#ocs has a little ptsd

[scryarchives]

𝐥𝐨𝐬𝐭 𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐝𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐦𝐞𝐫 - 𝐢𝐭𝐚𝐝𝐨𝐫𝐢 𝐲𝐮𝐮𝐣𝐢 | 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝟑

tadashi joins jujutsu tech, and it's not without a warm welcome.

masterlist | previous , next !

–pairings: itadori yuuji x oc

– warning: mentions of panic attacks, fluff, canon divergent, pre-shibuya arc

– author’s note: man writing in first pov is really tough. i found myself cringing 90% of the time lmao

disclaimer: i’m not of japanese descent and am unfamiliar with japanese honorifics, etc. feel free to correct me!

My breathing was ragged, vision blurry with saline escaping from my eyes, landing on the lenses of my glasses. I ripped the rimmed frames off my face and the back of my hand rushed to wipe the cascade of tears away. I winced at the rough feeling of strands of my hair getting in the way, causing friction against my skin that was softened from salty tears.

Anger, It was all I could feel in the moment.

A scream filled my ears, but I couldn’t feel it leave my throat. My legs burned from running, an ache spreading through my muscles, a fire blossoming in my chest. Pain had become a new friend of mine.

My thoughts began to slow down, the tears along with them, but the painful burn remained, spreading through my being. I couldn’t help the way my fists clenched the hairs of my head, the way my jaw was clamped shut.

I could keep the voices away for so long.

A minute passed– no, thirty, and I still had nowhere to go. My mind was clear by then, and I had nothing on me, other than my half-dead phone, and a couple thousand Yen. Enough for a meal and a room for the night.

I sighed, cursing at my bad fortune before looking around me to see nothing but fields of lush, green grass, the bridge I now sat upon, and the blue-to-orange sunset that once was the crystal blue sky. Below me, the bubbling of a stream; calm and steady, in contrast to my turmoil.

My phone was my first option, food and lodging are the least of my current problems. The trouble was finding the right person to call. 

Right, there were only five contacts on my phone.

Perhaps I could give Fumi a ring? No, she’d be busy with her high school stuff. Doesn’t stop me from missing her, though. 

Nobara maybe? She’s moved to Tokyo, too late for that now. 

Don’t even get me started on Eiji, the poor kid’s schoolwork has been building up since he joined more clubs. Besides, he’d just run to Dad.

Oh right. Dad. Out of the question.

My finger hovered over the last contact, biting my lip harder than I should’ve as the pain returned tenfold.

Nobara it is.

I waited, my fingers finding distraction with the loose threads of my shirt as the dial tone kept me on my toes, my hopes raised only to be crushed with the next tone. 

“Hallo?”

At last, my torture was over.

“Nobara, hey!” I could feel a natural smile growing on me. 

“Tsu, is that you?”

“Who else would it be, hah. How’s Jujutsu Tech? Any fun?”

“Tsu-tsu, I’ve been here for three days, and I’ve already been sent on a mission,” She groans in exasperation, a chuckle escaping me.

“At least you’ve got something to do there. Are your classmates nice?”

“Well, one’s a potato face, but he’s nice, I guess. The other’s got this high-and-mighty attitude, he only gave his name, can you believe it?”

I wince playfully at her tone, imagining her annoyed expression.

“Yeesh, must be tough being the only girl there.”

“Honestly it’s such a struggle not having a girl friend here to do girl stuff with. Tsu, I wanna go shopping so bad in Shibuya but these lessons really wear me down!” She huffs, and I can see her crossed arms. “You really should’ve come with me. All your talent’s being wasted in that nothing town.”

A silence fell over me and the cogs were set in motion.

“You’re right. What does it take to get into Jujutsu Tech?”

“And right over here should be your dorm,” Miss Shouko, as she called herself during the introduction, pointed to the door in front of me before I pushed it open.

The breeze was all I could feel from the open sliding door opposite the entrance, a simple white bed resting against the wall as a desk sat across it. I pulled my suitcase in, taking in a deep breath as I admired the view of the green trees, the blue skies, everything.

“Light traveller?” She questioned, her long brown hair resting on her shoulders despite the sway of stray strands from the light wind.

“No, Shouko-sama,” I didn’t look back at her much, choosing to find a place to keep my suitcase. I could always unpack later.

“I didn’t have much to begin with.”

“I see. Well, I’ll leave you to it. Don’t make too much of a noise, and remember curfew is at 6 pm, 6:15 latest.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” I nodded, walking her to the door. “Thank you again, for the help Shouko-sama.”

“It’s my job as a teacher here, but sure. If you need anything, you know where to find me.”

I nodded again, a habit I might be developing after accepting the fact that I was back in school again.

“Oh and one last thing,” She turned around, peering at me in curiosity. “What did you answer when Principal Yaga asked you the question?”

Without a moment of hesitation, I answered once more, with just as much confidence as I had when I stood before Jujutsu Tech’s formidable principal.

“I want to be a sorcerer because I don’t want anyone to suffer at the hands of curses as I have, and I’m willing to do anything in my power to protect others from going through what I did. They don’t deserve it. They never did.”

I watched the way Miss Shouko hummed, a small smile growing on her lips as she chuckled to herself quietly, not in a mocking fashion, but in one of amusement.

“You’re gonna get along just fine with his other students.”

“Who’s the other students?” I questioned, and Miss Ieri’s hand landed on my shoulder.

“You’ll find out tomorrow. Go unpack and rest, your schedule will be passed to you in an hour or so.”

“Okay, thanks, Shouko-sama.”

“Anytime, kid.”

The click of the door’s lock was the sign that I was alone again, the chirping of birds filling my empty dorm room as I let out a soothed sigh. Nature was truly beautiful in such moments.

I then turn to my suitcase, kneeling to unpack it as I slide it back from under the bed — it’d be better to unpack now and rest than sleep and panic over my things tomorrow.

However, just as I unzipped my bag, a knocking at my room door pulled me away from my task at hand.

“It can’t be Shouko-sama,” I find myself muttering out loud as I near the wooden door. “She said the timetable would only be here in an hour…”

“Tadashi!!” 

The door then burst open, revealing the familiar redhead I missed while in Tohuku. Nobara’s exuberant energy filled the small room, and I instantly forgot about unpacking, as my childhood friend pulled me into a hug.

“Ehhh, why didn’t you tell me where your room was? I had to run into Shouko-sama to find out where you were,” She pouted, pulling away with an accusatory finger.

I winked back playfully, Nobara giving me a hard shove on the shoulder.

“I was planning for it to be a surprise, but you found me anyway. Shokou-sama told me that I would get along with the rest of my classmates, but I don’t even know who my teacher is,” Nobara hums. “How did you find out who your teacher was?”

“Well, I arrived in Tokyo, and I was standing around at our meet-up place, and then Gojou-sensei appeared with Itadori and Fushiguro,” She placed her finger on her chin in thought. “But you’ll probably meet your teacher tomorrow during class. Did you get your uniform though?”

“Ah, yeah, it’s in my bag. Didn’t want to get it dirty on the way here.”

“Oh! Take it out, take it out! I wanna see how it looks on you!!” She squealed, rushing over to my bag to pull it out for me instead.

I let out a little sigh, but take my uniform, walking to my bathroom to put my outfit on.

“Give me a few, but I’m warning you, it’s nothing special.”

“Tsu-tsu, you make anything look special,” I hear Nobara call back out to me. “By the way, you don’t mind if I invite a few friends over right?”

“Eh? You’ve made friends already?” 

“Oh don’t worry, you, Saori and Fumi will always be my childhood friends,” She chimes, and I sigh escapes me once more while I pull my long, dark blue shirt over my head.

I fiddle with the buttons as I hum, smoothing out the shirt before looking at my reflection, ignoring the mild discomfort I feel. My skirt’s on next, and as I’m smoothing out, I can’t help but hear the little whispers of the voices in my head.

It doesn’t look right.

A frown rests on my face as I run a hand through my hair, gathering it into a ponytail. A jolt of pain runs through me as I tug my hair tighter, and I feel my throat tighten in fear.

“Tsubame,” I hear Nobara calling from outside. 

No, I’ll just leave my hair down.

“You’ve been in there for a while, I don’t remember the uniform being that difficult to wear.

“Ah, s-sorry about that,” I smile, pulling the bathroom door open, ignoring the way I let a little stutter slip out.

I can see Nobara notices from the way her eyebrow raises. She chooses to ignore it as she takes in my uniform, a wide, encouraging smile spreading across her face.

“You look so good, oh my gosh!” She grins, snapping a photo of me before running over to hug me tight.

“Nobara!” I hiss, and I feel my face warm in embarrassment. “Delete that now, I’m begging you!!”

“Never, that’s going in the blackmail folder,” She giggles and I give in with a huff. “Aw, don’t pout, it’s gonna give you wrinkles sooner.”

“Uh-huh… so did you invite your friends over?”

“I did!” She chirps. “But if you’re not comfortable with it…”

“It’s fine. I need more friends anyway.”

A knock at the door appears again, and Nobara ends up with a wider grin than before. I can feel something up her sleeve despite knowing her for the last eight years as I watch the way she practically skips towards my dorm’s door.

“You’re finally here!” She calls out with the door wide open, but I can’t see who stands at the entrance. “You guys took ages, geez.” 

She huffs, letting two boys into my room. The two are taller than Nobara and are definitely taller than me as well. 

The first of the two smiled apologetically as he held a plastic bag in his free hand, the other in the pocket of his dark teal hoodie. He had messy, salmon-pink hair with an undercut, warm brown eyes and two little marks underneath both of his eyes.

The second had spiky black hair and blue eyes. He had a frown and dark pants and tee, and trailed behind the first boy, hands shoved into his pockets.

“Sorry, Kugisaki-chan,” I hear a boy say. He sounds energetic. “We got lunch if you guys were hungry.”

“What food is so important that it got you delayed?”

“We got sushi,” The second guy quipped, and Nobara was instantly silent. I smiled at Nobara’s antics.

“Ugh, fine, you’re forgiven,” She grumbled.

Seeing that I was most likely forgotten, I cleared my throat slightly and watched the three turn their heads. I suddenly felt nervous under all their stares.

“Oh right,” Nobara grinned, walking over to my side to wrap an arm around my shoulders.

“This is Shu Tadashi,” She smiled in pride. “A childhood friend of mine from Tohoka.”

“Fushiguro Megumi,” The dark-haired boy with a gloomy face answered. He held his hand out for me to shake it and I took it.

“How long have you been a user?”

“As long as Nobara, but I think I’m finally ready to be one,” I answered straightforwardly, and he nodded his head before the other boy appeared before me.

“Itadori Yuuji!” He grinned widely. “I’m a new sorcerer too, so don’t you worry about falling behind. I’m way further back.”

I let out a small scoff as we shook hands. I ignored the way I felt a small jolt when our palms met, and how warm his hand was.

He felt like the sun. Radiant and bright.

Nobara eyed me when I pulled away, and she must’ve noticed how I lingered before retracting my hand. Her clap made me jump slightly, loud and sudden against the usually quiet atmosphere of the room.

“Now that introductions are over, let’s get started on lunch!”

gif by @heycaz

taglist: @mooncleaver @underwateredwrld @mcmisbehaving @neteyamrealgf @khany2026 @tinkerbelle05 @iheartamajiki < comment/dm me if you’d like to be on the taglist! >

[lotusillustration]

I know it's Literally How The Plot Works but new XIV expac? Just throw the Warrior of Light at your problems again! Surely this can't traumatise them even more?!?!

[dutybcrne]

Finally caught up with Natlan main quest and aaAAAAA

[invinciblerodent]

I don't want to go off on someone else's post, but I just read one that reminded me of how I'll be really, really interested in just how much of a range the Inquisitor's emotions will be able to have in Veilguard regarding Solas, especially outside of a romantic context.

Like I've never done a complete Solas romance playthrough, but the dynamic with an Inquisitor who used to care for him as a friend? Is just so fascinating to me.

Because, well, my Ray obviously wasn't in a romantic relationship with him. They weren't even particularly close, as far as friendships go- Ray enjoyed much more the company of raucous, down to earth, boots on the ground kinds of people, like Bull, or Sera, and Blackwall, and he always placed more regard on Dorian's opinion on matters of magic (for obvious reasons): so he and Solas, they more or less just shared a warm, cordial, collegial relationship. They weren't really in a "ride or die, it's you and me against the world" kind of friendship, but, Solas was responsible for keeping an eye on the Anchor, and yes, that meant that their relationship was important, and Ray trusted him fairly implicitly: he respected Solas, and that respect was -as far as he knew at the time- returned.

He even said to Solas after the Temple of Mythal (paraphrased of course), that he thinks that if you fail, the best you can do is shake yourself off, and try again, which is... pretty much exactly what Solas is trying to do now, only on a larger scale.

So, Ray feels not only blindsided, used, and betrayed by one he thought of as his friend (with enough grief to temper the feelings, but not enough to grant Solas the benefit of a doubt), but most importantly, he feels responsible for the events of Trespasser and beyond. He feels like his callous words (the ones that he had regretted for personal reasons many times over) may have been something of a catalyst for this large-scale destruction, and he finds that absolutely unacceptable.

