the place. Me being me, I stole some of the names from other media and such I enjoy. I’ll point out any fun connections as I find them.

So for Proxi’s list of names for Link, there’s two of note. The first is Grimshaw, which is the name of the male lead from Lightlark. Despite how much I talk about Fourth Wing on this blog, Lightlark is the bad book I am truly passionate about.

The second is Wen-li, which is for Yang Wen-li from Legend of the Galactic Heroes. He’s the character of all time for me, and I will go insane if I think about him for too long.

This Proxi section was supposed to go on a little longer, but by the time it came to write it, I was 100% over this chapter. Luckily, next chapter will be a fresh slate and I can finally deliver on all my promises about Proxi’s return.

I cannot emphasize enough how frustrating it is to know that I fucked up an important character’s return. It’s... sigh. C’est la vie. Whatever.

Onto the present day:

So I have a particular problem with the present day section. The last chapter, this chapter, and the one I am writing now are all the same plot point in my outline. I severely underestimated how long the lead up to a Very Important Event was going to be. No doubt, I have probably made similar mistakes before. But I am trying to finish this story, so any time I have to draw out the pacing, I die a little on the inside.

I think I initially planned to just skim over how Warriors got to the castle, but then I realized that this was the politics stuff that is the supposed bread and butter of the story. But the reason why I wanted to skim over everything was (as Legend pointed out) fucking networking.

What’s worse, I got to this chapter and realized that, realistically, Warriors should have to spend at least a few months building up a cult of personality. This should be a (purposeful) multi-chapter arc. I don’t want to do that, so I tried to really emphasize how much Warriors was using his reputation as the hero and legends surrounding it to his advantage. Does it still feel unrealistic? Yeah, but we’re just going to have to cope with it.

Sevas is named for the male lead in Ava Reid’s Juniper & Thorn, which was sitting on my desk when I realized the priest needed a name.

Colonel Remarque is named for Erich Remarque, author of All Quiet On the Western Front. I think I had made a post name-dropping him around the time I got to this character.

Matthew Thorn... again, Thorn is for Reid’s book. Matthew was just the most bland name I could think of.

Vlad Dubarry... so I was watching both Castlevania and Rose of Versailles and took the first and surname from both respectively.

Between the conversation with the priest, the provost office, and Remarque, I was trying to give out a few more details every time to paint a clear picture without boring the reader by reiterating information over and over again. Unfortunately, I still managed to write three pretty boring scenes.

That being said, I think the friction Remarque offered was interesting to write, even if I had to resist pointing out every single plot hole during it.

So everything from the castle to Spirit being poisoned took me the longest to write. I knew it was boring, but I could not figure out a way to make it more exciting without omitting the networking stuff entirely. I didn’t really hit a stride with this chapter until I got to Spirit being poisoned.

The entire time Spirit was being poisoned, I was rubbing my hands together maniacally. I have been searching for a good moment to have a true poisoning in this story and I finally got it.

Also, I think if this chapter was of higher quality, someone out there would have realized that, for purely medical reasons, Hyrule had to technically give Spirit and smooch on the lips. There should be at least two very silly memes about this. But, alas. The quality.

You can tell I ran into the realization that, realistically, the Royal Guard’s structure would be more complex than I have alluded to previously. Very importantly, you can tell I realized that I should have mentioned the King’s Guard sooner if they were really going to be this powerful subsection of the Royal Guard.

I actually like how the idea that the King’s Guard is only super powerful in matters relating to the king, aka: Castle Town, and is pretty insignificant otherwise. The bureaucratic bullshit that must cause feels very real. But you can tell that I have no idea what rank that would make Endicott. I have been bending over backwards to not state that man’s ranking.

That being said, his absence from Warriors’s social circle until now is kinda important. Put a pin in that. It will come back.

Also, Endicott is a name I stole from Over the Garden Wall. I picked it because it sounds like the name of someone important. I picked Roald at randomed.

I am really happy that a lot of you have been enjoying the growing distrust the Chain has for Spirit. Insert rant about how victims have to remain palatable in order to be emphasized with, and how tragic it is that the only person who seems to understand that is the person who traumatized him in the first place.

I feel like I have been fumbling Time’s character a bit, and his conversation at the floor of Spirit’s bed is me finally getting back on track with him. I enjoyed writing that so much, from him trying to fold the scarf to him being upset that no one has learned their lesson yet, all while still not learning a lesson himself.

There was going to be a comment somewhere that Spirit is in such bad shape in part because his lungs are weak from all that smoking he does, but I honestly don’t know if anyone but Spirit would make that connection.

I also need to put Legend and Midna together more. They can be so snarky, and I want them to keep a running commentary of Warriors and Spirit’s bullshit like they are two sports announcers watching a football game.

I first imagined Spirit and Warriors’s conversation taking place on the parapet, and came to the same realization about the ladders that Spirit had. I’m glad I put them by the moat, though. The bit about the smell is probably my favorite bit of prose in the chapter.

I also really like this conversation between Spirit and Warriors. It’s not as insanity inducing as their past bullshit has been, but it hits a few notes. I like Warriors showing off how much he understands Spirit’s abilities (via the jacket), as well as Spirit’s utter disbelief that Warriors is capable of caring for anyone but himself.

I was also trying really hard to put more of their bullshit into subtext. I have a bad habit of having characters just state what they are feeling out loud, so I am trying to write more coded dialogue. It’s never just about a toaster, etc.

Warriors was also having such a night of self-discovery. First he had a little moment to freak out about how much his sincere attempts to help sound like manipulation. Then he realized that he would probably never be fully exonerated from his past. Big night for him.

Being unable to fully fix your past is part of the reason why I buffer against the idea of Warriors having a redemption arc. That implies a certain amount of undoing that is just not possible. I don’t know if I am putting that well. However, I am concerned that I am letting my Catholic upbringing color my perspective.

That being said, if Catholicism was a thing in Hyrule, Warriors would be that and be plagued by Catholic Guilt

He’s Catholic coded.

Irish Catholic, to be specific. There’s a difference.

Anyway, Four. When Four showed up, I was going to have this bit of dialogue where Spirit would allude to knowing about Vio (and therefore, Four) having a relationship with Shadow. It would have been nestled in a larger, coded bit of dialogue where Four would obliquely imply that he was starting to suspect what the Hot Mess is. I cut it because A) Spirit is so socially inept that he cannot do subtly like that, and B) Spirit’s spirit senses would not give him the ability to know about Shadow.

I also did not want to commit to Four figuring it out first, if at all.

I have so many ideas about what Warriors the Symbol means to the people of Castle Town that I will hopefully be able to elaborate on in this upcoming chapter.

Realistically, Hyrule Castle should probably be more like a fortress. But again, I have been watching The Rose of Versailles, and I just really liked the idea of the castle being this symbol of opulence during a time of poor economics. The people are struggling but the nobles are thriving, babes.

Also, Endicott is so much fun to write. He’s like the true antagonistic version of Lincoln. That man was enjoying making Warriors squirm, and I was having a blast writing it. The sexual favors line? I was utterly delighted.

Realistically, Endicott probably could have been replaced with Whitestone. However, Whitestone is still on the front and I don’t regret putting him there to be Wind’s superior during his short stint as a soldier. (Even if I still think I could have cut out Whitestone in favor of giving Impa more to do.)

I also feel bad for killing Meemaw off so suddenly, but I was enchanted by the idea of her name having to be crossed off because the death was that recent.

I also was going to have Endicott spare Warriors for unknown reasons, with the reveal that Ganondorf had been bribing him coming later in the story, However, I was so worried about this seeming too-easy for Warriors that I decided to reveal that detail early.

Okay, King of Hyrule stuff.

I’m trying to play at this idea of Zelda’s reputation not matching her actual role. Earlier in the story, Warriors describes her as a socialite with no political sense, and Zelda derisively thinks that of herself as well. Then that bit about her being the face of the kingdom is supposed to contradict that perception. She can’t just be a socialite if she had been the mouthpiece of the king since she was a child.

There’s supposed to be multiple mistakes going on here: Warriors assuming the worst of Zelda, a sexist perception of Zelda by society as a whole, and Zelda feeling worthless because she knows she’s just a symbol. Not sure if I conveyed any of that well.

Reuenthal’s dementia was caused in part by a stroke, but he also has a condition called prosopometamorphopsia, which is a form of face blindness where faces become distorted the longer you look at them.

Fun fact is that I generally knew that there was some kind of condition that had made Reuenthal isolate from other people, but I did not pick prosopometamorphopsia until I read this article from the New Yorker. I won’t go as far as to say that I wrote an accurate version of the disorder; I definitely played up the emotional distress it causes for dramatic effect. That is probably problematic, so please do not trust this story as a definitive source on it.

This also went unsaid in the story, but I imagine that because every daughter in the royal family is named Zelda, they probably go more by their middle names. I almost named dropped one of her sisters as Zelda Artemis, just to be mean.

The last line “A week later, everything went to hell” is, admittedly, very silly. I had a whole section describing what that meant written, but it seriously sucked. I am in the process of rewriting it now, and it’s already so much better. Plus, now that I have another chapter to hit these plot points, I can explore a more daring version of my original idea. Very excited for it.

That being said, I would 100% cut off that last line and probably improve the chapter by 3%.

And that’s the chapter! Again, I am so sorry that it was such substandard quality. I promise that the next chapter will be better.

In other news, can I get your opinion on something. Ever since polls came out, I have wanted to do a little census poll on how many people know about CTB, read it, or choose to read it. Just to gage how big the actual audience is.

On one hand, I think it would be interesting. On the other, it’s a practice in vanity that is very antithetical to how hard I try to be nonchalant about everything. I don’t know. Let me know what you think.