On top of the personal betrayal of finding out that his pain was originally caused by the one who quelled it, that the main reason he even is the Inquisitor, this larger than life figure squeezed into a chokehold by his very mantle that he -by that time- kind of hates, is Solas...? Feeling very much personally responsible for letting the "pure, free-range insanity" of one he once called his friend, raze Thedas in search of a utopia that may or may not have even ever existed, all on top of finding out that he had been holding a snake in his bosom, that he had been deceived, lied to, used and discarded when he ceased to be useful?

Oh, my boy is fucking furious. And betrayed, and bitter, and insulted, and devastated, and following that conversation at the Eluvian, he would go as far as to say that he straight-up regrets not having run Solas through right then and there.

Ray doesn't believe, for one second, that Solas' plan could have any positive outcome. He's just a human, no magic, no true connection to spirits or personal stake in the "glory" of ancient Arlathan, not one to get misty-eyed over the distant past- he's just a shemlen who lives and dies by the sword, and though a romantic about the past, he isn't more concerned with old glory, or ancient magics, than he is concerned with the little people, and those alive right now.

My Ray can't, philosophically can't, conceptualize what great "good" could ever be worth the devastation that Solas would be willing to cause to the present, and he, as he is right now in my head, can't think of Solas as anything more than a duplicitous madman who -if the first round of words fail- he'd kill without much hesitation at all. (He'd feel like shit about it afterwards of course, but it wouldn't even be the first time he had made the decision to execute a mage too dangerous to continue drawing breath- that "honor" belongs to Livius Erimond.)

And I quite like how this parallels Solas' own guilt for even erecting the Veil in the first place. I think it all dovetails really nicely into how Ray undoing what he thinks of as his mistake would in turn stop Solas from undoing his own, and vice versa, and as the way things are right now, the both of them physically cannot both end up "winning" this.

I really like how there is no win-win ending, no compromise: if it can happen the way I'd like it to, one of them will, most likely, end up needing to die in order for the other to succeed in fixing what they view as their biggest mistake, and though Ray is technically a very small part of what Solas is thinking about, likely neither of them cherish the thought of needing to become the other's undoing.

If the game doesn't allow for that kind of... "friendly affection tainted by a fundamental and irreconcilable difference and impossibility of coexistence" type of relationship (you know, that one, in every piece of media ever lol), I might pivot on that and alter/simplify it a little bit, but I don't really want to do either plain rage and hatred, or plain sorrow and affection.

Because Ray is not Varric.

The Trevelyan family motto is "Modest in Temper, Bold in Deed" for a reason, and Ray embodies this down to his very core.

As I am thinking about it right now, for eight years, that rage and betrayal and sorrow had been simmering, and concentrating, quiet and restrained, in Ray's belly- and if and when the time and opportunity comes, he will not hesitate to do what he feels must be done, even if it's staining his hands with the blood of a friend.

Solas must be stopped at any cost, and the time for rational thought and words has long since given way to the time for blades. That thought has had time to crystallize in his mind, and if I'm given the opportunity, no matter what my Rook might wind up feeling, that will be his utmost priority.

[littlelordalphinaud]

For the angsty questions ask Pura/Raza "are you still mad at me?"

🐝  *  ―  𝑨𝑵𝑮𝑺𝑻𝒀 𝑸𝑼𝑬𝑺𝑻𝑰𝑶𝑵 𝑷𝑹𝑶𝑴𝑷𝑻𝑺.

"are you still mad at me?"

"Are ye still mad at me?" Pura almost jumped when Raza spoke. She'd thought they were asleep. Her fingers settled back in their newly short hair, just managing not to wince at the jagged ends.

"I was never mad at you," Pura assured Raza, abandoning their hair in favour of rubbing at the base of their ears, "I was worried and shocked, but not mad."

Silence fell, and Pura hoped that Raza was going back to sleep. It appeared not to be as they dislodged her hands and sat up.

"I'd understand if ye were, Purry," they said, stretching their arms above their head, "ye've been tryin' so 'ard t'keep me safe an' I go do somethin' so fuckin' stupid, an'-"

"Hey!" Pura cut Raza off, sitting up quickly and holding their face in her hands.

"Don't talk about yourself like that. You're not well. That's hardly your fault. And I promise you, I'm not mad. I'm not mad now, I was not mad then, and I will not be mad about this in the future. Although if you don't let me clean up the ends once we've had some more sleep, then I might get a little grumpy." Pura hoped the joke would at least make Raza smile.

It didn't.

But they didn't fight as Pura pulled them back down, securing the blankets around them once more.

[blujayonthewing]

I love my OCs so much, my beloved darlings, my precious blorbos 😊💕 I should figure out what melliwyk's nightmares are like

[darkbluekies]

The OCs search history <3

Silas:

"How to take care of ptsd in partner"

"How to make someone stop crying"

"How to make your partner forgive you"

"Best restaurant"

"Dark web"

"Diamond ring/neckace/earrings/bracelet"

"Best steak"

"How to stop people from gawking at my partner"

"Protein powder"

"Best soap to wash away blood from skin"

"Best detergent to wash away blood from clothes"

"Best cleaning supplies to wash away blood from walls"

"Best spray to keep blood smell away"

"Five star restaurant booking"

"Why are my clothes thrown out the window?"

Dr Kry:

"Morphine"

"Book series without explicit scenes"

"Healthy recipes"

"How to frame someone for murder"

"Am I secretely perverted"

"Forged signatures without watermark"

"Protein shakes"

"What happens if you mix poision with alcohol"

"Puzzles"

"PG-13 rated movies without angst or horror"

"Plushies"

"Needles"

"How to become an author?"

"How to know if your strict childhood has had any impact on your mental health"

"How to get over your phobia for germs?"

"Strong caffeine drinks"

King Edmund (let's pretend he has internet for a hot minute):

"Is it really dictatorship if I let people complain"

"Ptsd test"

"Why doesn't my wife talk to me?"

"Nightmare analysis"

"How to cheer up an angry wife"

"Can a queen rule over a king?"

"How much alcohol can you drink before you get knocked out?"

"Beatiful dresses for a queen"

"Jewelry for a queen"

"Are public executions a good fear tactic?"

"How do women's anatomy work?"

"Can you punish theft by death?"

"Can you cook rats?"

"Why are little kids scared of me?"

Jerry:

"Is drinkable bleach a thing????"

"What to do if your s/o is a fucking loser"

"Is saying 'you're an idiot' synonyms for 'i love you'?"

"Guns"

"Knives"

"Sexy outfits that doesn't make me look like a fucking clown"

"How to ask someone out on a date without sounding like a loser"

"Impressive date ideas"

"Alcohol that will make me forget today, yesterday, tomorrow and a week forward"

"Spare parts to motorcycle"

"Why am I so fucking cool?????"

"Why am I so fucking miserable?????"

"How to hug your s/o without it being cringe"

"How to make your motorcycle go much faster?"

"Boxing gloves"

"40 boxes of *your favorite snack*"

Hedwig:

"Aestethic wedding ideas"

"Is baby trapping illegal?"

"Is nepotism really that bad?"

"How to guilt trip someone"

"Utterly obsessed with my partner"

"How to be a good kisser"

"Dark web"

"Buy hitmen"

"How to bankruptcy someone"

"How to impress your partners parents"

"Best flowers for dates"

"Best hotel resorts for couples"

"Can you become a super model without school grades"

"Love poems"

"Poison"

"*your adress*"

"Best perfumes to seduce someone"

"*your instagram*"

"*your name*"

"How do I know if I'm blocked on social media"

[bunni-v1]

Can I please request a reader that has been so traumatised by what’s happened in the Scarabia book that they actively avoid the entire dorm and have Ace and Deuce as their guard dogs (I love those two and I really love how you wrote them as the readers protective besties during the Malleus break up fic). Like how would Kalim, Jamil and Adeuce react to that?

I find it really cathartic when I read fics that have the characters feeling guilty after what they put the reader through whilst the reader is getting support from their friends.

(Something I’m really salty about in twst is how no one ever holds the overblots accountable for what they’ve done. I full on agreed with Ace when he told Riddle that crying wasn’t going to erase all that he did before the overblot and I literally fell in love with him when he punched Riddle after he insulted us/Yuu/the player. I understand that those boys are traumatised and are in desperate need of therapy and overblotting was the only way for their problems to be solved but the treatment they inflicted on Yuu/us was downright hellish. Azul made us homeless and tore us away from the only family/comfort we had in twst (the ghosts) and then sent the tweels to terrorise us in our attempts to reclaim said home and free our friends from servitude; Jamil kidnapped us, hypnotised us, locked us up in a room against our will, isolated us from Adeuce and took away any contact we had with them, forced us on long marches in the dessert and turned a blind eye to our clear suffering during that time; Vil acted like a literal demon to not only us (and then almost made my Deucey cry) but everyone else as well and that was before he decided to try to murder an innocent teenager. Like why does no one understand just how much this can damage an actual child who has no magic and has been stripped from their home and family?)

Reader Terrified of Scarabia After Jamil’s Overblot

TW: PTSD; Mental Breakdown; Disassociation; Mentions of Abuse; Kalim and Jamil are tragic

Info: Ace, Deuce x Reader (platonic or romantic); Kalim, Grim x Reader (platonic); Jamil and Reader (neutral)

🍓I love requests like this tbh. My own OC sorta has her own grapplings with this stuff that I like to touch upon, and I’m excited I get the chance to talk about it here :) THIS IS LONG AS HELL BTW(like this intro here lol). I had a lot of fun writing it :))) I added a cute, shorter little grim part, because our little guy deserves more lovin’ than he gets. I also decided to do a cute little (read: long) intro, and then head cannons since you didn’t specify for either. I hope you enjoy this style, and I’m sorry for the wait <3

You had been through… a lot in your time at Night Raven College. Being thrown into a completely different world would’ve been enough, but it seems that the great seven thought you needed some extra troubles. You weren’t sure how you could’ve encored their wrath, but you were, and you were chugging along despite it all.

First was the attack from the phantom in the mines — something that should’ve been foreshadowing for what was to come. You didn’t even do anything to be in this position. It was Ace Grim and Deuce, but you got dragged into it all because you were “Grim’s keeper.” You managed to befriend Ace and Deuce though, so it wasn’t so bad.

Second was Riddle with his unending temper and strict rules. Despite everything telling you to just stay out of it, your good-natured heart just couldn’t stop you from helping Ace and Deuce. Nearly dying in the process, you managed to help Riddle and made newfound friends in Heartslabyul. 

Third came Leona, the selfish, stuck-up, lazy no-good prince of the Savannah. You knew he was trouble from the start, and you wanted nothing to do with him or his little lackey Ruggie. Then he hurt Trey, and you couldn’t stand by while he reigned terror on the school. He was a favorable ally to gain in the end, so you could dismiss his actions so long as he kept in his lane.

Fourth was Azul, another student you figured would cause you trouble. With the extra scary Jade and Floyd always tailing him, and that too buttery sweet voice of his, you were determined to keep your distance. Again, however, your friends were in trouble and you couldn’t help but help them. Azul was a broken person, and you could sympathize with his struggles. He even gave you a job at the lounge to help with funding yourself, so he couldn’t be all that bad.

You’d come to dislike the other house wardens out of principle. A pattern had emerged among them, and you weren’t going to fall victim to another horrific overblot. You still had suction cup-shaped bruises on your arm from Azul’s breakdown. Leona had given you more than just a nasty burn from the scalding hot whirlwind of sand he conjured up. The scars Riddle left behind on your face and arms were healed, but they still ached when you touched them. All painful reminders that you could not truly trust anyone here, that anyone could lose control of themselves and hurt you. Yet…

When you met Jamil in the kitchen, he seemed so kind to both you and Grim. He seemed so genuine and honest. Maybe it was wishful thinking, or maybe it was you missing your friends, but you wanted to trust him despite your gut feeling to be distrustful. Could everyone here really be that bad? Certainly not. Ace Deuce and Jack went here as well… so surely… surely…

The alarm bells didn’t ring at all during the dinner, and Kalim — despite everything you’ve been through — seemed so nice, if not a little overbearing. You could see the tiredness on Jamil's face, and you had the kindness in your heart to express your sympathies. And oh, Jamil so humbly assured you that he was fine. Filling your head with little half-truths and ideas that Kalim had been overworking not only him but the other students. That he had been acting “off” as of late.

You saw Kalim’s sudden shifts in personality. How he would be so sweet, so kind and soft. How he made sure you were enjoying yourself, made sure you ate to your heart's content, made sure you were comfortable in your uniform and your sleeping quarters. Then he would be yelling at everyone, demanding unspeakable exercises and work.

If Ace were there with you, he would’ve called bullshit. Still, you trusted Jamil to start. You actually believed he was kind and had good intentions. You believed that Kalim was the real evil here.

Then he wouldn’t let you and Grim leave, and the students were suddenly so aggressive toward you. He took everything you had and stripped you of your dignity and pride until there was nothing left but fight.

Truly, you didn’t realize it was him that was the issue until he was over-blotting in front of your eyes. It wasn’t an unusual sight to you at that point, you’d defeated multiple overblots and befriended these people. You don’t know what it was. The way you’d trusted him. The fact that you felt truly alone without Ace and Deuce. This one broke you…

You just didn’t feel a damn thing after he was saved. You felt no pity, no joy, no relief. Absolutely nothing, an empty void in your chest. Even as everyone around you celebrated, there was nothing. You stood watching everyone parade around with glee blankly, unable to speak to anyone around you. Just listening to the voices that had begun to mesh together.

You didn’t show anything until Ace and Deuce showed up. Something about their faces, the way they were looking over you, the way they seemed so scared for your wellbeing… it made you cry. It made you cry and cry and cry until you couldn’t make any noise and then you cried some more. They had to drag you away from everyone because you just couldn’t quite stand upright when Deuce would try to get you to walk away with him…

The days after were blurry. You remained holed up in your dorm, unable to really move from your bed. Ace and Deuce stayed in their own separate room next to yours. You could hear them talking through the walls about how worried they were about you, how angry they were at Jamil, how angry they were at themselves for not getting there in time to help you. If you’d had the energy, you would’ve scolded them for being so hard on themselves, but you could hardly speak in the first place.

They cared for you as best as they could. Deuce attempted to cook the recipes Trey sent him over magicam, making sure you ate and stayed hydrated. Occasionally you’d hear Azul downstairs, and Deuce would give you something nice from the Monstrolounge — free of charge, he promised. You could tell that he wasn’t sleeping much in his worry over you. 

Grim remained at your side as loyal as a dog and boasting that he’d keep you safe, but you knew he was scared too. He proclaimed that he would keep you safe, but you could feel him trembling at every sudden noise. You had to comfort him from the horrific nightmares he was having. That was okay, though, he was family and you were his.

Ace was the only one who really kicked your ass into gear. He’d tug you out of bed and into the shower as people began to return from winter break. Made you go on walks around campus to show you that you were completely safe. Eventually, he’d been able to get you to visit Azul to thank him directly for his kindness. He wasn’t soft or gentle with you, that wasn’t in his character at all, but he made sure you felt safe enough to return to classes before they started.

They both worked hard to help you recover, but you were still so afraid…

Ace

-Ace isn’t exactly the most comforting person, and he never claimed to be. 

-He’s not good at reassuring people, but he’s good at being honest, and if he was being honest he knew that you were safe around him and Deuce.

-He walks you to and from classes, spends most of his nights in your dorm doing whatever the hell you’d like him to do without complaint, distracts you when you’re freaking out, and most importantly keeps that snake as far away from you as possible.

-If he was being honest with himself, which was his whole thing, he didn’t really get your reaction to everything. 

-You’ve all been through this before, it's textbook at this point. A guy does some shady shit, a guy gets caught doing said shady shit, a guy overblots, and you defeat a guy with the power of friendship. Boom. Done.

-He’d get it more if you were completely alone, but grim and the octanivelle freaks were there! Kalim too, and he’s always seemed pretty nice. Not the best company, sure, but still you had people helping you out.

-When he looks at your face and sees how tired you are, he forgets the logical stuff. All he can hear are those horrific sobs you let out when you saw him and how you nearly ripped his uniform in half with how tightly you were holding him and Deuce.

-If that was too much for him, he can’t imagine how badly it must’ve felt for you. How bad it must still feel.

-So screw what he thinks, he’s gotta make sure you’re taking care of yourself.

-He doesn’t ask you how you’re feeling, he knows it's not good. He focuses on keeping your mind off of everything that might trigger you.

-Reroutes your paths to classes to avoid Jamil and Kalim completely. Sure it’s longer and more annoying, but it's better than you going dead silent and shutting him and everyone else out again.

-He does everything in his power and you’re doing so well… and then the VDC happens. 

-You’re given the title of manager and you’re forced to be around these people who terrify you. 

-Vil won’t budge on anything and sevens Ace wishes Rook would let him try out a little target practice with the (illegal) bow and arrows he’s got in his room.

-He keeps himself between you and Jamil at all costs. He won’t let Jamil bother you at all, not that he was trying in the first place.

-The real issue is Kalim, which sounds crazy, but it’s true.

-Kalim is so… forceful. A pretty strong word, but honestly the only one Ace can think to use.

-He’s really nice, really sweet, seriously such a good guy… but you’re still unsettled by him.

-There are several times during practices that Ace has to yell at him to just leave you alone.

-Sure, it gets him a pretty big scolding from Vil, but he couldn’t care less honestly. He doesn’t wanna risk you having a panic attack because Vil doesn’t wanna be a responsible leader.

-You confide in Ace a lot. How you really want to move past all this, but Crowley won’t provide you with any form of therapy, and you’re just not ready to forgive Jamil or Kalim for what happened.

-He won’t tell you this, but hearing you talk like this breaks his heart.

-You’re normally so strong, so brave, so confident… and now you’re absolutely broken.

-He’s proud of you for putting on a brave face to placate Vil, but he’s angry you have to.

-Surprisingly, though, you do begin to warm up to Kalim. Just a little. 

-It's only when Ace, Deuce, or Grim is around, but it's a really big step forward in his eyes.

-You’re getting back to where you used to be little by little.

-He still won’t give you or Jamil the chance to reconcile, but you honestly couldn’t be more grateful for that.

Deuce

-Deuce is incredibly different from Ace in how he handles everything.

-He’s a delinquent, sure, but he’s a Mama’s boy at heart. Therefore, he’s much more equipped to help you emotionally through all this than Ace.

-Where Ace is the harsh pushing force to keep you going, Deuce is the calm where you can rest and cry your heart out for as long as you need.

-As I mentioned, he makes sure you’re eating and drinking and at least speaking to someone.

-He asks Trey for recipes without leading on to what’s going on and asks Cater for advice on helping someone feel safe after a traumatic experience.

-It’s not subtle, but it helps.

-He handles making all your meals, even though he isn’t the best cook, he absolutely puts all his heart and soul into everything he makes.

-A good portion of his days are dedicated to cooking for you, and he gets pretty damn good at it by the time classes start up again!

-With Sam’s shop closed, he has to go into town to get the ingredients he needs, and then he has to spend hours preparing and serving the food.

-He watches you eat, encouraging you that everything is safe and that he made it all by himself by hand. 

-He doesn’t question why things ended up this way for you, he wonders how can I help?

-And he does help, a lot, more than just with food.

-Sometimes, late at night, he hears you crying alone in your room. He gets up from his own bed, quietly enters your room, and holds you and grim while you both tremble in fear.

-It makes him so mad. Mad that this happened to you. Mad that Jamil did this in the first place. Mad that he couldn’t help more than he already is. 

-Like Ace, he accompanies you to all your classes and makes sure to stay close to your side if any Scarabia students are around.

-He’ll go anywhere you need him to, and if you’re not comfortable being alone and he’s got plans, you’re invited to join him. No matter what anyone else thinks.

-Things get better little by little. You make strides in your ability to be independent again and you’re smiling and joking around like you used to. You even agreed to try out for the VDC with him and Ace… a big mistake.

-He didn’t expect to actually get in, let alone get in with Jamil and Kalim. If it were just that he could’ve been civil, but no, you had to be dragged in too… because that’s always how it works out.

-He has to hold himself from getting in Jamil’s face more than once because just him looking at you is enough to send you into a clear panic attack.

-Deuce does his best to comfort you between all of this, though. Being your shoulder to cry on and trying his best to be your protector… it's just hard. Hard to see you like that, and hard to keep his cool for your sake.

-It's worse with Kalim because both you and Deuce know he means well. You both know he wants to reconcile, but you’re not quite ready.

-Deuce helps the confrontation with the two feel a bit easier though. He acts as a mediator between you and Kalim, and eventually, he’s proud to say he helped you trust Kalim just a little bit.

-Jamil… both of you could use some work, but Deuce is more willing to hear you out on him than Ace is.

Grim

-Grim was there with you the whole time. He understands the fear you’re feeling deeper than anyone else.

-He could just tell something was wrong the second he saw your face. Despite all the celebrations, he was focused on making sure you were at least a little okay.

-He tried to talk to you, tried to make you feel okay, but the only comfort he could offer you was letting you hold him while you cried.

-He could still hear your cries, and they made him want to cry too. He almost did, but he was your guard cat — he had to be strong for you.

-Unlike Ace and Deuce, he never left your side. Not a second. He was there with you from the moment you were unwittingly kidnapped to the sleepless nights in your dorm to the horror of finding out you’d have to work closely with Jamil for the VDC.

-He made his distaste for him very known, sure to make a snarky comment at least once every time he saw him. 

-It was so bad, at one point, that Vil had to give him a stern talking to. He didn’t stop regardless.

-You are Grim’s best friend, the only family he has, and Jamil hurt you in unspeakable ways. He couldn’t just sit back and be okay with that.

-He’s really such a good guy.

Kalim

-Kalim means well. With his whole heart, he has the best intentions… just not the best execution.

-See, he didn’t notice initially that anything was really wrong the whole time.

-He didn’t suspect Jamil at all. In fact, he thought that you were really enjoying your stay in Scarabia, you seemed so happy and chatty up until Jamil flipped things on their head.

-Call him air-headed, but he was caught up in his own whirlwind of emotions at the time. You know, the whole betrayal of his supposed best friend took a toll on him too.

-It wasn’t until you were sobbing your throat raw that he realized something was really wrong.

-The look of sheer terror on your face when you made eye contact with him sent shivers up his spine.

-He knew that look. He’d worn that look on his own face too many times as a young child.

-Believe it or not, without Jamil’s intervention, he knew to keep his distance. He knew he had to give you time to adjust.

-Then a few days turned into weeks and weeks turned into a little over a month, and he had hardly seen you around campus.

-You are avoiding your normal route to class, and when he did see you he was also greeted by the harsh glares of your good friends.

-He understood if you’d never want to talk to him ever again, honestly. He couldn’t blame you. You were more headstrong than him, after all.

-Still, when the VDC came around… he was hopeful. Truly he was hoping that something would give.

-He would talk to you in hopes of showing you that he meant no harm, but Ace or Deuce or even Grim would shove their way between the two of you.

-Several times Jamil had to tell him to knock it off because “It’s not worth forcing.”

-Still, he wanted you to know he felt bad. He felt horrible.

-In a very un-Kalim-like move, he quietly asks you if you can speak with him. Alone. But in a crowded enough area that you wouldn’t feel threatened.

-He didn’t expect you to accept it, he wouldn’t have blamed you at all. But you said yes. 

-You showed up, with Grim by your side, which was fine. He earned some apologies too.

-He poured his heart out to you, apologizing for things that he couldn’t even control. In turn, he listened to you rant about how scared you were, how angry you were, how you wished you were any of these things.

-And after that, things improved. Slowly, but surely. You became more comfortable around him, and you spoke to him again.

-Sure, you wouldn’t be caught dead at one of Scarabia’s parties, but you considered him a friend. 

-That’s all he could ask for.

Jamil

-Jamil is the monster in your story. 

-He’s the evil guy who kidnapped, manipulated and lied to you.

-He’s the one who used his misplaced anger as an excuse to hurt others.

-He’s the boogyman who made you endure days of long and hard training, just because he could.

-Of course, he felt bad. What he did was unspeakable, but he was more concerned with how his reputation would last after the overblot.

-More concerned with it not getting out for the safety of his family.

-Even with you sobbing, he just thought you were being dramatic in all honesty. You have a reputation already, he knew you’d been through this whole thing before.

-It didn’t really strike him how badly it affected you.

-He didn’t notice how you switched paths, how you were never in the same area as him for long, and the glares of your friends never once phased him.

-Even Ace’s snarky comments during basketball didn’t bother him for a second.

It wasn’t until he accidentally bumped into you in the hallway, and he saw the look on your face that he realized.

-The terror in your eyes, the way you shrunk back as if he would strike you. It was the same way his parents acted around the Asim’s.

-If he were a more insane man, he might’ve found it liberating, but it wasn’t.

-He had become what he hated to you, he had done what he hated to you. 

-Jamil was not only your monster, but he was his own.

-He steers clear of you and keeps as much distance as possible for both your sakes.

-He couldn’t handle someone looking at him like that, and he was sure you couldn’t handle the sight of him after what he did.

-Still, this is NRC, and luck is never on anyone's side here.

-Both of you are forced into a position where you cannot escape the other, you have to learn to live with the awful pits in your stomachs.

-He keeps Kalim away until you both are on good terms, then he simply watches quietly.

-He won’t apologize, he won’t antagonize, he won’t speak unless spoken to.

-You two never truly recover your small lasting friendship, but you do make amends with each other.

-During the trip to the scalding sands, you get to meet Najma, whom he’s confided in about ‘accidentally upsetting a classmate’.