#bonus fact is that i will make clearer in the next chapter is that Roald is like 10+ years older than Lincoln #he is 10 years older because the alternative was making him the same age and I would have to confront the question as to whether they ever #dated. that answer was not a no. (canon is that they did not date ever)#WOULD HAVE BEEN HILARIOUS THOUGH #me rambling #lu ctb #ask #linked universe #ctb spoilers #fallenleafofmaple #ctb commentary #director's commentary

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daisyrb-gvf · 9 months ago

Text

Cruising Into Love

d.r.w. x f!reader

My first post on tumblr, but definitely not my first fic. Danny's cruise picture had this story pouring out of me, so I hope you all like it! I thought this first chapter would be longer than it is, but the next part of the story deserves its' own chapter.

Words: 3.2k

Summary: After 3 mundane months of working on a cruise ship, you're met with the most gorgeous man you've ever seen.

Warnings: plenty of swooning, language and brief mentions of f masturbation.

You sigh as you zip up the back of your fitted black dress. Another night, another performance. You love being an entertainer, and sitting behind the keys is as close to home as you can get on this ship, but after 3 months of your 8 month stretch, it is starting to feel so redundant, and there are only so many songs that are approved to perform at the piano bar. The boss wasn’t too pleased with your medley of LL Cool J songs with an audience consisting of mainly 50-80 year olds. Tight ass.

“Just three more nights and you get a break,” you reassure yourself as you touch up your makeup in the pathetically tiny mirror that looks huge in this shoebox of a bathroom.

“Alright girl, I’m off,” you say to your slightly-less-than-pleasant bunk mate. It could be worse, but it would have been nice to bunk with someone who actually seemed to give even half a fuck about you. At least she wasn’t mean. Just…distant.

“Kay,” she replied with enthusiasm akin to a corpse, not bothering to look up from the sketch she was working on. You sighed again, feeling like you’ll never be able to chip away at that wall. You didn’t come here to make friends, but damn, a little human connection would be nice sometimes.

– – –

Your body shuddered as you threw back a shot of tequila at the bar. “Thanks, Chris,” you said to the bartender-one of the few people who will have an actual conversation with you. He winked before flicking his eyes over to a young, classically hot dude. Boyish features, blue eyes, sandy blonde hair…you get it, but definitely not your type.

“Down boy,” you say with a chuckle as you wink back at him.

Settling down at the keys, the audience gives you a small applause as the chatting dies down.

“How’s everyone feeling tonight?” you ask the small crowd, mustering up as much enthusiasm as you can. You get a small cheer, and a few whoops from the more inebriated folks. “You mind if I play a few songs for you?” A louder cheer encourages you as your hands start to dance across the ivory keys.

Ooh you can dance

You can jive

Having the time of your life

Ooh, see that girl

Watch that scene

Digging the dancing queen

The crowd sings along with you-definitely one of the more tone-deaf groups you’ve played for, but at least they seem to be having fun. Dancing Queen is always a good opener, and one of your favorites, so you prefer to start the shows this way.

The crowd cheers as you segue into your next number. People are getting tipsier with each song, and you have to admit, it is pretty entertaining. Drunk crowds are typically great audiences unless they get belligerent.

“Alright, it’s been a blast playing for you all tonight,” you say as you start the intro to your final song.

I needed the shelter of someone’s arms

And there you were

I needed someone to understand my ups and downs

And there you were

WIth sweet love and devotion–

Holy shit. Who is that guy? A tall, dark, and handsome man emerged into your view after an elderly couple left the table in front of his. You miss a note and snap back into focus through the chorus. What the hell? Why is some random-admittedly gorgeous-dude throwing you off? That’s new. You make it through the second verse, but after that it’s impossible to not steal another glance. Your knees get a little shaky as you drink him in, thankfully keeping your shit together in your performance. You watch him sing along as he drums his fingers on the little bistro table. You realize you glanced a little too long once he smirks at you, locking eyes. You blush red and avoid the entire corner of the room where he is sitting for the rest of the song. Oh God, how embarrassing.

The crowd cheers as the song ends and you take a bow before immediately walking back over to the bar…which, unfortunately, is far too near the gorgeous man in the corner.

“One more tequila, please, Chris,” you say anxiously as he chuckles.

“Little flustered there, aren’t you? Wouldn’t have anything to do with that yummy Greek statue of a man there in the corner would it?”

“Shut up, Chris,” you whisper, your face turning redder by the second.

“Mmhmm, okay. Whatever you say,” he says with a smirk before walking to the other end of the bar serving the influx of post-performance guests.

Walking out of the room, you make it maybe ten feet before realizing you left your phone behind the bar.

“Shit,” you mutter to yourself, debating on walking back now or waiting until the crowd clears in hopes of avoiding the gorgeous creature who made you pathetically weak in the knees.

“Oh, come on, he is just a man. Get the fuck over it,” you mutter again, rolling your eyes at yourself. You turn around and make it one step before slamming straight into someone.

“I’m so sorry!” you both say in unison as large, warm hands wrap around your shoulders, steadying you. Of-fucking-course.

“Oh, no worries!” the insanely beautiful man replies, dropping his hands from your shoulders. The summer breeze feels colder than it had before as your whole body flushes.

“Oh-um-yeah, okay,” you sputter out with a nervous smile. Good God, get your shit together.

He chuckles, “Your performance was great. We loved it,” he says warmly as a beautiful, tall, brunette woman walks up next to him. Of course. There’s no way this man could be single. It only makes sense that he would have one of the most staggeringly gorgeous women on his arm.

“Yes, it was lovely!” she chimes in, hooking her arm through his as she reaches out a hand to shake yours.

“Oh, thank you!” trying to stay as cool as possible and not show your disappointment, you shake her hand and flash a smile.

“I’m Josie, and this is my brother, Danny,” she introduces.

Oh. Brother. He’s her brother. The relief you feel is embarrassing and you hope it doesn’t show on your face. You sense it does, based on the tiny smirk Josie is clearly trying to hold back.

“Nice to run into you,” Danny says with a chuckle, reaching his hand out to shake yours as well. He holds your gaze for just a moment longer than you expected. Just long enough for your breath to catch as you get lost in his dark hazel eyes…flecks of gold, brown, and green-the warmest eyes you’ve ever seen. He flashes a bright white smile that makes your chest tighten.

“Yeah, uh, you too,” you reply with a nervous giggle, your voice barely shaky. Oh my God, you are so fucking embarrassing.

“Come on, Dan. We’re late meeting mom and dad,” Josie says, leading Danny down the hallway. “Nice meeting you!”

“Yeah, you too!” You stay glued in place for a moment, watching them walk away. Damn, the back looks just as good as the front. Danny turns around at that moment, catching you staring. He smirks and winks before turning back around, disappearing as they turn a corner.

“Real smooth, you idiot,” you sigh, tossing your head back before walking back into the bar.

– – –

You got almost no sleep that night, and it infuriated you. Losing sleep over a man you barely met. Get a grip…but, those eyes-such a warm hue, long lashes, smooth, tan skin, he had a little dusting of freckles on his cheeks and angular, almost avian, nose. His features were masculine and sharp, with a jaw that could probably cut glass, but his kind eyes and heart-melting smile made him seem so…soft. You could tell he was a man who wasn’t afraid to do some grooming and pampering. With skin like that and shiny, dark brown, perfect ringlets of hair long enough to barely brush his shoulders…yeah, he put some effort into his appearance. His demeanor didn’t seem cocky or vain, though. Confident, sure, but not full of himself. Ugh, and then that body.

“Oh, come on,” you say exasperatedly to yourself as you roll over for what was probably the 20th time, trying to relax. “You’re not 13 years old. For God’s sake, you are 25. Act like it.”

You take a deep breath and relax one muscle at a time, feeling the gentle rocking of the ship lulling you to sleep. You start to drift off and the image of Danny turning around to wink at you jolts you awake again.

“What the hell? May as well just stop fighting it,” you say defeatedly, letting your mind drift off to Danny with no resistance. You close your eyes again as you try to remember every detail. His sun-kissed skin, broad shoulders, slender hips and legs, but you could definitely see the muscle definition under those tight black jeans. You let out a little giggle as you remember the cheesy little shark tooth necklace dangling on his collarbone, just above a small patch of black hair dusted on his sternum. His short-sleeved top was unbuttoned just below his pecs, leaving the rest of his torso up to your imagination. You find yourself imagining how it would feel to run your hands over his warm, undoubtedly hard, stomach before smoothing them around to his back, running up to his sturdy, broad shoulders. You know what would help you sleep, but even alone in your bunk, you’re embarrassed that seeing this man for a few moments would cause you to slip your hand into your shorts. You wonder if you had met him earlier in the day it would have given you time to shake it off. Maybe take a run around the 7th floor track that wraps around the ship on the deck. But for now, you need sleep, so you do what needs to be done. Thank God your bunkmate is working the overnight shift. It only takes a few minutes before you finish with a soft sigh, drifting off to sleep seconds later.

– – –

Hard as you tried, you can’t help but feel a slight pang of disappointment when Danny doesn’t show up at the next night’s performance, and you feel pathetic for that. This is a huge ship. It’s impossible to do even half of the activities offered, so why would he come to the same show twice? To see you? Come on, girl. Get real. The self-loathing is bubbling up inside you as you attempt to exhaust yourself by running seven miles. Does it work? Absolutely not. You’ve never felt so electric and energized. Any other time you would have been grateful, but not now. Not when, despite your exhaustive efforts, you still find yourself relieving that ache in your core before drifting off to sleep.

Rolling out of bed the next morning, you feel a bit better. The exhaustion from your run the day before caught up to you, and your legs feel like they are on fire. Thank God. Despite the pain, you brush your teeth, throw your hair in a bun, and slip on a tank top, shorts and running shoes, making your way to the 7th floor. Maybe after today’s run you won’t even think about him when you fall into bed tonight.