-You get to have a good talk with her, and it makes you really realize some things about Jamil.

-You realize he’s just as broken as you, just as tired as you, and that he feels the most immense amount of guilt for hurting you.

-You, being you, find it in your soul to forgive him.

-Nothing really changes between you. The guilt is still there, and the fear still shakes you to your core, but you both have closure.

-In a situation like this, closure is the best grace a person can ever have.

[sarahsmi13s]

Rocks Are Allowed to Crack, Stars Are Allowed to Dim

pairing: jake 'hangman' seresin x fem!pilot!reader

characters: jake seresin, y/n nivans, the daggers, pete mitchell, penny benjamin, diego and benny harding (oc father and son)

warnings: 18+ MDNI, angst, language, ptsd, description of accident, panic attack, injuries, descriptions of scars, flashbacks, fear of death, familial death (mentioned), crying, bottling up feelings, please please let me know if i missed any

word count: ~8.0k

a/n: this has been sitting in my docs and on my wheel for at least a year (please forgive the awkward moments). so i figured i'd take a sliver of the wheel and make him a little lighter! i've also been in a funk lately, so i thought getting something out there might help!

quick summary: everyone deserves someone to comfort them in their time of need, even the ones that always lend their shoulder

Ah, yes, dogfight football. Maverick’s way of creating a team. You play offense and defense at the same time. Tackling each other into the sand, sometimes into the water. It may be chaotic, but it’s fun and a great team building exercise.

Which is why you hated that you were running a little behind.

You sighed as you got out of your car and walked over to where Penny was sitting at the table. 

You placed your aviators on your head, “I’m not late am I?” Penny chuckled and shook her head, “Just in time. Want a beer before you go?” You shook your head, “Nah, I’m okay right now. Care to watch my stuff?” 

The brunette gestured to the items in front of her, chuckling, “I’m watchin’ everyone else's. I don’t see why not.” You chuckled and sat your wallet, phone, and keys down, as well as your sunglasses. You slipped off your shorts, folding them and laying them down.

“Nivans!” 

You turned at the call of your last name, brows raised in curiosity. 

 It was Maverick. 

“Hurry up and get down here!”

You turned to Penny, “This is gonna be fun.” You both laughed before you jogged across the sand to meet everyone by the water. 

“Sorry I’m late, Mav.” 

Maverick shook his head, “You’re not late, Rockstar. Can’t be late for fun.” 

“Not gonna take your t-shirt off?” Phoenix asked when you stood beside her. You shook your head, “Nah, I’m good.” 

Hangman sighed, “That’s a shame.” 

You chuckled at him and bent down to throw a handful of sand at him. 

“Watch it, Rockstar,” Hangman said, his voice light as he glared at you playfully.

“Or what, Hangman?” You challenged, eyes narrowed but a smile pulled at your lips.

Now, you and Hangman joked like this all the time. You considered each other best friends, which confused everyone else on base. 

Jake Seresin was an asshole. He was cocky and arrogant. You, Y/N Nivans, were not an asshole. Quite the opposite, actually. 

You were humble while still knowing your worth, but also showing anybody up if they proposed a challenge, and not being sour when you lost. 

Jake went out looking for competition, you let it come to you. 

You were also probably the sweetest thing to walk the planet. Most certainly the sweetest to walk the airstrip. 

You were nice to everyone, always giving someone the benefit of the doubt until they truly proved they were an asshole. 

You also took care of your team, they were your family. You always had the door open if someone needed to talk. Your arms were wide open when they showed up in the middle of the night because they had a nightmare and couldn’t shake it. You were their rock.

So, when you walked into the Hard Deck that first day of the Uranium Mission and hugged Hangman, everyone was confused — except Coyote who knew you from a year prior. But they didn’t verbally question you, choosing instead to ponder in private.

Hangman sighed, “Come on, Rocky. You're giving your enemy the advantage.” He tugged at your shirt and pulled you into his arms. 

You laughed and pushed him away by his chest, “You’re gonna have to catch me first.” Hangman cocked his head to the side, “Oooh, that’s how it is?” You nodded, a smirk playing on your lips, “That’s how it is.” 

You panted as you used your shirt to wipe the sweat from your face. 

When you let go of your shirt you raised your arms, calling for the ball. They threw it to you and you took off for your endzone. 

You felt the sand shift and you knew Hangman was behind you. You had to get rid of the ball, so you called out to your teammate, “Phoenix!” She ran ahead of you and you threw her the ball.

As soon as the ball was out of your hand, Hangman tackled you to the ground. 

You laughed as you laid on your stomach, arms out in front of you. 

“What was that about ‘catching you’?” Jake grunted from above you.

You didn’t have to look at him to know he was smirking. “Haha, very funny Hangman. Now get off, you’re heavy.” 

“First, ouch. Second, nah, you’re comfy.” You laughed and shook your head, attempting to push off the ground and basically buck him off. 

But, Hangman wouldn’t let you, laughing as he moved and made you fall back down.

In this new position, Hangman was putting pressure on a certain part of your back and panic shot through you. 

“Seriously, dude, get up,” you tried to say with a laugh, not wanting to sound rude or like you were mad at him. He just smiled and rested his chin on his hands. 

You closed your eyes and tried to control your breathing, but the waves hitting you pushed you over the edge. 

“Jake, get the fuck off me.” You didn’t mean to sound harsh but you were panicking.

Jake was surprised by your tone, along with the use of his first name. He immediately got up and held out a hand for you to take but you just got up and ran to the table. 

“Rockstar, where you going?” Maverick asked. You called out while still running, “I need a break for a minute.” 

You got to the table, “Is it unlocked?” Penny nodded, “Yeah, why?” “Bathroom break.” Penny just nodded again and watched you take your sunglasses with you as you jogged inside.

Rooster ran over and hit Jake’s arm, “What did you do, Hangman?” Jake shook his head, “I’m not sure.” He put his hands on his hips and watched you disappear into the bar. 

He felt bad, he wanted to chase after you and apologize but he didn’t know what he did. 

“Well, you seemed to piss her off,” Phoenix said, shoving the ball into his chest. 

Maverick looked at Penny but she just shrugged, meaning you didn’t say much.

You ran into the bathroom, throwing yourself into a stall.  

You leaned over the toilet and waited to throw up. Tears had started running down your face the minute you stepped in the bar. You coughed and sobbed lightly as you tried to control your breathing. 

After a few minutes of that, the nausea subsided and you slowly stood to go to the sink. 

You turned the cold water on and splashed your face. 

“Shit…” 

You closed your eyes as the tight feeling in your chest loosened. You let out a shaky breath and looked in the mirror, cringing at the puffiness around your eyes. You grabbed your sunglasses and slipped them on before leaving the bathroom.

When you stepped outside you saw Maverick and Penny talking, and when you sat down they stopped talking and looked at you concerned. 

“You alright? Gave Hangman quite the scare for a second,” Mav asked, squaring his shoulders to you. You nodded, resting your forearms on the table. “Yeah, I’m fine.” You rubbed your forehead, “Hey Pen-” 

Before you could finish your sentence, a beer was sat in front of you, causing you to giggle, “Read my mind.”

As he continued to play, Jake still couldn’t get over the fact that you called him ‘Jake’ during a day out. 

It wasn’t that you never did, but it was rare that you called anyone by their first name. 

But it wasn’t just that, it was the way you said that really made him worry. He had never heard your voice sound like that before.

He looked at you from his spot on the beach, noticing you didn’t come back to join in the fun. 

Hangman walked up to Phoenix, worried that he had really upset you and wanted help from the girl you were closest to. “You don’t really think I pissed her off, do you?” 

She sighed, “I don’t know, Hangman. Even if you did, I doubt she could stay mad at you for long. She can't be mad at anyone for very long.”

Jake nodded and watched you stand up from your spot at the table.

You finished your beer and stood up, “I’m gonna head out.” 

Maverick frowned, “You sure you’re okay, Y/N?” 

“Yeah, I’m okay. I just really need to shower. I’ve got sand in places sand shouldn’t be,” you said with a light laugh. 

“Okay, drive safe. I’ll see you in the morning.” 

“Yes, sir.” You collected your stuff and headed to your car.

Jake noticed you leaving and tilted his head, “Hey…” He patted Coyote on the shoulder. “I’ll be right back.” 

He jogged up to the table to ask Maverick if he knew anything.

“Is she okay?” Hangman asked as soon as he came to a stop. Maverick shrugged, not looking up at the pilot, “She seemed okay. Said she needed to shower.” 

Jake let out a breath, “So she isn’t mad at me?” 

“I didn’t say that. But as far as I can tell, she’s just tired.” 

Jake licked the sweat off his upper lip, putting his hands on his hips as he looked down. 

“Hangman, honey, just go talk to her. If she’s upset with you, she’ll be honest about it,” Penny encouraged, giving Jake a small smile. He nodded and jogged to go find you before you left. 

You were standing by your car, the door opened as you moved to get in when he approached. 

“Hey, Y/N,” Jake called as he walked over to you. You smiled, “Hey, Hangman.” 

Jake swallowed, “Look, I’m sorry about earlier. I was just messing around. I did-” 

You held your hand up, cutting him off, “Jake, I’m not mad at you. I know you were just playing. But your tackle jump started my bladder and I wasn’t kidding when I said you were heavy.” You giggled a bit to show him you were teasing.

Hangman visibly relaxed at the sound, “Okay, good. I know I like to get under everyone’s skin. Sometimes I don’t know when to knock it off. I–” 

You held up your hand, cutting him off. “Jake, I can handle your teasing. Yeah, you can get a little mean. But I know it’s all a big show. Come here,” you opened your arms and made grabby hands at Jake. 

He just shook his head and chuckled, pulling you in by your outstretched hands and letting them find their place around his built torso. 

He rubbed his hand on your back, nearly missing the slight tensing right beneath your shoulder blades before they relaxed. His brow furrowed but he didn’t mention it, thinking that maybe it was you tightening your arms around him. 

He kissed the top of your head before you pulled away. 

“Geez, Jake, you’re sweaty.” 

“You’re not too dry yourself, Rockstar.” You laughed and playfully shoved him away. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Y/N.” You smiled and slid into your car, “I’ll kick your ass tomorrow Hangman.” 

He scoffed leaning on the roof of your car and the open door. “Since when did you get so cocky?” 

You smirked and placed your glasses on your head, forgetting that your eyes could still be red and puffy from earlier. “It’s not cocky if it’s the truth.” 

Jake shook his head and looked back to the shore. “Uh-huh. We’ll see.” He leaned back and patted the top of your car. “Drive safe.” You nodded, and he closed your door. 

He watched you start it up before driving away.

Jake shook his head and made his way back to the group.

Speaking of the group, they had all noticed the change in Jake when you showed up at the Hard Deck a few months ago. 

While he was still his cocky self, having no shame in bragging and trash talking, he seemed to tone it down when you were around.

They also noticed how he always made sure to find you in the crowd, keeping an eye on you. Coyote joked that you had Hangman wrapped around your finger, that he would be at your side with a simple look. 

Jake was painfully aware of the effect you had on him. 

When he met you a year ago, he was starstruck by your dazzling smile. 

So, naturally, in true Hangman fashion, he flirted with you. 

With a toothpick between his perfect white teeth and his bright green eyes shining under the yellow lights of the bar, he walked up to you. 

“I sure hope no one left you alone.” 

When you turned, eyeing him up and down to take in the uniform, beer bottle popping as it left your mouth, his breath was ripped from his lungs. 

“Well, you’re here now. I’m not alone.” 

Seeing your smile up close caused Hangman to blush, and leaving him thankful that his tan could somewhat hide it. 

“Well, ain’t I special.” 

You nodded, giggling while looking down at the bar, “That you are. But, before this can go any further, I’m gonna be honest, I’m more dedicated to my work than anything else at the moment. And I have to be up by 5, so I’d hate to lead you on.” 

Jake shook his head, but you continued, gesturing around the bar, “I’m sure there are plenty of girls here that would love to get attention from you and give you attention.” 

Jake smiled –not smirked, smiled– while leaning on the bar, “Well, the only one I want attention from is you. Plus, I can’t stay out too late either. Gotta be at work early too, so I guess we’re both clocking in early.” 

None of the feelings that day had been one sided. You also had been starstruck by Hangman. 

He was broad shoulder, tall, tan, and had a voice that could make a girl swoon in a second. But you knew he was a pilot, his uniform gave it away, and you knew how they acted. Except, you liked Jake’s company and decided to talk all night with him. 

Ironically, what you both did for work never came up.

So, imagine the look on Jake’s face when he saw you the next day in your flight suit. 

“You didn’t tell me you were a pilot.” 

You smirked, “You didn’t ask.” 

He shook his head, biting his lower lip to hide his smile but failed. 

You nodded to him, “What do they call you?” 

“Hangman. What about you?” You smiled, “Rockstar.” 

You were able to peg why he earned his callsign very early on but he couldn’t seem to figure yours out. 

Until he had a close call and couldn’t shake it.

The last day of training had just ended, tomorrow you might not come home, and to say you were nervous was a major understatement. 

As you changed to get ready to go out with the squad, you couldn’t stop shaking. You knew you needed a drink… okay a couple drinks.

While you changed, Hangman was walking around, looking for you. 

When he walked past the locker room, he caught a glimpse of you reaching to pick something up.

He turned to walk in, but stopped when he saw that you only had your pants on. But, before he could stop himself, his eyes trailed up your back; starting from above your waistline on your pants and going up. 

Then he stopped, his eyes widening when he saw the large scar that looked fairly new – maybe a year or so old. It spanned from the middle of your left shoulder blade to nearly below your ribcage and was positioned diagonally across your back. 

Jake quickly looked away, realizing that you must have not wanted anyone to see it if you hadn’t told him. 

His brow furrowed as questions ran through his mind. Was that why you freaked out during dogfight football, the other day? Why you always tense up when you get an unexpected touch there? 

Shit… He thought, feeling like a horrible friend for never noticing and never asking. 

Jake took a deep breath and walked away, choosing to approach the locker room differently and pretend he never saw you. 

He put on a smile and walked back towards the locker room, “Hey, Rockstar! You almost ready?” He stopped just short of the door, leaning his back against the wall. 

Your head jerked up as you pulled your t-shirt down. “Uh, yeah, Hangman. I’ll be ready in a second.” 

You finished getting ready and walked out, jumping slightly when he pushed off the wall. 

“Geez Hang, don’t do that!” You punched his arm. 

“Gosh, I forgot how hard you punch.” He chuckled and rubbed the spot on his arm as you both walked to the parking lot.

You all sat in the Hard Deck, drinking and playing pool.

“Dude, she’s kicking your ass!” Payback laughed as he clapped Hangman on the shoulder. 

You were, in fact, kicking Jake’s ass in pool. You couldn’t help the giggle that escaped as the blond narrowed his eyes at Payback. 

“Yeah, you feelin’ okay? You’ve been off your game tonight Bagman,” Rooster commented, smirking as he drank his alcohol. 

Instead of clapping back at the jab, Jake just rolled his eyes and lined up his shot. 

That made you frown, Hangman always had a comeback. Always had sarcastic quips to embarrass the other person. But he was silent. 

You made eye contact when he stood, silently asking if he was okay. He just nodded and moved to sink another pool ball. 

You didn’t want to drop it, but you did for the sake of having fun before facing the chance of death tomorrow.

Sometime later, after a few rounds of pool and drinks, you all stood around and just talked.

“Hey, did you guys hear about that one pilot that saved her WSO’s life when they got shot down?” Bob asked, looking around the group. 

You clenched your jaw slightly, but not enough for anyone to notice. 

“Bob, that happens all the time. It’s kinda what we do,” Phoenix said, squeezing his shoulder. 

Rooster stood up and sat his beer down. “No, not the way this pilot did. Bob, I know who you’re talking about. I read the mission file, the only thing that was classified was the pilot and WSO’s names.” 

You swirled the beer in your glass, not looking up from the amber liquid. “Did the pilot survive?” 

When you finished asking, you looked up, trying to ignore the watchful eyes of Hangman as you met Rooster’s eyes. 

The latter nodded, “Uh, yeah. Yeah, she did. But she had a pretty serious injury. I’m not sure if she was ever clear to fly again.” 

You nodded and looked back down at your glass. 

“And the WSO?” Jake asked, eyeing you as you downed the rest of your drink before looking at Rooster and Bob. 

“He survived. But I don’t know if he still flies,” Bob answered. 

“Well, that’s good that they both survived,” you said, your smile returning to your face. 

Rooster shook his head a bit, “Yeah, but that pilot pulled a risky move. Saving some like that…” 

Your smile dropped a bit, “People have their reasons.” You raised your glass, “I’m gonna go get another drink.”

Hangman watched you leave as the conversation changed into something more light hearted. 

Jake took a step to go after you but Coyote caught his arm. “Hey, come on. Play me in a round of pool. Let’s see if you still got your game.” Jake looked from his friend back to you and saw you laughing with Penny and Maverick at the bar. That allowed him to relax a little bit. 

“Oh, I still got my game. Let’s see if you found yours,” he smirked. “There he is!” Coyote laughed and clapped Jake on the back.

As Jake played pool with Coyote, you talked with Penny and Maverick. 

“Are you serious?” 

You nodded, laughing at Penny’s reaction to you telling her how you and Jake met. 

“Pen, why are you surprised? Hangman flirts with every girl,” Maverick said, using his hand to point the direction of the mentioned pilot. You and Penny both nodded your agreement. 

“Sounds familiar,” Penny says, a playful grin on her face making Maverick roll his eyes.

You had become so invested in your conversation with Penny and Mav, that you missed Rooster coming up behind you.

He placed his hand on your back, right on your scar, making you tense and jump in surprise.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to scare ya’ Rocky,” he took his hand off and leaned on the bar. 

“You doin’ okay? You seemed a bit…” He glanced back at the group, thinking of the right word. “...tense a minute ago.” 

You bit the inside of your lip, had you really been that obvious? 

Still, you nodded and gave him your best smile. 

But to him, he could see that it didn’t reach your eyes. He may not have been your best friend, but he had seen plenty of your genuine smiles and this one did not make your eyes shine like the others. 

Bradley decided not to press, “Okay…” He turned to Penny, “Penny, could we get another round?” The bartender nodded, “Of course, but you’re reaching your cut off.” 

Penny had set a cut off for drinks for the pilots not wanting them to go into this mission hungover. You chuckled and glanced back at the group, all of them messing around and having fun. “Yes ma’am.” 

You turned to Rooster and then back down to your empty glass. Penny hadn’t refilled it yet, having started a conversation with you as soon as you came over. 

You glanced at your watch, seeing that you had been there for a couple hours. 

Penny sat a tray down, placing the full glasses on top. “There you are, Rooster. Who’s tab?”

Rooster opened his mouth to tell her to put it on his, but you beat him to it, “Put it on mine Pen.” 

“You got the last round, Rockstar,” Rooster argued. You shrugged, “I don’t mind. Plus, I’m closing my tab for tonight.” 

“What? You’re heading out already?” You nodded, sliding Penny your card, “I’m hitting my limit, Roos.” 

Bradley searched your eyes for a moment, looking for any indication that something was wrong.

You were usually the one that made sure everyone was okay to go home and if they needed rides; so leaving early rung bells in Rooster’s head. 

Penny gave you your card and receipt, “Thank you.” “Thanks Pen,” you gave her a smile before turning back to Rooster. 

“Tell ‘em I’m heading out. I know if I do it I won’t be able to leave.” You gave him a one armed hug and turned to Maverick, “See you in the morning, Captain.” 

“See you in the morning, Rockstar.” 

Penny gently squeezed your hand, giving you a small smile as you slid off the bar stool and walked out. 

Rooster, Maverick, and Penny watched you leave the building before turning to each other, concern written all over their faces. 

“Is she okay? She’s been acting a little off ever since dogfight football the other day,” Penny asked the two pilots. 

They both shrugged, Bradley looking up at her. “I was about to ask you the same thing.” 

“I’ve noticed, but I thought it was just because Harvard and Yale had to eject the other day,” Mav admitted. “We were all a little shaken up by that…” 

It was silent for a minute. 

“You know… if one person knows anything, it’d probably be Seresin,” Penny said, pointing over to the pilot, who was very invested in the game he was winning, and basically suggesting that they talk to him. 

Bradley sighed, knowing that Penny was right and if anyone knew you the best, it would be him. He grabbed the tray, thanking Penny and walking over to the group.

They all cheered when he sat the tray down, taking a glass for themselves. 

Jake noticed that there was an extra and he frowned in confusion before he realized it was for you. 

He looked up, eyes searching for you in the crowd, panicking a little when he couldn’t see you, “Where’s Rockstar?” 

Rooster sighed, “She closed her tab and left. Said she reached her limit.” 

Fanboy frowned a little bit, “Why didn’t she just tell us herself?” 

Rooster shrugged, “Said if she did it would take longer for her to leave.” 

“Does she seem different to you guys?” Coyote asked, finally voicing his concern that had buit up over the last few days. 

The group shared a look before making small noises of agreement. 

“I mean, she’s still the same Y/N. Still lighting up a room and being there for us like she always has been… I just… I don’t know.” 

Rooster looked at Jake, “Hangman, you’re like her best friend, do you know anything?” 

Jake shrugged and shook his head, “All I know is she’s nervous for tomorrow and the accident the other day shook her up a bit, but she hasn’t said anything else.” 

He took a large gulp from his beer, hoping to swallow the confession of seeing your scar that he wanted to bring to light.  You trusted Jake and he wasn’t about to ruin that by telling the squad what he saw when he wasn’t even supposed to know it was there.

Meanwhile, you walked the beach, taking in the fresh and salty air. You just needed the quiet time before you went home.

You sighed and pulled out your phone, seeing a text from Hangman and laughing slightly at the message.

Hangboy: Hey, I get that I kicked your ass those last few rounds of pool, but you could have told me you were leaving. I would have walked you out. Text me when you get home. 

Also, there was an extra beer. I assume it was meant for you, but you left so I drank it. Don’t worry though, I can handle it.

You shook your head and opened your phone, but not to text Jake.

You went to your contacts and pressed the caller ID, putting the phone to your ear as it rang. 

“Hey, Rockstar, what's up? It’s been awhile.” 

You smiled, sighing, “Sure has been, Tundra. How are you? How’s the little one?” “I’m good. Ben is great, he wants to know when you’ll be by again to visit.” 

You giggled at the fact the 6 year old wanted to see you. “Soon… hopefully.” “Y/N, I know that voice. Is it happening again?” You shook your head, despite the fact that Tundra couldn’t see you. 

“No, no. Well, sorta, but this is different Diego.” You heard him shift, presumably crossing his arms. “What do you mean?” 

You sighed, remembering that you couldn’t share all that much about the mission, even if he was former Navy. 

“I don’t know how much I can tell you. But I got called back to TopGun, and I could be flying out on a mission tomorrow. A dangerous one.” 

“Y/N, do they know?” 

You shook your head again, this time to fight tears. “No, but I’m scared that mid air, I’m gonna freeze. I don’t wanna freeze, Diego. I haven’t frozen since our incident. But I don’t know what’s been wrong these past couple of weeks. I can’t seem to shake off this dread… this-this fear. I do-don’t-” 

He cut you off, “Have you talked to anyone recently?” 

You were silent and he took that as a no. “Y/N, you have to talk about it if you ever want to move past it.”  “I did though. I had mandated therapy for my entire time in recovery.” “And have you been since you recovered?”

You threw a hand up, frustrated, “I thought I was past it! I hadn’t had an attack in a year, not until we were playing football. I-I thought it was just a one time thing, and then something happened during training and I just-” 

You were cut off by a small, tired voice. 

“Is that Aunt Y/N?” 

“It is. Do you want to talk to her? I think she needs to talk to you.” “Yes, please!” You smiled as you heard the phone go to speaker and then be passed to the little boy. 

“Hey, Aunt Y/N!” 

You smiled, tears finally falling, “Benarino, hey buddy.” “I miss you. When are you coming to visit?” You wiped at your eyes with a shaking hand. “Soon, buddy. Really soon,” you sniffled. 

“Aunt Y/N, why are you crying?” 

You laughed, coughing a little at the end, “I just really miss you Benny. I can’t wait to see you.” 

You looked back at the Hard Deck, seeing your fellow pilots laugh and sing. 

“I’m gonna bring a friend too. If that’s okay with your mom and dad?” “That’s alright with me, Rockstar. I’m sure Lila won’t mind.” 

“Who is it?” 

You brought playfulness into your voice, “You remember the pilot I told you about? The one that thought he could fly better than your Aunt Rocky?” 

The little boy giggled, “Yeah!” “Well, I think it’s about time you brought home the boy that stole your heart.” 

“Diego,” you hissed. “We are just friends.” “Mhmm, sure.” You scoffed, rolling your eyes, “You should probably get Ben to bed before Lila wakes up.” 

You heard Diego grunt as he picked up his son, “Goodnight Benny Boy.” “G’night Aunt Y/N.” 

“Call me when you make it back.” You nodded, hand sliding into your back pocket, “Yeah, of course. Night Tundra.” “Night Rockstar.” 

The call ended and you slid your phone into your unoccupied back pocket.

You took in a deep breath, trying to relax again. In through the nose, out through the mouth. In, out. 

On an inhale, the scent of smoke filled your nostrils and it made you hold your breath.

Quickly looking around, you spotted a bonfire a couple yards away. Realizing it was harmless, you let out the breath and tried to relax your shoulders.

But, despite knowing it was completely harmless, your body went into a state of panic. Your chest tightened, limbs went numb, pain spread through your back, and tears filled your eyes. 

You held a hand to your chest, the air stopping just before it made it to your lungs, and stumbled to your car as fast as you could, hoping you weren’t seen by your friends inside the bar.