A small smile forms on your face as you close your eyes, feeling the sea breeze enveloping you as you step through the double glass doors onto the deck. Most people you know prefer to run out on forest trails, feeling the crunch of leaves and soft dirt under their feet, seeing the sun filter through quaking aspens, hearing songs from morning birds harmonizing together. You love it too, but the power and energy that the ocean offers can’t be beat. You start off with a slow jog, warming up your aching muscles, before finding your stride. You feel as if the ocean is running alongside you, the waves matching your pace. You finally start to feel like you’ve found your footing again-literally and figuratively. After your first lap you see a few more people making their way onto the deck. Most come out for a nice walk, just enjoying the view they don’t get to see often. You see a sweet old couple, moseying along hand-in-hand. Just walking silently. Comfortably together. This is a common sight around here, but you feel a bittersweet sort of heartache for just a moment before someone whizzes right past you.

Long legs, narrow hips, mess of dark chocolate curls tickling those broad, tanned shoulders with each step, the navy blue muscle tee giving you a much better view of those shoulders as they flex and move in tandem with his strong, lean legs. Legs that he clearly enjoys showing off based on the yellow shortie-shorts he’s sporting. You increase your pace with a surge of adrenaline, but also so you can get as close as you can to the view. As he reaches the curve of the track at the front of the ship, he looks over his shoulder at you, grinning before picking up his pace. Is he…challenging you? Oh, it is so on. You weren’t an all-state track star for nothing. You grin and take a deep breath, pushing yourself faster, the excitement dulling the burning pain in your thighs. Danny hears you round the corner as you catch up to him, chuckling through his steady, heavy breaths. You’re not letting those long, sculpted legs have an advantage over you. Ignoring the burn in your chest, you surge forward faster, eventually passing him. Looking over your shoulder you catch him staring at your ass. He quickly looks away and out at the ocean. If you weren’t puffing and panting so hard, you’d probably giggle, but it’s all you can do to stay focused and not let him catch up to you. You both run another lap, taking turns being in the lead before you both give up and just run at a steady pace next to one another.

“Okay, I give up,” he says, holding his hands up in surrender. “You’re good! How long were you running before I came out?” You couldn’t help but shiver slightly hearing the deep timbre of his voice between his panting breaths.

“Oh, just barely over a lap,” you reply, doing your best to not sound like you’re dying, and failing miserably.

“Safe to say this is something you do often?” He runs the back of his hand down his neck, wiping off a bead of sweat that rolled from his chin down over his prominent Adam’s apple.

Taking a big gulp of air that had nothing to do with your exhaustive run, you wipe sweat from your brow and try not to stare at his neck and shoulders glistening in the sunlight. “No, this is my first time,” you say as seriously as you can manage.

“Are you joking?!” he asks incredulously.

A laugh bubbles up at the sight of his adorably confused and surprised expression. “Absolutely. I’ve been running basically my whole life.” Your breathing is finally starting to slow along with his, the rise and fall of his chest and shoulders still exaggerated, but not as fast.

“Oh, thank God,” he replied, flashing that bright smile, your breathing picking up again ever so slightly.

“Bit competitive, huh?” You walk over and grab a couple of towels and water bottles from the recently restocked shelf.

He chuckles, “Yeah, I guess you could say that.” You hand him a towel and bottle and he immediately chugs half of the water, a tiny bit of it running down his chin, the small stream of cool liquid mixing with the sweat on his neck, traveling down his protruding Adam’s apple again. “Thank you,” he says, wiping his brow with the slightly scratchy fabric of the generic beach towel.

“Oh, yeah..uh, you’re welcome,” you awkwardly sputter, yet again embarrassed by the reaction this man is getting from you for basically just existing.

He drops his head, clearly trying to be a gentleman and hide his knowing smirk. After a brief awkward moment he looks out at the water. “Bet this never gets old, does it-getting to run with the waves every day?”

“Never,” you reply, with a contented sigh. “The ocean is the best running buddy I’ve ever had, no offense,” you giggle.

He chuckles back at you, “None taken. I totally understand. I wish I could do this every day.”

You both saunter over to the railing and lazily lean over the smooth, wooden bar.

“Well, they’re basically always hiring here. Want a job?” you ask with a chuckle.

“Don’t tempt me,” he replies, his large hands gripping the rail as he leans back slightly, enjoying the breeze. His damp curls already drying from the salty air.

“This sea breeze is really the only thing that could do any tempting. Cruise life behind the scenes isn’t very glamorous. I’m sure whatever you’re doing now is better than this.”

“Maybe so. Depends on the day.”

“So, what do you do?” you ask, turning around to lean your back against the railing as you take another sip of water.

“Danny! I thought you said you were going to wait for me?” Josie bursts through the glass doors, looking irritated. “Oh hi!” she says, flashing a bright smile-very similar to her brother’s-at you. “It’s good to see you again. You want to join us on our jog?”

Josie is so bubbly and bright. She has that magnetic energy that people are just naturally drawn to. Matched with her staggering beauty (that clearly runs in the family), you imagine that there are plenty of unsuspecting people out there who have been left in a haze by her presence. You find yourself just a bit jealous of whatever genes run in that family.

“Oh, thank you for asking, but I actually just finished up here. I don’t think I have another lap left in me,” you chuckle, finishing off what’s left of your water. “Not after kicking this guy’s butt,” you giggle nodding your head in Danny’s direction.

“Excuse me?” he retorts, “I do believe that it was a tie,” he laughs. My God, he has the most adorable laugh you’ve ever heard-kinda dorky, actually, and you are so glad this Greecian god has been humanized a bit, even if it did make your heart ache more for him.

“I believe you,” Josie loudly whispered to you with a wink, “and thank you for tiring him out a bit. Now I can outrun him,” she laughed before bolting down the track.

“Oh come on, sis! That’s not fair!” he called out, running after her. After a few strides he slowed down and turned around, running backward, “It was good to see you again!”

You watched him run down the track, frozen in place again, until he turned the corner.

“Guess I’ll be losing more sleep tonight,” you mutter with a sigh before walking inside to take an ice cold shower.

LOTS more Danny in the next chapter, I promise. I'm a slow-burner.

Go to Chapter 2

@spark-my-nature

#danny wagner #daniel wagner #danny wagner gvf #daniel wagner gvf #danny wagner fic #danny gvf #greta van fleet #greta van fic #greta van fleet fic #Spotify

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hahaifolded · 2 months ago

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Can We Make This Work? (6)

Nanami Kento x POC!Fem Reader x Gojo Satoru (Masterlist) Chapter 6: Teacher and Student (Previous) (Next) Summary: Gojo pisses you off. You decide to help a student with his homework. Warnings: Off-handed comment, POLL AT THE END!

The brisk morning air felt nicer today. It was probably because you no longer held the weight of a failing marriage on you. Instead, just a failed one. But, it looked like you’ll be able to save one person of this cursed union as you might be able to free your husband of it and enter in a better… another marriage.

Wanting to give your husband some of his freedom back, you decided to take an early mission today in the outskirts of the city. Which explains why you found yourself wandering through an empty warehouse so early this morning. That’s one way to start the day.

The information seems to be right, you thought. The energy in the place signaled the presence of a first-grade curse. You spat out one of your own, a weird long-snout creature that you had picked up in Mexico, to locate the thing. Within a matter of seconds, your special-grade found the first-grade curse and held it down. The first-grade curse reeked of sorrow and rage. Your curse kept attacking the sad curse until the thing could no longer walk. It laid on the floor, crying and struggling in agony.

You crouched down to look at the curse. It’s weak enough, you observed. You placed a hand on it and began to caress it. You hated how your cursed technique worked. In order to absorb a curse, you first had to weaken it and then understand the root cause that caused its creation. Sometimes you’re able to understand what caused the curse, and other times, you couldn't. This one was easy to pinpoint as you could tell it was the product of the poor working conditions that this place used to uphold.

Now your least favorite part. You brought the withering thing up to your face. 1 - 2 - 3, gulp. You gagged. Not the worse, but not great either. Taking in a deep breath, you sighed, realizing that you still had your special-grade out. To your annoyance, the thing wagged its tail, almost as if it was taunting you. Let’s get this over with. You shrunk and swallowed the thing.

After dry heaving, you felt a strong presence behind you. You whipped around and got into a fighting stance. Fuck. This wasn't good. The one downside of your technique was that after swallowing a curse, you're energy-less for roughly 5 minutes, leaving you completely vulnerable to any sudden attacks. Usually it’s never an issue as you always wait to swallow a curse until you’re done. But you were so caught up in your thoughts this morning, you missed this sudden burst of energy. You stood straight, arms out, ready to survive for the next few minutes. However, as soon as it appeared, it disappeared, leaving you dumbfounded. But as soon as you relaxed, you felt it again, much stronger now, right behind you.

Two hands landed on your shoulders. ��Boo!” a voice yelled. You swung behind you, but instead of making contact with whatever was behind you, your fist stopped midair. You refocused your gaze and realized what who loomed behind you.

“Gojo?” you asked in a surprised tone. You didn’t expect to run into your husband’s “friend” out here. From what you recalled, you were the only sorcerer assigned on his mission. "What are you doing here?"

Gojo smiles and takes a good look at you. You couldn't see his eyes, but you didn't like the way his head scanned you up and down. "Just wanted to check up on our newest toy. Make sure it wasn't defective, but just my luck, you're better than I expected," he praises. Or at least, what he thought was praise.

He notices the way your body tenses up and your stare goes cold. Gojo wasn't stupid. He knew you were upset, but he really had no idea why.

Toy? It? You couldn't believe the gall on this man. You were a living, breathing human being, not some object that needs to be tested.

You got in his face. “You might think you're something just because the society here told you, but you're just like the rest of us...a fuckng pawn." You hiss out that last word. You weren't scared of him. Powerful or not, he was just a man at the end of the day. "So you better watch who you call a toy." You stare straight at his blindfold.

Gojo was speechless. He didn't know how to respond. He didn't mean to offend you. He was trying to be cheeky. This completely dampened his plans of befriending you. "Wait, no, I didn't-- I think this was a misunder--"

"Don't care. Whine to someone who will," you snap, turning your back on him. He can kill me if he wants. At this point, it'll be a favor.

You leave the warehouse angry by the interaction while Gojo stands there feeling guilty.

-- -- --

After a quiet morning, Nanami went on with his day, feeling like something was missing. He assumed it was because he had a hard time falling asleep. It's not everyday you talk about aiding in finding another husband for your wife. Feeling restless, he decided to eat his lunch outside, hoping the sun would calm his nerves.

And it seems like he wasn't the only one who thought that as he found you sitting in the courtyard.

"(Y/N), how are you?" he asked as he approached you. You titled your heads towards him, but made no effort to greet him. That's odd. "Everything okay?"

You let out a deep breath. "Yes, sorry. Hi Nanami." Nanami tried to dwell too much on the fact that you called him by his name instead of your preferred nickname for him, husband. "Sorry, just not feeling well."

"Oh, have you eaten lunch yet?" he asked, taking a seat right next to you.

"Can't." Why? Nanami stares at you, waiting for a further explanation.

You groan. "Had a mission this morning. And every time I absorb a curse, it just messes up my stomach. So I'm really not in the mood to eat right now." You deflate in your seat.

Oh. Now that he looked back on it, that explained why you would sometimes cook dinner, but not eat any of it. He felt bad for not asking you about it earlier.

Trying to ease his guilt, he changed the subject. "Well, how did your mission go then?"

"Fine. First-grade curse, nothing too difficult," you said mindlessly. Suddenly, you scowled as you further recalled your mission. "Ran into your friend actually," you grumbled out.

"Friend?"

"Gojo," you gagged as you said his name. Just by saying his name, Nanami felt a headache coming on. He asks what happened and you tell him. After recounting your story, Nanami lets out a deep breath.

"He means well but has a funny way of showing it," he reasoned. You scoff, clearly not content with that. Wait, Gojo might actually be useful here? "You know, Gojo is single and comes from a good family. Maybe--"

"Pass." Got it. Before Nanami can say anything else, he hears someone calling his name.

"Nanamin!"

-- -- --

You look over to see one of the first-years running towards your husband Nanami. Itadori?

"Itadori," Nailed it. "How's the project going?" The smile on his face disappears.

"Not great. Everyone keeps rejecting me," he admits, scratching the back of his head. You furrow eyebrows, confused by the conversation. Thankfully, Nanami notices.

"Itadori, (Y/N), my... my wife. (Y/N), Itadori, one of the first-years here. He has to interview a sorcerer for a school project." Itadori quickly waves at you, wide smile back on his face. You wave back. You ask why Nanami hasn't helped.

Yuji jumps in. "Gojo said that I have to expand my horizons and ask other sorcerers for help besides your husband." You notice Nanami still at that. Fuck, I have to find a new husband... fast.

"Any sorcerer?" Yuji nods. Not seeing the big deal, you offer to help.

You didn't think the boy could smile any brighter. "Really? You're a literally a life-saver. I don't think I could have taken another no."

He seems like a nice kid and it's not that hard to answer a couple of questions. "Am I missing something here? How come everyone said no?" Nanami and Yuji both look at you in disbelief. Itadori breaks the silence with a laugh. You stare at him until he realized you weren't joking.

"Cause you know?" You tilt your head. Yuji looks at Nanami for support. He looks back at you and continues, "Cause of Sukuna."

"What's that?" Both of their jaws dropped.

Nanami starts. "What do you mean 'what's Sukuna'?" Yuji starts to stutter.

What's their deal? "Yeah, what's that? Is it some disease or something?" Suddenly a deep voice came out of nowhere.

"The only disease here is this that you call humanity," it hisses. You feel an increase in energy from the boy. You take a good look at him and notice the second mouth that sprouted on his face. Was that always there?

You stand up and grab the boy's chin. You turn his face to get a good look at the second mouth hat sprouted on his cheek. Nanami stands up, but keeps his distance, unsure of how this will play out.

"Yeah, this is Sukuna. He's some old curse user-turned curse that lives inside--" But before Yuji can finish his explanation, you do the unimaginable. You stick your finger in the mouth.

Sukuna gags. "HOW DARE YOU?" he roars. You go in to stick your finger again, but the mouth disappears before you can.

Nanami was baffled. "You did not just stick your finger inside of Ryomen Sukuna's mouth?" You wipe your finger across the boy's shirt. He yells in disapproval.

"Seems like you got a curse in you. You should probably get that checked or something," you say.

"Aren't you scared?" Yuji couldn't believe it. You didn't even cower or shy away from him or Sukuna.

"Why would I? It's clear you got a good hold on him. Besides he wouldn't be the first person who's tried killing me so nothing new really." Itadori just stares at you, stars shining in his eyes. You didn't expect to get such a reaction out of the boy. You look at Nanami who is also looking at you with starry eyes.

"Okay... how about that project?" you announce, trying to break both of them from their trance. That seems to do the trick as Yuji comes to.

"Oh yeah, let me pull out the questions that Gojo wanted me to ask," he informs, pulling his phone out of his pocket. You visibly cringe. Ewe, I forgot Gojo is his teacher.

Word Count: 1791

Previous - Masterlist - Next

Author's Notes: I'M SORRY FOR THE DELAY! Trust me I love this story, I just got sidetracked with other thoughts. But here is the long awaited chapter 6!

Also y'all can't tell me you never thought about sticking something in Sukuna's mouth?

Also I don't know if y'all noticed but I changed tenses here. I began in past tense but then switched to present towards the end. What do y'all prefer? I'm leaning towards present, but would love to hear your thoughts. Here's a poll so it's easier to hear from y'all:

#jjk x fem!reader #jjk x poc!reader #jjk fanfic #jjk x reader #nanami x y/n #nanami x reader x gojo #nanami kento x reader #kento nanami x reader #gojo satoru x reader #satoru gojo x reader #gojo x reader #nanami x reader

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major-mads · 10 months ago

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Chapter 3: Listen to Your Heart

John "Bucky" Egan x Ruth Morgan (OFC)

Series Masterlist

A/N: I'm so glad y'all are enjoying the series!! Thank you so much for reading!! Us Callum girlies sure got some...cough cough...quality content in episode four, that's for sure! Let me know what you think, and go read the other half of the story using the link below!!! this wonderful gif is by @zsuo!

Collab: On a Wing and a Prayer by @footprintsinthesxnd

Word Count: 4.7k

August 3rd, 1943

Ruthie, Since Saturday night, you have rarely left my mind. I replay the dance in my head, trying to commit every detail to memory. I love being around you, Ruth. I couldn’t imagine the night going any better than it did, and I’m so glad that you stepped outside of your comfort zone to come with me. Curt’s been giving me a hard time about embarrassing you when I sang, but I told him you loved it, even if I sound like a “dying animal” in Buck’s words. Speaking of Buck, I’ve decided to never let him live down Saturday’s condom incident with Hope. Hugh sure isn’t letting it go, so I can’t help but join in on the fun. Despite that, I think he had a great time with her, even though he’s a total stick in the mud. I can’t believe they didn’t dance, Ruthie! Our dance was my favorite part of the night, besides how we said goodnight, of course.

I would really like to see you again soon, Ruth. It’s no secret that I’m taken with you, and I think you feel the same. We’re spending the next few weeks replacing crews and forts, so we won’t be too busy. If you’re able, please stop by and pay me a visit. At the sight of your sweet, kind smile, and the feeling of your hand in mine, my worries seem to disappear. The only worry left in my mind is that my efforts to convert you to a Yankees fan won’t be successful. I hold onto the hope that you’ll see that the Braves are terrible and that the Yankees are the better team. The Braves went 11 and 18 this past month, and my amazing team went 21 and 11. You can’t argue against stats, slugger. I hope this won’t affect your feelings toward me because then we might have a problem. I can’t wait to see you again soon. Please stay safe up there for me. Your Hotshot, Johnny Egan

August 6th, 1943

Dear John, I am happy to hear that you and the boys are finally getting a break. When we were at the dance, I knew y’all were exhausted, but you sure didn’t show it, Major. You danced and sang like there was no tomorrow, and I had more fun than I had in a long while in your arms. Don’t worry about what Curt or Buck said. I loved your singing, even if it was slightly off-key and very loud. You might have embarrassed me, but seeing you in your element was worth it. Every time I think back to that night, my heart begins to race and I can’t help but smile at the thought of you. I’m so very grateful that you decided to bring me along. Somehow you manage to turn me into a giddy, blushing teenager every time you cross my mind. Our kiss is a cherished memory of mine, and forgive me for being forward, but I hope that we can make more of such memories in the future. Hope had an amazing time with Gale at the dance, and apparently, he wasn’t as much of a “stick in the mud” as you think. I’m sworn to secrecy, but know that they are very fond of each other already. When we got back to Grove the day after the dance, we told Frank what happened with…the incident, and he thought it was hilarious! He even said that he “did his job well,” whatever that means. I would love nothing more than to come see you, but sadly, I don’t know when I’ll be able. Casualties from Italy are getting worse with the invasion of Sicily underway, and we’ve been on runs almost every day since we got back from the dance. Regardless of this, the first chance we get, Hope and I will make our way up to Thorpe Abbotts. I can’t wait to see you again, Johnny, but the blatant slander against the Braves might damage your chances of getting another kiss. We’ll just have to agree to disagree on this because I promise you I am not going to be converted. After all, a little friendly rivalry never hurt anyone, right? Don’t hurt yourself falling off your bike during your break. Yours, Ruth Morgan P.S. I would like to meet Meatball the next time I visit the base!