Jake looked at his phone as he left the bar. You hadn’t texted him, and by now you definitely should have been back to your on base bungalow. 

Hangman wasn’t going to panic, he knew you well enough that you would have texted or called him if something bad happened. Of course he felt anxious, who wouldn’t, but he was going to remain calm. 

The reason you hadn’t texted him when you got home was because the moment you fumbled yourself into your place, you booked it for the bathroom. 

Your knees smacked into the tile and you threw up whatever alcohol you had consumed before the strangled sob ripped itself from your throat. You crumbled to the tile as your chest refused to let air in. 

Your skin felt hot and sticky, sweat coating it as you laid on your bathroom floor. It wasn’t helping you, your damp, hot skin sending you back to one of the worst days of your life.

So, in a frenzy, you ripped off your shirt and kicked off your shoes and socks before yanking your pants off, not even loosening your belt. 

You crawled over the tub wall, too dizzy to properly stand, before fumbling with the knob to turn the water on. 

Once you got it turned on, you jostled the faucet switch, a desperate sob escaping as it kept falling down before it finally stuck, turning the shower on and drenching you in water.

And that was how Jake found you.

Jake decided to stop by your place and check on you, that being his only option to get his anxiety to go away. 

When he pulled up to your place and saw your car there, he let out a breath of relief. 

He parked his truck behind your car and ran to your door, his chest lighter than before.

But his chest became heavy again when he made it to your door only to find it unlocked. You rarely left your door unlocked, if ever.

He cautiously pushed it open, looking around to see if anything was out of place. 

Your keys were on the floor, your phone and wallet not too far from them. 

Jake walked further in, making sure to close and lock the door behind him. 

He held his breath as he looked for you. But his search was cut short when he heard the shower running. 

He exhaled and had to take a minute to calm the drumming in his chest. 

He cautiously walked to the bathroom, making sure to knock before walking in. He kept his head down so he didn’t see anything he wasn’t supposed to… again. 

“Hey I was-” 

The door stopped, hitting something on the floor. 

Hangman squinted his eyes in confusion. It was your shoe. He kicked it out of the way and pushed the door open enough for him to just step in and close it. 

He stopped with his hand on the door, realizing that the room didn’t feel like a sauna. There was no fog covering the mirrors and steam wasn’t filling the small space. You always showered hot, and right now the bathroom was freezing. 

Jake finally looked up and saw you curled in the shower, the water cascading from the faucet and hitting your back. It was obvious you had been there for a while because you were shivering. 

Jake sat on the edge of the tub cautiously, not wanting to startle you.

His heart broke at the sound of your quiet crying and the puffy redness of your eyes was a sight Jake never wanted to see again.

The eyes that usually held the brightness of the stars and a kindness that was unmatched, were now red, distant, and constantly filled with tears that fell over and mixed with the water drenching you. 

He hated it.

Jake held his hand under the water and recoiled at how cold it was. 

“Shit,” he cursed as he quickly turned it off. 

When you didn’t react, he knew you truly weren’t in this reality. 

“Y/N,” he spoke gently and touched your arm. He sharply inhaled when he discovered how cold you were. “Y/N, darlin’, we need to dry you off and get you in some warm clothes. You’ll get sick.” 

Jake wasn’t sure if you heard him because you just stared ahead, biting on your nail. He sighed and pulled your hand away from your mouth. 

He moved to pull his hand back but you grabbed it, your freezing cold hand latching onto his warm one. “Please don’t… Jake, please don’t leave.” 

Your voice was quiet and broken, raw with fear. And he was sure that sent a shiver up his back.

Jake quickly shifted to kneel beside the tub, his thumb rubbing back and forth on your hand. “I’d never leave you hangin’.” 

He looked you over, “Can I pick you up?” You nodded, letting his hand slip from your grip and feel it wrap under your legs.

He awkwardly shifted to lean over and pick you up, grunting a little as stood up. He was too pressed about his clothes getting wet, he’s sure he’s got pants somewhere around here.

Jake managed to open the bathroom door and walked to your bedroom. 

He sat you on the bed and quickly grabbed the towel on the back of your desk chair. 

Wrapping it around you, Jake kissed the top of your head. “You’re okay. You’re safe,” he spoke gently against your hair.

He pulled back and watched you bite your lip to keep your tears hidden.

You avoided his eyes, looking at your shaking hands. 

“I’m gonna get you some clothes, okay?” You slowly nodded, lip trembling before you bit down on it again.

Your eyes didn’t follow him as he walked around your room, but your ears were very aware of Jake’s noises; everything from his footsteps to his mumbling. 

In under five minutes, neatly folded clothes were placed beside you and Jake kneeled in front of you, his large hands resting on your biceps gently. 

“Do you want me to stay while you change?” 

It took you a second to register what he had asked, but he was patient and rubbed reassuring circles on your arms with his thumbs. 

You inhaled, the familiar scent of his cologne calming you down a bit. 

You were tempted to say yes, you didn’t want to be alone but you also didn’t want Jake to see you any more vulnerable than he already has. 

You shook your head, unconsciously pulling the towel tighter around you. 

Jake noticed it and nodded, “Okay, I’ll go tidy up your bathroom and throw some blankets in the dryer to fluff them up and get ‘em warm.” He gave you a small smile and stood, leaving the room and the door open just a crack.

You managed to peel off the wet bra and underwear, drying off before changing. 

That simple task was exhausting. It felt like your bones had turned to rocks and your muscles no longer existed. But eventually, you did it.

You haphazardly dried your hair, basically just dry enough to where it wasn’t dripping, and walked into the small living room. 

You sat on the couch, deciding to occupy your hands with your oversized shirt while you waited for Jake. 

Minutes later he was on the couch beside you, wrapping you in the fresh-out-of-the-dryer blanket. 

“Thank you…” Your voice had a rawness to it that made Jake shiver, something was really wrong and he didn’t know how to help.

He nodded and rubbed your upper back, “Of course.”

He sat there for a moment, just listening to your sniffles and weeping exhales, before finally turning to face you. 

“What’s going on? ‘Cause this-” He gestured to you and your current state. “-is way more than just nerves for tomorrow.” 

“I’ll be-” 

“If you say ‘fine’, I swear,” he sighed to control his volume. “Y/N, you are not fine.” 

“Jake…”

The blond pilot took a deep breath, looking at the sliver of couch cushion between you. “I saw it…” 

If you weren’t going to be honest, then he needed to be. Maybe what he saw is connected to what was shaking you to your core all of a sudden.

He finally looked up at you and watched your breathing halt as fear filled your eyes. 

Jake continued, making sure to keep his tone even, “I didn’t mean to. I was just looking for you in the locker room today and I-” He stopped talking when you choked out a small cry. 

He immediately pulled you into his lap, one hand going to the back of your head and the other arm wrapped around your lower back. “I got you… I got you.”

Jake closed his eyes and rocked you a little as his mind went back to the day these roles were reversed.

Jake had sat in the locker room, flight suit half off and tied around his waist. His knee bouncing as his eyes went in and out of focus. 

“Hangman!” You called as you ran down the hall. But he couldn’t hear you with the blood still rushing in his ears. 

“Hangman! Hang- There you are!” You jogged to him and saw that his emerald eyes were blank, not the playful or confident eyes you normally saw. “Hey, Hang- Jake what’s wrong?” You knelt in front of him, putting a hand on his bouncing knee to stop it.

Jake looked at you, the concern swimming in your eyes breaking whatever resolve he had left. 

The tears he tried so hard to hold in finally spilled down his cheeks. 

You instantly cupped his face in your hands, wiping them away, “What’s got you so shaken up? I’ve never seen you like this.” 

He shook his head, pushing your hands away as he sat up and leaned against the locker. “You’re not supposed to.” 

You sighed and leaned back on your heels, “What happened up there?” 

Jake wiped the still flowing tears, shaking his head, “I don’t know. I guess- Fuck I don’t know, Rockstar.” 

You stood, “Talk to me, Jake. Please, I’m your friend and I want to help.” 

Your tone was desperate and worried. This was a new version of Jake that you would have never seen if you hadn’t followed him off the tarmac.

Hangman finally got the guts to grab your hand and squeeze it. He took a deep breath as he tried to collect himself. 

“I almost lost you up there. You’re one of my closest friends, we’ve only known each other for a few months and I feel like we’ve known each other forever. I never let myself be that close to anyone, but you made it so easy.” 

His voice was raw and shaky. He was scared, but you couldn’t blame him. What just happened to you both was really intense and it was scary. But you were both okay.

You squeezed his hand back, giving him a soft but encouraging smile. 

“Can we just- Shit this is gonna sound so weird…” 

You knew where he was going, so you straddled his legs and wrapped him in a hug. “I got you Jake, I got you.”

That was when Jake realized the backstory to your call sign. You were everyone’s rock. You kept everyone sane, even at the expense of yourself.

Which is why you were currently shaking and sobbing in his arms. You never sought out comfort for your problems, a bad habit you picked up in high school. You always put everyone first, and you had it in your head that you couldn’t be vulnerable. 

You pulled away from him, not meeting his eyes, “I’m sorry…” 

“Why the fuck are you apologizing?” 

“Because I-” 

“Because you’re being vulnerable in front of someone?” You nodded, unconsciously playing with your fingers. “Look at me, please.” You did, biting your lip to hold your tears in. 

“You are allowed to be vulnerable. You are allowed to cry. You are allowed to be scared. You shouldn’t have to hide your feelings from your friends. I’m sorry if we ever made you feel like you couldn’t talk to us.” 

You nodded, staying silent, focusing on how Jake had moved his hand from the back of your head to your cheek to rub his thumb back and forth on your cheekbone. 

Your silence broke his heart a little bit, making him think you didn’t trust him. But he knew he had to be patient with you. 

He goes to move his hand away but you hold it there. “I thought I was over it…” 

“Over what, Sweetheart?” 

“The accident…” 

Jake pushed some hair behind your ear, “What accident?” 

You took a deep breath, closing your eyes as a few tears rolled down your cheeks. He wiped them away as he spoke softly, “Take your time…” You nodded, swallowing as you tried to catch your bearings. 

“A year before I was stationed with you, I was flying a mission. It was dangerous, but still fairly routine. On my way out, I got hit. It completely destroyed my weapons system. Before I could get back up, I was hit again. This time it took out my engine.” You took another deep breath, looking up at the ceiling. 

“We were dropping altitude fast and my WSO and I had to eject. We landed on a beach, we unbuckled so fast,” you chuckled, remembering the relief you and Diego felt before the shit hit the fan.

Jake smiled a little bit at the sound, but dropped it when you started talking again.

“However the jet had also crashed onto the beach too. The fuel had leaked and caused an explosion. I covered my WSO, and a piece of scrap metal lodged itself into my back.” 

Jake’s eyes widened, more dots connecting in his mind, “You’re the pilot the squad was talking about at the bar…” 

You nodded, wiping your eyes, “Jake, I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner. It’s just… when I was in recovery, if I wanted to fly again, I had to go through therapy. And I haven’t had an attack in a year…” You got choked up again, hot tears rolling down your face, “Hang, I’m so sorry.” 

He shook his head, using both of his hands to wipe your face, “Hey, don’t be sorry. Do I wish you would have told me sooner? Hell yeah, but I understand why you didn’t.” You just nodded and relaxed into his hands.

“What happens when you have an attack?” 

You took a sharp inhale through your nose before sighing it out, “It depends. I sometimes get flashbacks of the beach, everytime I close my eyes I just see fire and it’s fucking terrifying. Other times, when it gets really bad, I can feel pain in my back, but that’s rare.” 

You bit your lip a little as you looked away, and Jake knew, “That happened tonight didn’t it?” You nodded, coughing a little bit, “Yeah, uh, yeah it did.” 

“Was it because we talked about-” 

“No," you said quickly. "W-well, I mean kinda… yeah. But there was a bonfire happening on the beach, and just the two things… my brain went into panic mode. Before you ask, I don’t really know what triggers it. But during dogfight football-” 

Jake’s eyes widened and he dropped his hands, “Fuck, Y/N, I’m so sorry. I had no idea.” 

“Exactly, Jake, you had no idea. It’s not your fault. It was just the pressure on my scar made me panic, and I was back on that damned beach. But I’m not mad or upset with you because you had no idea. So don’t beat yourself up, please.” 

Jake nodded, bringing you into a hug again, being mindful of the scar. “Jake, you can touch it. I know I’m safe.” He said nothing and brought a hand to run over the covered scar before tightening his hug. 

“Can you tell me about him? Your WSO?” 

You nodded, “Diego Harding, call sign Tundra. He has a wife and a son.”

“That’s why you-” 

“Yeah, that’s why I covered him. He had a family to go back to.” 

“What about you?” 

You sighed again, using Jake’s shoulders to sit up, “Most of my family served. My dad was killed in action when I was young. My mom died when I was a teenager, leaving Piers to raise me for a little bit. Then Piers goes and sacrifices himself… so I didn’t have anyone to come home too.” 

You shrugged and got off his lap, but snuggled into his side.