Sunday, August 8th, 1943: Thorpe Abbotts AAF Base, Norwich

The mess hall buzzed with energy as Buck and Johnny sat at breakfast with Curt, who slowly moved his powdered eggs around on his plate with his fork.

“I can’t eat this shit anymore,” he groaned, pushing the plate away from him.

John took a slow sip of his “coffee,” raising an eyebrow at the man. “Then don’t eat it.”

“Oh wow,” Biddick quipped. “What a great idea, Bucky. I’d never thought of that.”

The major smirked behind his mug and shot his friend a wink. Buck watched on in amusement, used to the two going back and forth as he and John did.

Leaning his elbows on the table, Curt leaned over the table toward John with a teasing glare. “Have you heard anything from Ruthie? Has she mentioned me? I thought I made a good first impression the other night.”

“Hmm,” Johnny hummed, pursing his lips for a moment before pointing at Biddick. “That’s Nurse Morgan to you, you dodo. I’m surprised you even remember anything from the dance with how drunk you were.”

“Oh I couldn’t forget a face like that,” he chuckled.

John’s eyes narrowed playfully as he clasped his hands together and leaned on the table. “Well it’s a good thing for me that she could forget yours, then,” he clapped back. “And you’re not the one she kissed goodnight.”

Buck rolled his eyes and continued to eat his breakfast as Egan’s loud, wide-mouthed cackle echoed through the mostly quiet mess hall. Curt then turned to Gale with a raised brow. “How about Hope-”

“Nope,” Buck interrupted calmly, raising his cup and taking a sip of his steaming coffee.

The other two men watched him as a tiny grin formed on the Major’s lips. Although he didn’t talk about it much, they could tell Buck had already developed deep feelings for the woman.

Raising his eyebrows at Curt, John grinned. “Oh boy.”

“You’ve got it bad, Buck,” Biddick laughed, his hand landing on Gale’s shoulder roughly. “You gotten a reply to your letter yet?”

Thinking of the perfectly folded letter from Ruth he’d picked up that morning sitting in his breast pocket, John smiled down at his food, warmth spreading through him at the thought of the blonde. Buck, however, pursed his lips and shook his head at the question.

“I actually haven’t written her yet,” he sighed, running a hand down his face. “I want-”

“What!?” Johnny all but yelled, his eyes widening as coffee almost spewed from his mouth. “Why the hell not, Buck? I already sent one to Ruth and got a response.”

Gale groaned and put down his fork with a clink. “Because of Hugh.”

“Why are you so worried about Charlie?” Curtis asked, wearing a confused expression.

“Because he’s in my squadron. And he’s her brother.”

John pointed and leaned over the table at him. “Hope’s a big girl, Buck. She can make her own decisions. Screw what Hugh says.”

“But-” Gale started but was once again cut off by Bucky.

“He’s gonna hate you even more if he thinks you're leading her on. You not sending Hope a letter isn’t making anything better,” he said, a smirk beginning to tug at his lips as he continued. “On top of the condom situation.”

John and Curt busted out into chuckles as Buck just groaned, closing his eyes tightly. “Oh, please don’t remind me.”

The ideal chatter was disturbed by the door to the mess hall swinging back on its hinges with a crash, followed by heavy footfall as Hugh all but stormed through the building like a tornado. He snatched a mug off a table and poured himself a steaming cup of black coffee before marching past the trio, staring daggers at Gale who looked up worriedly from his breakfast.

Curt’s eyes followed the man as he walked in, muttering under his breath, “Speak of the devil.”

"Good morning to you, too, Sparky," John called out with a small wave as he walked by, only to be met with deafening silence from the other pilot.

Hugh's harsh glare was burning a hole in the back of Gale’s skull and he thought any second now he’d come into his brain and it would be lights out.

“You’ve really pissed him off this time, Buck, and you didn’t even get his sister into bed,” John laughed heartily, taking a long swig from his whiskey and coffee, it was most likely more whiskey than coffee but Gale humored him.

“Will you give it a rest? I’m already getting it from Hugh without your added input,” Gale stabbed aggressively at his scrambled eggs, willing the eyes of the room to stop looking at him.

Curt snorted beside him, waving his fork around. “Well, I’m telling you boys, if I’d have had Hope in my arms and she’d bought condoms with her, let’s just say she wouldn’t have been going back home with them.”

That was the final straw.

Gale slammed his fist down on the table, ignoring the way Johnny jumped in his seat, spilling his coffee over the table, and the way several chunks of his scrambled egg disappeared onto the floor.

“You say anymore slander about my girl, Biddick and I swear…”

“Your girl, Buck?” John raised his right eyebrow, an amused smirk on his lips as his mustache twitched. “She’s your girl and you haven’t even written her yet?”

Sometimes Gale wished he could rip that stupid mustache off John’s face, but he kept his cool.

It would seem that Hugh had heard the whole commotion. His chair screeching back from the table, he stomped up between the tables once more, his glare never leaving Gale until the door slammed shut behind him.

Buck groaned, unsure if it was in relief or at the impending doom that he was likely to suffer if this debacle continued. Without a second thought, he excused himself from the table, ignoring the calls of protest from John and Curt, and hurried after Hugh.

“Hugh! Hugh, wait up. Please, I want to talk to you,” Gale jogged after the tall brunette whose face turned sour the instant he noticed him.

The door quickly closed behind him, and Curt looked at the major across from him with a guilty expression. “I was just joking, Bucky. I would never-”

“Ahh don’t worry about it,” John said as he sipped on his coffee. “He knows that. Like you said, Buck’s got it bad and this thing with Hugh has been eating at him since Saturday.”

Biddick nodded to himself, his eyes lingering on the door. “Do you think Hugh’ll let it go?”

“For Buck’s sake, I do…I think he will. Doesn’t mean I won’t still rag Buck about it, though.”

“Yeah,” Curt mumbled, staring down at his plate.

Neither man spoke for a few moments, each lost in their thoughts until Bucky wiped his mouth with his napkin and stood up. “I’ve got a letter to write. See you later, Curt.”

“I never thought I’d live to see the day,” Biddick replied. “Bucky Egan writing a love letter. Looks like Buck isn’t the only one who’s got it bad.”

John tugged his white-fleece jacket back into place and chuckled at his friend. “Don’t go all soft on me.”

“I think it suits you, John. Really,” he urged, a soft smile on his lips. “You seem happier.”

Staring at him for a moment, Bucky didn’t quite know how to respond. He felt happier. He had something to look forward to other than getting drunk at the bar or the adrenaline rush he got when the sound of .50 cal brownings echoed through his fort. John placed his cap back on his head, and with a curt nod, turned toward the door.

His tie suddenly became too tight around his throat as he pushed through the doors into the cool English air, and he quickly loosened it, letting it hang limply as he took a deep breath. In that moment, John Egan had a profound realization.

Since he came over to England in May, he had been simply going through the motions, replaying the same days over and over: Wake up…Fly forts…Bomb targets…Get drunk…Show a woman a good time…then start the cycle again the next day. For someone with such a passionate personality, he lacked the feeling that he so deeply desired. Curt could vouch for this, being the one to knock some feeling back into him a few months back on the wing of Mugwump.

But since that day in July when the nurses landed on their small base in East Anglia, feeling had slowly been creeping back into his life. He first felt it when Ruth caught him staring, and was soon captivated by her dimpled smile and capable personality. The numbness that had become so familiar to him faded into the background when she was near, her laughter shaking free his heart a little more each time it left her lips.

He was alive with Ruth. More alive than he felt when ME-109s whizzed past him or when flack shook his fort. More alive than when he unbuttoned a woman’s dress and laid her down. More alive than the burning sensation that traveled down his throat when he downed another shot at the bar.

Over the past few weeks, the blonde nurse had somehow burrowed into his jaded exterior and broken down the walls he didn’t even know existed.

John’s mind reeled as he silently mounted his bike and rode to the base HQ. The ride passed in a blur, and before he knew it, he was sitting at his desk, staring down at the blank sheet of paper before him. He hadn’t had a problem writing her before, so why was this any different?

How was he supposed to convey such profound feelings in a letter?

He started simply, letting his mind imagine her there beside him.

“Dear Ruth.”

Thursday, August 12, 1943: Termini Imerese, Sicily, Italy

“You ready girls!” Frank called over his shoulder, glancing as Hope and Ruth took the stretcher from the medics below them and loaded the last wounded soldier onto the rack. Hope pulled out her flight manifest and checked off the final patient to board. The young boy reached out, grasping her hand.

“Nurse,” his voice cracking as he tried to grab her attention. He was so young, barely eighteen years old. His bright blue eyes, glossy and hazy, gazed up at her.

“Yes, My Love,” Hope crouched down, clasping the boy's hand in one of hers while her other brushed away his brunette locks from his face. She tried to stop her eyes from drifting down his body to where only stumps of his legs remained, the burnt flesh wrapped neatly in crisp bandages.

“You’re an angel,” he whispered and Hope smiled sweetly at him, squeezing his hand. “When I write home, I’m gonna tell my Momma ‘bout you.”

A single tear trickled down her cheek and she leaned forward, pressing a soft kiss to his forehead and watching until he drifted off to sleep. His delicate, young features were no longer etched with worry, and the hard lines across his forehead softened as the morphine began to take effect.

Hope turned, watching as Ruth comforted one of the other young men further down the plane who had managed to remove some of his bandages.

“Hey, don’t do that, you need those,” Ruth tutted quietly, helping the Private sit up a little so she could secure fresh, white bandages around his bloody arm. The poor boy grumbled under his breath as Ruth tucked in the end. “Now leave ‘em be, okay?”

The young boy nodded, shifting uncomfortably in his cot. They weren’t the most comfortable racks, just cool metal bars lining the hammock-like beds that swayed as the C-47 rocked through the sky.

Hope took her seat beside Ruth, who had finished trying to redress the soldier's wounds, smiling briefly at her friend, who wore the same exhausted expression she did.

“I can’t wait to get back to the Grove. I need a warm bath and my bed,” Ruth mumbled, stretching out her aching muscles that screamed against the tension in her body.

“Oh don’t say that, Rue. We’ve still got to drop these poor boys off at the hospital in Mateur.” Ruth just groaned in response.

The dance with the boys had been their last outing in a while. It was the last time Hope hadn’t felt completely exhausted. She’d been relaxed, able to let go, and safe in Gale’s arms.

This trip had been hard. The plane was at full capacity and when they arrived on the airfield at Termini Imerese, Sicily, they were instantly thrown into action. The girls disappeared into the makeshift hospitals that lined the airfield, the white tents flapping in the harsh wind that did little to cool the heat from the scorching midday sun.

Hope and Ruth conferred with the surgeons, assessing and stabilizing patients that were safe to fly, meaning that many of the young men with head injuries or who had suffered significant blood loss would be unable to fly due to the unpressurized aircraft cabins. Many of the men didn’t have emergency medical tags, so the girls had to make their own assessments for many of the patients.

The thrumming roar of the C-47’s engine erupting to life always brought a great sense of comfort to Hope, along with an impending sense of fear in unison. This job, while rejuvenating her youth through the exhilarating flights and the lives they saved, aged her with each passing moment spent in the air, because after every successful landing she was left with the feeling that although they had saved lives, they couldn’t save them all. This weighed heavily on both of the women.

Frank and his fellow pilot chatted hastily in the cockpit, their muffled voices cracking through over the radio. As soon as the plane leveled out Hope and Ruth stood, each taking a side of the plane and beginning the checkups on their patients, recording their temperature, pulse, and respiration as well as checking there was no strike through of blood from their dressings. The girls worked quickly, only conferring on their patients' conditions.

It always amazed Hope how quickly their work changed them, on the flight over Ruth had been once again telling her about the letter she’d received from John. Hope feared she could probably quote Ruth’s letter herself by now, but she never complained, pleased that Ruth was finally coming out of herself.

Hope had her own letter from Gale tucked into her top overall pocket, over her heart. His words burned into her flesh and she felt as though he was right there beside her all along.

Having dropped off the soldiers at the large US hospital in Mateur, Tunisia, the C-47 headed home. The mood was somber as the large metal bird rattled its way across Europe towards England.

Ruth’s eyes had closed about half an hour before, and Hope didn’t have the heart to wake her up. She looked so peaceful, the wrinkles that normally appeared when she smiled were smoothed away, and her blonde locks fell softly from where she had so lovingly pinned them that very morning.

Hope took Gale’s letter out of her pocket, smoothing out the creases that had poked around the edge of the page. Words of affirmation sprung out at her and a smile was instantly cemented to her lips as she relieved the last moments with him.

The flight home always seemed quicker, and soon ‘The Angel of Death’ was touching down on the runway. Hope helped a rather sleepy Ruth off the plane and waved goodnight to Frank, who chuckled in amusement at the blonde’s incoherent murmurs, some of them sounding an awful lot like the name of her beloved major.

“Goodnight Ladies.”

“Come on, Rue. Let’s get you home,” Hope wrapped her arm around her sleepy friend, leading the way to the Nissan huts they were billeted in.

Some of the other nurses were still stationed in Africa and so they currently had the hut to themselves. Hope lay Ruth down on the bed, smiling as she snuggled closer into the pillow.

So much for a warm bath…

Hope would rag her about it later, but she couldn’t deny that the stress of the day was getting to her too, but something restless kept her from falling into her own bed. Instead, Hope sat at the small desk in the corner, pulling out a piece of paper and a pen. She pulled Gale’s crumpled letter from her pocket, smoothed it flat onto the desk, and began writing her reply.

The following day, the girls finally had a day off, and as much as they wanted to make the trip up to Thorpe Abbotts, the nurses were so exhausted that they barely got out of bed.

“What time is it?” Ruth groaned, turning onto her side to hide from the bright sun peeking through the curtains.

Getting no response, she cracked her eyes open, and a smile tugged at her lips at the sight before her. In the corner of the room, Hope’s cheek lay smushed against the desktop, her messy black hair splayed around her as she slept soundly. The corner of a paper could just barely be seen under her hair, and Ruth immediately knew what she’d fallen asleep doing.

Sighing softly, she pulled back her covers and padded over to Hope, wincing at the sting of her feet against the cold floors. “Hope,” Ruth whispered, rubbing the woman’s shoulder gently. “Come on, let’s get you into bed.”

She awoke slowly, allowing the blonde to sit her up off the desk. “Five more minutes,” Hope mumbled.

Ruth chuckled, the sound echoing through the silent hut. Luckily, Hope’s bed was directly beside the desk, so the smaller woman didn’t have to maneuver her around too much to get her onto the mattress.

Gently laying her extra blanket over her best friend, Ruth smiled down at her. “There you go. Snug as a bug.”

She then walked over to her bed and snuggled under the covers again, but not before closing their blackout curtains, causing darkness to envelop the room once again. The warmth drew her back into her peaceful slumber, her eyes fluttering closed as her mind repeated Johnny’s latest letter:

Sunday, August 8th, 1943

Dear Ruth, I can’t wait to see you again. I know I said that in my last letter, but I’ve recently discovered that absence actually does make the heart grow fonder. I find myself waiting in anticipation for your letters the moment I send off my own, and I long to see you…to have you here next to me. Hopefully, your missions will ease soon and you’ll finally get a break, too. I understand how tiring it can be to fly day after day, and that’s without even having to take care of patients. Please take care of yourself, alright? As much as I would love to see you, please rest if you get the chance. Don’t worry about me. We’ll see each other soon enough. Today Buck finally wrote Hope back. I tried to tell him how stupid it was to wait, but he was adamant about getting Hugh’s approval. He’s a bigger man than I am, Ruth. Regardless of this, we can never let him live the incident down…ever. In response to your threat to withhold your affection from me, I say bring it on. Like I said before, you can’t argue with facts. The Yankees are the better team, and I’m going to convince you of that, so I cannot agree to disagree. I’m too stubborn to let you win, and if I’m being honest, I don’t know if you’ll be able to resist my charming personality…or the mustache. I know you love the mustache, Ruth. If you decide to follow through on your threat, I’ll shave it off. Just for you. Don’t stand between a man and kisses from his girl. It doesn’t end well for anyone. But it’s like you said, a little friendly rivalry never hurt anyone, right? Please be safe, Ruthie, and know I am thinking of you. Yours, John Egan

Knock. Knock. Knock.

“Hope! Ruth! You alive in there?” a voice hollered through the hut’s door, rousing Ruth for the second time that morning. She opened her mouth to reply, but Hope beat her to it.

“Go away, Frank!” she groaned, covering her ears with her pillow.

“It’s almost noon,” the man chuckled. “I know you’re tired but you both need to get up. We’ve got stuff to do.”

Sitting up abruptly, Ruth grabbed her watch off her small side table, her eyes widening when she read 11:43 am. She looked over to Hope who was also staring at her watch in utter disbelief.

“I haven’t slept in this much since I was a teenager,” Hope muttered under her breath before turning to Ruth, almost breaking into a fit of laughter at the blonde’s wonky curls from the day before. “We look terrible.”

Frank pounded his fist against the door, yelling, “Get up!”

“WE ARE!!” They both hollered back, unable to keep the frustration from lacing their voices.

Throwing off her covers, Hope stood to her feet and marched over to the door, swinging it open. Ruth clamored quickly out of bed to follow her, stopping right behind her shoulder as they glared at Frank. His eyes scanned the women before him, and a grimace appeared on his face at their ragged appearances.

“Okay,” he started, raising his hands in surrender. “Go back to sleep. You look like shit, and I’d rather do things on the plane by myself than deal with your grumpy attitudes.”

They narrowed their eyes at him. “Nope. We’re awake now,” Hope retorted, smiling sweetly at him.

Sighing, Frank stepped back from the door with a barely concealed smirk. “Meet me at the hardstand.”

As Hope shut the door, Ruth flopped back on her bed, her eyes following Hope’s figure walking across the room to the desk in the corner. “How’s Gale?” she asked, propping her head up with her hand.

Hope began to neatly fold up the letter, smiling softly as she talked over her shoulder. “He’s good. Said he didn’t write because of Hugh causing problems, but he’s got his blessing now.” She turned toward Ruth with dusty pink cheeks, giggling to herself. “He even signed his last letter with ‘your Gale.’”

“Hope!” Ruth squealed, sitting up and covering her mouth with her hands. “I’m so happy for you. You deserve someone like Gale, and I’m sure Hugh sees how much he adores you.”

Hope looked down at the letter in her hands, her heart swelling at the thought of the man. “He’s amazing,” she whispered as her eyes traced over his name on the paper. After a few moments, she shook her head, seemingly clearing her thoughts, and raised an eyebrow at Ruth. “How’s John?”

It was now Ruth’s turn to blush, the tips of her ears heating up at the mention of the major. “Great…amazing…wonderful. I feel like I’ve known him so much longer than a few weeks, Hope. You know how I can get sometimes, but when I’m with him, I don’t feel nearly as anxious. And when he kissed me…I wished it could’ve lasted forever. I can’t wait to see him again.”

Sighing softly, Hope plopped down onto her bed. “Look at us, Rue. We’re like a bunch of lovesick teenagers.”