He rubbed lazy circles on your bicep. “Well now you do.” You looked up at him confused, “What?” 

“You’ve got me to come home to, and I’ve got you.” He placed a chaste kiss on your forehead. “Don’t get sappy on me, Seresin.” He just chuckled.

It was silent for a moment. 

“Promise me that you’ll do your best to fly back to me,” he asked in a hushed whisper as if he were telling you a secret.

“Only if you do,” you whispered back.

He held out his pinky, “I promise.” You nodded, interlocking your pinky with his, “I promise too.” 

“Can’t break that now, you know,” he chuckled, squeezing your pinky a little. You giggled a little before yawning, “I know, cowboy.”

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[pedrito-friskito]

strawberry wine - joel miller x ofc!liv stone/fem!reader

title card by my sweet love @inklore 🤍

before // during // after

a story about second chances.

summary: you meet joel miller long before the world implodes. a summer fling that ends before it really has a chance to begin. (the before) the world ends and your lives are ripped apart at the seams. joel finds his way to boston almost five years later, and finds a new version of you he isn’t expecting. (the during) refusing to leave joel again, you leave boston with him and tess to bring ellie where she needs to go. (the after)

warnings: canon-typical violence/injuries, swearing, angst, trauma, allusions/description of PTSD, grief, death, unprotected p-in-v, oral (f and m receiving), spit play, ass play, super light dominance, badass reader, non-canon joel miller (like, still canon but not EXACTLY canon, ya feel me?)

title from the noah kahan song of the same name - you can find it here and the strawberry wine playlist here.

part 10 onwards, reader is a named OC, still written in reader format, as little description as possible! read more about Liv here.

read on ao3

before

part one

part two

part three

part four

during

part five

part six

part seven

part eight

part nine

part ten

part eleven

part twelve

part thirteen

part fourteen

part fifteen

part sixteen

part seventeen

part eighteen

part nineteen

part twenty

after

part twenty-one

part twenty-two

part twenty-three

part twenty-four

part twenty-five

part twenty-six

part twenty-seven

part twenty-eight

part twenty-nine

part thirty

part thirty-one

part thirty-two

part thirty-three

part thirty-four

[buddierecs]

jealous!eddie diaz buddie fics

all explicit rating - 18+ only!!!! make sure to kudos/comment on these amazing works :)

something touched me (like a knife-blade) by: kithmet "eddie self-implodes. christopher, seeking refuge, flees to buck—whose priorities amount to, in varying order: take in the kid, get eddie to talk to him, and keep the three of them afloat in the process. (oh, and tommy’s there too. he thinks.)" word count: 42k important tags: co-parenting, emotional infidelity, possessive behaviour, sexuality crisis, mutual pining, getting together, anal sex, masturbation good pretender by: likeshipsonthesea "an au where buck broke up with taylor before 5b, ravi and buck become (actually platonic) friends with benefits, and ravi, eddie, and buck all go on a journey of self-discovery that ends with them all getting what they need" word count: 85k important tags: fwb!ravi/buck, outsider pov, friends to loves, communication, pining, ptsd, mutual pining, self-worth issues, therapy, anal sex, making out everything (nothing) has changed by: bizarrestars "after eddie gets shot, buck confesses his love. from there, things get a little out of hand." word count: 48k important tags: love confessions, coming out, angst, humor i could get lost in the feelings (just say that you belong to me) by: wikiangela "buck's going on a date, eddie's so jealous he finally snaps and reveals his feelings, which leads to a passionate evening in buck's kitchen." word count: 15k important tags: first time, possessive sex, kitchen sex, blow jobs, anal sex, porn with feeling, multiple orgasms, riding driving me wild by: smilingbuckley "after a drunk night of karaoke and fun, buck wakes up hungover with DIAZ tattooed on his lower back. chimney, who was with him that drunken night, helps buck hide it from the rest of the team, but it makes them think something else going on but then Eddie finds out anyways, with a reaction better than buck could've hoped for." word count: 4.7k important tags: possessive!eddie diaz, getting together, body worship, anal sex, comeplay, friends to lovers, marriage proposal skin/heat/hair in your mouth by: fleetinghearts "eddie’s bad at camping, buck’s trying to make sure he doesn’t get hypothermia, and naked huddling for warmth is only like the third gayest thing happening in the great outdoors" word count: 8.8k important tags: camping, getting together, love confessions, non-sexual intimacy, semi-public sex, blow jobs, dry humping, praise kink 5 times eddie was jealous and 1 time he didn't have to be by: sassysquatch buck makes a new friend. they sometimes have sex. eddie hates the guy, but can't quite figure out why. word count: 14k important tags: 5+1 things, minor buck/oc, mutual pining, friends to lovers, explicit sexual content eddie, enraged and envious by: songbvrd "eddie goes through the stages of grief watching buck and tommy together and gets progressively more unhinged as his jealousy builds." word count: 23k important tags: slow burn, possessive!eddie diaz, idiots in love, panic attacks, pining, mild smut i can see you (up against the wall with me) by: champagne_for_breakfast "another cowboy hat fic inspired by ryan guzman and his appearance in everybody wants some!!" word count: 9.3k important tags: cowboy hats, riding, praise kink, idiots in love, oblivious!evan buckley drink up (you're wasted on me) by: okanus "eddie and buck hook up at the bachelor party. difficulties ensue." word count: 9.5k important tags: infidelity, flirting, sexual tension, first time, drunk sex, praise kink, possessive!eddie diaz me and my wild boy, all of this wild joy by: audreylorriane "eddie and buck love each other but don’t know how to say it, until they do." word count: 12k important tags: angst, fluff, soft!buddie, pining, idiots in love, praise kink, rimming, blow jobs, anal sex, size kink, cock slut!eddie diaz

[whatswrongwithblue]

Artowrk by inuhalfdemon

Series Masterlist

Summary:

He took her face between his clawed hands and kissed her, hard and quick.

“So now that I have you back,” as he spoke, his voice crackled and lowered several octaves, and the room darkened as he allowed his power to slip out just enough to make reality around them go fuzzy. “I’m not letting you go.”

In the 1950's, Alastor met the woman he would eventually marry but unfortunately his Radio Demon persona went for her soul rather than her hand. He has to learn what it means to love, and cherish, without possessing and he does. Their relationship is beautiful, strong, unbreakable . . . but he carries a dark secret through their marriage for decades until eventually he has to face the consequences of that secret and leave her, without warning, for seven years. He returns, finding her at the Hazbin Hotel, and has to convince her to forgive him, while being literally bound to secrecy, unable to tell her any of things he now is desperate to explain to her.

(This is a duel timeline fic, timestamps will be a the top of every chapter.)

TW: canon typical violence, language, character behavior. recreational drug use. body image issues. references to self harm. OC has ptsd from sexual trauma and spousal abuse - not from Alastor! cannibalism. gun violence. slow burn. alastor is an ass and alastor is also soft. the smut will eventually include: p&v, fingering, oral - both receiving. biting, scratching, blood play. occasional shadow tentacle and sex toy usage. Anal play. Nun Alastor makes an appearance later on. Breeding kinks - both Alastor and OC deal with breeding cycles. Touch adverse Alastor. Ace-spectrum Alastor.

Also available on AO3 .

Chapter 1 - The Pilot: Alastor returns to Hell. Basically the events of the Pilot, but rewritten with Mina present.

Part 1

Chapter 2 - Reflections. The short story of Mina's life and death.

Chapter 3 - Overture. Events of Episode 1 as well as what happened during the Extermination the day before.

Part 2

Chapter 4 - Terminally Dispelled. Mina arrives in Hell.

Chapter 5 - Radio Killed the Video Star. Events of Episode 2. Alastor is a simping show-off but still not good at processing emotions.

Part 3

Chapter 6 - Little Sunshine. - Mina's POV from the end of last chapter.

Chapter 7 - Ashes in My Wake. - Alastor handle's being smitten really, really badly.

Chapter 8 - Scrambled Eggs. - Alastor finds out someone has hurt his wife.

Part 4

Chapter 9 - Wretched and Joyful. - "First time" smut

Chapter 10 - Masquerade. - Events of Episode 4. Angst ahead!

Chapter 11 - Stitches. - Angst & post-fight make-up smut

Part 5

Chapter 12 - Drunk on Life. - extra fluff & smut

Chapter 13 - Dad Beat Dad. - Events of Episode 5 w/ smut.

Part 6 - Alastor in rut smut but also lots of dark themes. Please mind the tags of these chapters.

Chapter 14 - Welcome to Heaven.

Chapter 15 - Tainted.

Chapter 16 - Possessed.

Chapter 17 - The Prophetess vs. The Nun.

Chapter 18 - Welcome (Back) to Heaven.

Part 7

Chapter 19 - A Fate that Befell Him. - proposal & wedding day

Chapter 20 - The Silence in Between. - honeymoon smut

Chapter 21 - Hello Abaddon. - recruitment for the hotel battle

Chapter 22 - House on Fire - smut rather than dealing with feelings.

Everything below is finished, only unpublished because I need to proof read!

Part 8

Chapter 23 - Don't Take That Sinner From Me. - the day alastor left

Chapter 24 - Just Pretend. - have some more angst. as a treat.

Chapter 25 - A Place to Put Your Pain. - surprise! more smut

Chapter 26 - The Show Must Go On. - the battle

Bonus Chapters

Chapter 1 - The Library - bonus smut

Chapter 2 - Poppin' Molly - Alastor on drugs, enough said

[sentientcave]

Retirement Party

Chapter 5 - Wouldn't It Be Nice?

<<First Chapter - < Prev Chapter - Next Chapter >

Contains: No Y/N, Kidnapping, Forcible relocation, Dubcon, Plus-sized Reader/OC, female Reader/OC, John introduces Doll to some normal people, Everyone learns new things about each other, Manipulation, PTSD, Doll has a tragic backstory, Doll is kinda sorta Catholic? Who knew (me I knew)

~3.8k - MDNI - Dark fic! Please mind the content warning above but honestly this chapter is pretty mild all considered.

Ghost, Soap and Gaz come back a few hours later with the blue sports car (a bit scratched up, but tail-light repaired) and a pick up truck that looks a lot like the one John had before, but a generation older, and green instead of gray. John speaks to them briefly before he coaxes you into the truck and drives off, promising that the others will be gone before you get back.

He drives a few miles down the road, and pulls up in front of a little farmhouse. It looks idyllic, children and a dog playing in the yard. Two people on the porch wave, and John hops out and circles around right quick to open your door and help you down.

The couple trots up to greet you both. "Who's this?" The woman asks, looking at you and beaming. "You finally introducing us to a girlfriend?"

"Doesn't feel like the right word, does it, doll?" John winks at you, like your circumstances are all just a funny little blip, nothing nefarious or terrifying about it.

"No, it doesn't," you agree, keeping your face carefully neutral. "I'm Dalisay. Nice to meet you, um, Melissa, right?" You stick your hand out and shake hers. There’s no sense in being rude to them, just because they know John. He’s probably smart enough to keep his old life, and his boys away from his new one as much as possible.

"The very same! We were a bit worried John was going to be an eternal bachelor. Nice to see he's found someone." She introduces her husband, Rob, and her kids, Hannah, Haley and Jackson, who are ten, seven and five, respectively.

"Do you want to see the puppies?" Haley asks, grabbing your hand. Jackson grabs the other one and they pull you along to the garage, not waiting for an answer. You very deliberately don’t look over your shoulder at John, because you’re fairly sure that he’ll be looking back at you with a sickeningly hopeful expression. His comments from last night still ring in your ears, and you’re not willing to indulge that foolish fantasy of his.

The puppies are in a play pen with high enough walls to contain them, but still allow their mother to hop in and out. She hops out to inspect you, sniffing your outstretched hands warily. Her tail starts to wag after a moment, and you give her a proper pat, smiling. The dog has soft ears and a silky, black and tan coat, but you're not sure what type of dog she is.

"What's her name?" you ask, kneeling down.

"Bonnie-bell," Hannah says. "And our other dog is Charaid."

"Proper Scottish names," you say. The kids all have a slight burr, and although Melissa sounds scouse, it's the first hint as to where you are.

"Da said we was gettin' too English, livin' in London," Haley says. "I like it better here anyway. Mum says maybe we can get some coos. "

"I grew up near Aberdeen," you say. "But I've lived in Manchester too long. Lost my accent."

"No' far off, then, aye? We're only about an hour and a bit south and west," Rob says, appearing at the open garage door to supervise. His stern face looks friendlier now that he knows you're not proper English. "Was worried John dragged some poor city girl out'f England to live out here."

You hum. "Well, I am something of a city girl now. Been in Manchester since I was seventeen."

"Weel, welcome home then," Rob says with a wink. "We'll get ye proper re-acclimated soon enough." He leans over and plucks a puppy out of the sleeping pile inside the pen, and hands it to you. The pup is at the age where its somewhere between looking like a potato and a proper dog, maybe six or seven weeks old. "Gordon setter, by the by," he says. "Good dogs."