“Yeah, we are,” Ruth giggled, her mind replaying her and John’s laughter, soft touches, and tender looks from the dance. The way he held her face so delicately, how his lips-

“Come on,” Hope called, her mattress squeaking as she got up, breaking Ruth from her thoughts. “Let’s get ready so we can go annoy Frank.”

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prinzrupprecht · 2 months ago

Note

What the hell is going on with apocalypse I'm genuinely tweaking😭 On one hand some of my favorite gods/mythological characters are there but on the other hand it's such a dumpster fire and the characterization couldn't be worse, and it's only chapter 5 or smt?

I got a lot to say…

APOC SPOILERS

R1 was so bad that many said they were dropping the spinoff. It was so bad that R10 got overshadowed by the Apoc bullshit on the Shuumatsu Reddit. We had 2 chapters of Cu getting destroyed just for him to one shot Ra in the next chapter? It was too obvious that Cu was gonna win R1 but we didn’t expect it to be in 3 chapters which just makes the whole fight just straight ass. It looks like thorns went through Ra’s head so the author’s made a chief god so ass and die in a humiliating way. It’s unfortunate how the Egyptian pantheon gonna look like a joke from now on and now people are expecting Anubis to lose R11. I love Egyptian gods, but the disrespect they’re getting is abysmal. Ra was never depicted as an asshole in actual mythology either.

The stupid part of the latest leaks is that these leakers only gave us 3 panels and those 3 panels did more damage to the community than anything from the main series. It looks like Cu just one shotted him. No backstories either which just makes the characters unlikeable. A lot of people rely on backstories to like a character or not. When Okita got his backstory, many people that hated him were suddenly feeling sorry for him and started to grow onto them. He got a lot of character development throughout R10. Now R1 Apoc could’ve been so much better. There was too much hype for Ra from the crowd, his daughters cheering him on, and Cu doing nothing for 2 chapters just sets up Ra to losing from the beginning.

Now I couldn’t even care for either character in Apoc R1. There was no character development for them. I’m not even surprised Cu won the most protagonist MC energy of the year. I’m pretty sure Wukong will win R2 since he’s giving off protag vibes as well and we haven’t even seen Prometheus yet who’s his opponent. This is just straight bs and horrendous writing.

Authors aren’t very good with making anything unpredictable with the spinoff. Some of the designs were bad or unoriginal. Apparently Cu looks like a white haired Leopold from black clover. 💀

Now going forward with it, I ain’t gonna have high expectations, first round or not it was actually worse than R6 in RoR. 😭

#record of ragnarok #shuumatsu no valkyrie #apocalypse of the gods #this shit so sad #this shit was so bad

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saltyyuuri · 2 days ago

Text

🖋️Writers Block 🖋️

Iso x fem! Reader

Part 3

PART 1 - PART 2 - PART 3 - PART 4 - PART 5 - PART 6- PART 7

Words; 3400

Warnings; mentions of NSFW and vulgar language . This will be copy pasted on every chapter.

🖋️🖋️🖋️🖋️🖋️🖋️🖋️🖋️🖋️🖋️🖋️🖋️🖋️🖋️🖋️🖋️🖋️

You were absolutely bored out of your damn mind today. You had slowly started typing up your new book-small idea starting to form but nothing fully done yet. You were hoping that after writing a chapter or two something more concrete would come up- but the more you typed the less it came to you.

Currently your book only had four chapters, and the setting was nicely done but... You still didn't have a main idea on what to do with the story. The small idea was pretty simple- you have decided to write something in the lines of the protagonist being an assassin. You liked the idea- and you also figured you were in one of the best places to ask about if you had questions about anything.

And you wrote four chapters based on the notes you already had, and yet you just couldn't come up with an idea on what to do. The typical plots of "oh, I'm going to contract you to kill my partner" or "taking down a big organization" or even "taking down and even better assassin", they just felt overused and too typical. But you just couldn't come up with something better for the moment.

Instead, you just went back on a hiatus, like you've been on for the past month, just racking your brain and hoping that soon enough something would come up. And to make matters worse, for the next couple of days, your favorite agents; Iso, Jett, Phoenix, Gekko... All of them were out on missions at the moment, meaning you either have to socialize with other people or you would have to spend time alone trying to figure out some ideas.

You were pacing around your room at this point, your mind both rushing and somehow quiet at the same time. It was quiet on everything that you needed it to rush on, and rushing on every impertinent thought at the moment. As much as you wanted to amuse yourself and give into the thoughts on Iso - you were forcing yourself not to.

But it was especially hard when you were still wearing his hoodie- the same one he had practically forced over your head a few days ago. You hadn't worn it out much, and it's still very much smelled like him. So, you would just keep it in bed instead, using it as a sort of makeshift plushie. You felt a bit weird doing it sometimes, a bit like a teenager- but it's not like he was coming into your room while you were sleeping, or like he knew.

After letting out an exasperated sigh, you finally forced yourself to leave your dorm-you were obviously not going to be productive pacing around, and your mind was working against you at the moment no matter what you did. You finally open the door to your room and head down the hallway instead, hoping that maybe a bright idea would come to you.

You walked by the common room - and when you passed by you noticed that there was a lot of chatter and giggling going on. You decided to peek in and see what was going on, pushing open the door to the common room. There you saw Killjoy, Reyna and Neon chuckling, Neon being a little bit loud with her laughter, as if whatever was going on in my corner was absolutely hilarious.

"what's going on here?" You asked curiously, taking a few steps their way but not trying to go too fast to not invade the conversation immediately. You wanted to see first if you were welcome- and then you would incrust the conversation.

"Oh- KJ just sent spicy pictures to Raze while she's on a mission, and her reaction is just priceless." Neon said immediately, bursting in laughter once again. Killjoy had a slight blush on her cheeks, probably out of embarrassment that she got ratted out so fast, but she was still giggling along. Reyna gave Neon a scolding look, knowing that this type of conversation usually isn't supposed to be just yelled out-but she didn't speak up considering that it was Killjoy's matters.

Killjoy ended up speaking up afterwards. "Raze is adorable - and I wanted to surprise her a bit and see her reaction via text. She sent a whole voice message practically screaming." Killjoy said, still faint blush on her cheeks as she spoke in amusement. "Awe- that's adorably hilarious-" you giggled out softly, smiling up from as you still stood a bit off to not invade their privacy.

"Wait, Kj, why not just ask (Y/n) for spicy ideas? You always say you don't have any and that ours are tame- she literally writes novels with some of the damn spiciest things you'll see-" Neon once again declared a bit loudly, Reyna giving her another scolding look but this time looking more like she was giving up on even trying. Killjoy on the other hand looked a little curious now.

"Ah really? Your an author?" She said, turning towards you in curiosity. "Yeah- I write a lot of different types of books, but pretty much all of them have smut. Some are softer and some..." You trailed off, you wanted to find the right words to not just outright say that some books were just downright freaky- but Neon once again couldn't help herself.

"She literally wrote a book where the protagonist gets fucked with a gun-" And at that moment, Reyna stood up and gently started pushing Neon out of the room by the shoulders. "Ok cariño, I think it's time you put your energy to good use." She said, sounding discouraged while Neon was starting to trash around trying to escape- "NooOOOO- I DON'T WANT TO GO TRAIN AGAIN!" Neon yelled before being pushed out of the room fully by Reyna.

You and killjoy watched the scene unravel before silence rang in the common room once again. You had an awkward pause of silence before turning back towards the German engineer. "Yeah.... I mean, Neon put it pretty bluntly-"You said to cut the silence, a sheepish look on your face.

Killjoy took a short moment before speaking up, clearing her throat slightly. "So essentially - you have books that go down more... Risky routes when it comes to sex-?" She said, even though she was fighting to keep her composure, she did look very interested and she had a slight blush on her cheeks.

"Yeah. There's some books where I had a bit more creativity when it came to those scenes." You added along in a slight sheepish tone. "And initially I came over here so I could give myself some new ideas on a new book... And even though I have small ideas that could be nice- I still don't know exactly what I want to go on."

KJ listened, looking pretty interested as you spoke. "Ah, so you have a writer's block!" She said, declaring it with a small gasp. You nodded along to her statement, she couldn't have put it better. You indeed were suffering a writer's block- lacking ideas that would actually lead up to something good.

"Yep-.... A writer's block. I don't know what to do and no matter how hard I try, I just can't get a good idea." You sighed, slumping down in a nearby chair. Now that you were talking about it once again, your mind immediately wandered back to try to start coming up with some ideas. It was an automatic reflex, the moment you thought about needing an idea, you just couldn't help yourself to just fall right back into your thoughts and try to brainstorm something.

"Though luck. I'm sadly not the most creative when it comes to that sort of thing- but if you need any help when it comes to engineering, I'll be your girl." Killjoy said with an apologetic expression, a small smile on her lips . "No worries- I'll find something eventually." You reassured her with a small smile.

"Hmm... Well may I suggest something maybe?" Kj spoke up once more with a pensive look on her face, a finger going to tap on her chin slightly. "Sure, any idea is a good idea at this point." You said, sitting up a bit in the chair as you looked over at her, now curious to know what she would suggest.

"Maybe... Maybe try doing something a bit crazy-outside your comfort zone? Something you haven't done yourself before. Maybe that'll spark something?" She suggested, cocking her head to the side a bit. "That's what I did- my crazy thing was my inventions. The moment I started I just couldn't stop! It sparked something in me, and at that moment I knew exactly what I wanted to do."

You thought about her suggestion for a small second, it was a really good one but you had to find something to do that you haven't done before, something that would put you out of your comfort zone for a short moment and ideally spark something. "I like the idea... The problem is I need to find something to do crazy enough that could bring me the right flow of thoughts..." You hummed, but you nodded with a small smile. "Thanks!"

🖋️🖋️🖋️🖋️🖋️🖋️🖋️🖋️🖋️🖋️🖋️🖋️🖋️🖋️🖋️🖋️🖋️

And you were back in your room, feeling like you were back on Square one. Killjoy suggested something very good, but it was finding what you could do that could be putting you out of your comfort zone and still give you some inspiration that was making it hard. You were pacing again in your room, trying to come up with an idea.

You were looking around, looking at the various objects laying around, at your decor, the lighting, absolutely everything just to come up with something. On the spur of the moment nothing came to mind- which frustrated you slightly. You ended up heading to take a quick shower, annoyance washing over you.

You figured a good cold shower would cool you off and maybe help you cool off your irritation a bit- and it did work, at least temporarily. The cold water helped you destress a bit, washing away your thoughts for a moment. When you were done you took a moment to gently dry your hair, patting it upwards with the towel to try to soak up the water.

You walked back into your room, completely bare, opening a drawer in the dresser nearby to pull out some underwear. At that moment you looked up-catching a glimpse of yourself in the mirror. You are nude, holding some underwear in your hand, the lighting looked pretty nice and you could see Iso's hoodie on your bed... And an idea came. It was definitely a risky one, probably not a good one, but it was definitely an idea.

You slid on some lingerie instead of your regular underwear- purposely choosing red. There was a reason behind it- and you were hoping that whatever you did would actually work out and not backfire. Of course you snapped a few pictures in the mirror, very suggestive ones at that. Then, you slid on Iso's hoodie, sitting on the bed as you picked up your phone once again, turning off the camera app.

You tapped around on the screen, pulling up the texting app you usually used instead. You felt a small rush of adrenaline and courage go through you all once, deciding to test your luck. "This is such a bad idea-" you mumbled out to yourself before starting to text.

You: "Heyyy-"

Iso: "Hey? You okay?"

You: "Yeah, just checking in"

Iso: "what, you thought I was dead? Rude."

You: "😒 disappointing."

Iso: "😑"

Iso: "well, much to your pleasure, I'm very well and alive, thank you 😗"

You: "Bold to assume it brings me pleasure."

Took a bit of a risk on the wording, and you know he had just slightly enough of a dirty mind to think about it. If anything, your whole point was to make sure the wording would just leave enough space for him to think about it- and just hopefully take the bait to lead you to do your crazy idea.

Iso: "Awe 😞 and here I thought things were going well."

You: "wait- no-"

You: "that's not what I meant-"

Iso: "I know, I'm pulling your leg 😌"

You: "I - you're such an ass."

Iso: "Am I? 🤔"

You: "Yes. An ass with a nice ass."

And that was attempt number two, this time hoping that the comment wasn't going to be taken wrong once again. You waited patiently for him to answer, a bit nervous.

Iso: "You've checked out my ass??"

Iso: "Good to know it was a mutual observation 😌"

You choked on air- he just blatantly admitted to checking you out too, that was definitely not the comeback you were expecting. But it was okay-it was going down the right track for your plan. There was a blush growing on your cheeks as you prepared to continue texting him, a small smile curling at your lips.

You: "perv. 🙄"

Iso: "***respectfully."

You: "Hm.... You're lucky you're hot. You're forgiven."

There seem to be a slight pause in conversation, to which you got a little nervous. You didn't know if you should wait for him to reply or send something else, deciding to just put down your phone for a few seconds and wait patiently.

In the meantime, over on site "Sunset", Iso was blushing as he looked down at your last text message, him and his team currently at rest. He was able to text back without any dangers since they were at rest, but he didn't expect you to get flirty. It definitely thrilled him- he had taken interest in you a while ago, he just didn't know if it was a good time to make a move or not. He also wasn't sure how to make a move on you- you had such a way with words and you had a bit of a goofy side to yourself, so he felt a bit intimidated that you would either nit pick his words or think it was a joke.

Iso: "😳"

Iso: "You actually think I'm hot-?"

He texted back, feeling slightly nervous but also a rush of excitement go through him. He was liking this, liking the slight tease going on in the conversation-but he also wanted to know if it was genuine.

You: "of course - your hot and adorable 😚"

Iso: "Dammit, you're making me blush."

You giggled on your end, turning to get caught up in the texts, nearly forgetting your initial plan at every response that was sent. It was when you saw the word 'blush' that you were reminded exactly of what you wanted to do- your small smile and giggles turning into a smirk.

You: "Blushing? Like rosy or beet red? 👀"

Iso: "... The type that's getting worse."

You: "So soon to be beet red? Cute 💜"

Iso: "Are you trying to make me look like a teenager here-"

Iso: " and I see what you did there with the purple heart-"

You: "Couldn't help myself 😚 So, you didn't answer my question :) "

Iso's heart seemed to pick up it's pace, he could feel his face heat up even more. You were only teasing him via text and he was already getting flustered as hell. He turned himself away from the group he was currently with, not wanting to get questioned on why he was blushing so much.

Iso: "Fine, it's pretty damn near tomato red. Happy? 😒"

You: "really? Damn, you farce is matching my underwear 😘"

You texted out the risky response, this time shutting your phone instantly. You didn't want to see his 'Read✓' icon or see him typing, nervousness and excitement taking over all at once. You were holding back another giggle- you were actually doing this. You are actually taking your damn courage and getting risky by text-

The notification sound came through, and you knew you had to check again.

Iso: "YOU CAN'T CASUALLY SAY SHIT LIKE THAT!?"

Iso: "WhaT?!"

Iso: "(Y/n) that's a low blow!! 😭"

You: "Oh I can go even lower. You know what I'm capable of, you read my books 💜"

Iso: "WOMAN I SWEAR-"

You: *1 Image attachment*

You sent a picture, the first one not being too risky. You just snapped a quick selfie of yourself, wearing his hoodie. It was taken a bit more from above, so it was easy to see your bare thighs, making it very painfully obvious you were only wearing his hoodie. You had also pulled it to the side, showing the red strap to your bra. You made sure it was at the center focus of the picture.

Iso: "Oh god- your going there. You're actually going there."

You: "What? I just proved a point 🤷"

Iso: "I swear to god - I see that game you're playing."

Iso: "Please - don't do it. I'm surrounded by my teammates, and I already look like a goddamn blushing mess."

Iso: "I can't even excuse myself for privacy right now. Please - (Y/n), don't push this any further-"

You: "So... You don't want me to do worse because your scared you'll be caught with a boner?"

You: "Cute 💜"

Iso: "NO- please, it's actually going to be torture -"

You: *3 image attachments*

You were giggling like a child, your face was completely red but you were enjoying this way too much. Teasing him, knowing that you were not only making him completely out his feelings on you, but also making the poor man go through the pain of seeing without any chance for release- something about this whole thing was just thrilling.

Your phone buzzed multiple times, and you wanted to check-but you also wanted to let him freak out for a few moments alone. You were giggling - wondering if you should do worse. But then it also hit you; this whole interaction, this risky, spicy interaction- you really enjoyed it. And you wanted to put something like this in your book. You got up immediately and noted it down in your notebook- yet another idea to help form the backbone to your story.

Once you were done writing down your idea, your phone buzzing slowed down, so you finally picked it back up to check.

Iso: "NO-"

Iso: "WHY-"

Iso: "You're so sexy but l swear to all that is holy right now-"

Iso: "(Y/n) you are so god damn evil. I hope you know"

Iso: "At least you picked the color accordingly- red for being a god damned devil-"

Iso: "Fuck, seriously, I really want you now- you're horrible."

Iso: "I hope you know that my teammates are really questioning why my face is this red now. I have to sit crossed legged like and idiot."

Iso: "I hate you so much right now."

You read through every message, giggling like a teenage girl at every one. You had fun liking all his messages, smirking. Seeing the effect you had on him, his reaction like this, it was so adorable... And it may have turned you on slightly. But for the moment, you ignored your own desires, finally answering the poor man.

You: "So adorable ~ now I can't wait to see you again 💜"

Iso: "Stop- I swear all your messages are double edged, I can't do this 😭"

You: "fine- bluntly, I'm into you and I'm horny now. Happy?"

Iso: "YOU MADE IT WORSE"

You: "in a good way 😌"

Iso: "yes but no - like what I am supposed to tell my team here, their harassing me to know what's going on -"

You: "Just tell them the truth, idc"

Iso: "How are you so shameless- 😭"

You: "Want me to get even more shameless?"

Iso: "I KNOW WHERE THAT'S GOING- NO!!! DON'T!!"

You: " awe :( fine. I'll cut you some slack."

Iso: "Thank you- finally 😭"

You: "Good night, handsome. I'll think of you before going to sleep😘"

Iso: "... I'm going to pretend you meant that innocently."

You: "oh, have you read my book that was set in medieval times? "

Iso: "Weird change of subject - but yes? The one where your protagonist ended up being burned alive to the stake because she wasn't believed- until her story was told centuries later? It was a really good one- I really liked it."

You: "Thank you! But yeah, I was going to say remember the smut scene where she was touching herself? That's going to be me :)"

Iso: "I -"

Iso: "I really should have seen that coming."

You: "Too bad you won't see me coming"

Iso: "STOP!"

Iso: "(Y/N)!!!

You: "Good niiiight 💜"

You giggled uncontrollably as you turned off your phone, getting comfortable in bed under the sheets. You had changed from your previous 'outfit', now currently wearing comfortable pajamas as you cuddled into his hoodie. You were blushing, thoughts actually wondering quite a bit.

But the bottom line was; he definitely reciprocated your feelings- and as a bonus, you had an idea for your book.

#valorant #valorant fanfiction #valorant x reader #fem reader #iso #iso valorant #iso x reader #valorant iso

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