"Cute too." You settle the puppy in your lap, petting its soft little head. Bonnie-bell licks your wrist and hops back into the pen to lay down next to the others.

"Ye want one? This girl's no' spoken for yet. John's been hemmin' and hawin' about it, but I figure he wouldna want ta leave ye home alone, neither."

"Oh, I'm not sure I'll be staying that long. I'm only here because there was an incident at my apartment and John wouldn't hear of me staying anywhere else." You're not certain why you're stretching the truth to fit around what he and his wife think is happening, but you have no idea what John would do if you did say something. Maybe he would laugh it off like you were making a joke, or maybe he would snap. You don't really think he would hurt these people, but there's a wide-eyed prey animal in the back of your mind that warns you to be cautious, to be careful.

"We'll talk about it," John says from behind you. You hadn't even noticed his approach, with the noise the kids had made when they dashed back outside. "I'm trying to convince her to stay."

"Ye've gotta buy her a ring, ye daft bastard," Rob says, laughing. "A good catholic girl isna goin' ta wait for you ta get yer head out'f yer arse."

"If you don't, I'll introduce her to some lads in town that will," Melissa threatens. "Pretty girl like her has better options than you, old man. Better make your move before she realizes it." She swats John on the arm playfully.

You laugh nervously, touching the little cross around your neck absently. The puppy in your lap seems to sense your discomfort, because she starts wiggling in your arms and trying to lick your chin, little tail wagging. John kneels down beside you so he can pet the puppy too, eyes creased with a smile. "Is that it, doll? You need me to buy you a ring?"

"John," you say warningly. "We don't need to talk about this right now."

"No, I suppose you've had a rough morning. I'll try again later."

"You're impossible."

"Think you might kind of like that about me," he says.

"Not remotely. I think you're an awful, stubborn man," you tell him. Your voice comes out softer and sweeter than you intend, like you don't really mean it, even though it's true. The smile around his eyes grows deeper.

"I am." He picks up the puppy and holds her up in front of his face. "What do you think, girl?" he asks. The little dog's tail wags furiously, and she answers with a high pitched yip. And then she endears herself to you by trying to bite John’s nose. He looks stunned for a moment, but he grins when you start laughing. “Guess we’re all in agreement then,” he says, setting her down in the pen and standing up.

You accept his hand up, and quickly put a little distance between the two of you, before he anchors you to his side with a solid arm, or tries to reel you in close for a kiss. Rob and Melissa invite you in for a cup of tea, and somehow you end up sitting at a dining room table that’s obviously mostly used for crafts, and handed a piece of blank printer paper by Haley, and told by Jackson that you should draw dragons with them. The walls of the dining room are filled with tacked up juvenile masterpieces— Dragons seem to be a particular fixation of Jackson’s, whereas Hannah and Haley have more varied portfolios.

John stands leaning in the door to the kitchen, talking to Rob and Melissa quietly enough that you can’t quite pick up his words over the children’s chatter. You hate him a little for this, dangling Rob and Melissa’s idyllic little life in front of you. The implication is obvious. We could have this, his blue eyes seem to say when you look his way. Wouldn’t that be nice?

It’s frustrating, and confusing. You want to keep him at arms length for your own safety, but he’s already doing his best to roll right past your doubts and better judgment, like they’re just silly barriers between now and the future he’s dreamed up for the two of you.

And worse, you do want it.

“Didn’t know you were an artist,” he says on the drive back. Jackson had been so excited about the dragon that you drew for him that he’d shown his parents and John.

“There’s a long list of things you don’t know about me,” you say.

"For now. We'll get there, sweetheart."

You hum, looking out the window. Spending time with the Stuarts has you wistful and homesick for something you can't get back. Days like this, you'd usually pour yourself a glass of wine, look through your family photo albums and have a good cry before going to bed early. It's been a while since it's caught up with you like this, but you'd always been reliant on your routine, burying grief in structure and familiarity. "Do we need to?"

"I'd like to."

"I'm not going to be what you want me to be."

John drums his fingers against the steering wheel. "What is it that you think I want?"

"Some little housewife. Someone soft and sweet to come home to."

"You seem plenty soft and sweet to me."

You sigh, pulling your arms around yourself. "I'm not consistent. I don't know what Johnny told you I was like, but he only knows me from work. I'm not like that all the time."

"I don't expect you to be."

"You say that now, but you'll change your mind."

"I'm not stupid enough to change my mind based on a bad day or two, doll. You're allowed to be upset. I wouldn't blame you if you spend the next week slamming doors and snapping at me. I'm still going to like you." He puts a hand on your knee and squeezes gently. Men like him shouldn't be allowed to have such attractive hands, and you shouldn't be attracted to hands like his, scarred knuckles, a few fingers broken and healed crooked. You know he's killed people, know it would be so easy for him to kill you. It turns your stomach that you feel any kind of desire for him at all.

Men like him are no different than the ones that killed your parents. Dealing death is not a noble trade, there's nothing honourable about exporting violence.

You push his hand away, and keep your eyes trained on the window.

He sighs, but he doesn't press the issue, just clicks on the radio to fill the silence.

When you get back to his house he sets you up in a cozy room down the hall from the more open main space where the kitchen is, an office of some kind with a couple of arm chairs and a desk with a clunky looking laptop set on top. The room smells kind of smoky, but you're just glad to have a door you can close while he "moves some things around". He opens the laptop up so you can watch something, but you just curl up in one of the armchairs and fall asleep.

When you wake, the door is open, one of your blankets is draped over you, and there's a mug of tea sitting on the desk, alongside a couple biscuits. You uncurl, your muscles stiff and joints cracking from not moving for too long, and pick up the tea. It's cold, like it had been left a while ago, but you drink it anyway, and eat the biscuits. There's a note underneath, explaining that John had run out to the shops, and that he'd be back by 18:00. You shake your head, and check the time on the laptop. 18:00 exactly.

Military habits must die hard. You imagine he’s usually prompt too, so you wander out into the main room, and put the clean dishes in the rack away. You realize that the living room side has been rearranged, condensed to a slightly smaller footprint, with some open space left by the far corner behind the bigger couch. The smaller leather sofa has been replaced with the little red love-seat from your apartment, and your T.V. is sitting on it’s familiar perch on the refinished credenza that you’d painted twining vines and little red flowers up the side of. You’d found it on by the curb on the Kinsey’s street a few years ago, and your friend Ripley had bused over and helped you carry it all the way back to your apartment.

You’re not sure you like seeing more of your things merging into John’s house, like any of it belongs there when you still want to insist that you’ll be leaving soon. You hate him for being presumptuous, but you can’t help but think it’s sweet, too, that he makes space for you so readily, that he’ll happily include your painted flowers and colourful blankets and bright red couch into space that was all his just twenty four hours ago. That he would leave you tea and biscuits for when you woke up, that he would tuck a blanket around you while you slept. You’re not used to someone wanting to take care of you, and it feels strange.

Strange, but nice too.

You glance at the clock on the wall, realizing that it’s twenty past six, and John still isn’t back. It’s getting darker out there, the sun nearly setting, and as much as you try to tell yourself that you’re not worried, it’s hard to deny the stab of relief when you finally see the truck's lights pull up the wooded drive.

You slip on your trainers and step outside as he parks. He grins at you around a lit cigar as he hops out. “Did you miss me, doll?” he asks, insufferably smug.

“Your note said you’d be back at six,” you say lamely. “I just wasn’t sure if you’re usually on time.”

“Usually am. Got caught talking to Wells, down on the corner. Seems someone drove right through his fence last night. Teenagers, like as not. I’m goin’ to help him fix it tomorrow.”

“Oh.” You grimace. He must know it was really you. “Sorry about that.”

“No harm. By the sounds of it, you’re quite the driver. Soap said you nearly ran him off the road. That what they teach these days?”

“Defensive driving is well and good, but offensive driving gets you the last good spot in the lot,” you say.

He laughs out loud at that, and leans over to pick up a big paper bag from the passenger side. “Here, can you take this in while I grab the groceries?”

You take the bag (which is slightly greasy and smells like curry), and shift it to one hip. “Can I take anything else?”

He nods and hands you a second paper bag, this one with two wine bottles inside. “Wasn’t sure if you liked red or white, so I got both.”

You settle the bags in your arms and turn to walk away. “Bad time to tell you I like rosé hm?” you tease, glancing over your shoulder.

“Terrible timing. But that’s alright. One more thing, doll.”

You turn back toward him, and he’s right there. One big hand cups your jaw and then his lips are on yours, pressing a kiss that tastes like smoke against you. You stand frozen, holding onto your cargo for dear life, too surprised to do anything. It’s just as well, because in that moment you’re not sure if you’d slap him or pull him closer.

He pulls away without trying to deepen the kiss, which is a relief. You’re certain that you’d drop dinner and the wine.

“John, that wasn’t fair.” Your feet are still frozen in place, and his hand is still on your cheek, his fingers threaded into your hair.

His eyes practically sparkle. He’s entirely too pleased with himself. “Not fair because I kissed you, or not fair because I stopped before we got to the best part?”

Your cheeks flame hot, and you pray that he can’t feel it. “You can’t just— You’re impossible.” It takes concentrated effort to take ordinary, measured steps to the door instead of running. The effect he has on you is apparently very obvious. He never would have tried it if he didn’t know you were teetering on the edge of giving in already.

Boundaries need to be set-- Set and followed-- before you can really even contemplate letting this get any further. Unchecked, you have no doubt that John will have you underneath him in a matter of days. Once that happens you know he'll never let you go, and you'll never have peace of mind if you don't really get to know him first. You know he's not as good as he makes himself out to be, but you suspect he's a better man than your deepest fears might whisper to you. He's genuine about his wants, but that's not enough. You need to know him before you can trust him.

You set your packages down on the table and turn to open the door wide for John as he carries a tote full of groceries into the house. “Thanks, doll.”

The paper bag rips when you open it to pull take-out containers out, setting them on the table neatly. "John, can we talk?" You ask, glancing at him as he stows things in the fridge.

"Course, doll. What's on your mind?"

Nerves threaten to choke you, so you take a steadying breath, in and out, trying to quiet the sea of dread that pitches back and forth in your stomach. “You can’t just take what you want from me. Not if you’re serious about wanting this to be something. I’m afraid of you, John, and I’m not going to fight you. If you push me, I’ll fold, and I’ll hate you for it.”

He pauses, holding a box halfway lifted to the cupboard. It takes a moment before he moves again, setting the box on the shelf slowly. The silence is palpable in the room, settling across both of you like a thick blanket of snow. You fold the ripped takeout bag flat, nervous, the crinkle of heavy paper hardly breaking through the rush of blood in your ears, the panic that grips you by the throat. It’s as though the admission has given your body the chance to catch up with everything that’s happened in the last two days.

You’d been drugged and taken from your home, you’d been handed off to someone you didn’t know, with no clear indication if you’re free to leave or not, you’ve been picked up and manhandled and shot at.

Darkness flickers in the corners of your vision. All you can hear is the pounding of your own heart, the sick, dizzying drums of war, and high pitched ringing like a flat-lining hospital monitor, and screaming, and the rapid burst of machine gun fire. No. The screaming you hear is just in your head, the gunshots aren’t real, they can’t be. It’s not happening, it’s over, it’s been over for a decade, you’re safe.

Except you’re not safe.

Hands land on your shoulders. You lash out, fists striking something solid, knocking the hands away. You have to get away, you have to hide until it goes quiet again. Arms wrap around you in a tight hug, stilling your thrashing limbs and bringing you down to the floor gently.

“Doll! Dalisay, sweetheart, you’re alright, come back.” The voice has authority. You know that voice. It rumbles, shaking loose memory. “Come on, love, breathe slow. You’re okay.” You breathe in, warm spice and tobacco smoke, not burning petrol, not scorched flesh. You’re kneeling on the floor, and John is holding you tight, thighs bracketing yours.

The fight melts out of your limbs.

You’re not safe, but you’re not in danger either. John loosens his hold on you and cups your face, his worried face eclipsing all else. “Doll, where’d you go?” he asks. “What happened?”

“Panic attack,” you lie, because that’s easier to say than My parents were killed in a terrorist attack while we were visiting London ten years ago and sometimes I get so stressed out that I forget it’s not still happening. “I’m fine, I’m sorry.”

“That wasn’t a panic attack, doll. Worked with Simon long enough to recognize PTSD. You were somewhere else.”

It’s hard to imagine that Ghost is as fallible, as human as you are, but you suppose there’s no shortage of opportunities for even the the biggest, toughest military men to to wade hip deep in trauma. The worst day of your life would be just another mission for them. The worst day of their lives would probably kill you outright.

"Yeah, I guess it was," you admit haltingly. "Everything just caught up with me. I won't let it happen again."

He shakes his head. "Did I set it off? I need to know— I don’t want to hurt you, sweetheart.”

"No, it's not like that. It’s just stress. It's been building since I got here."

"I guess that's what you meant in the truck, huh?"

You nod weakly. "I don't think I can explain it any better right now. But maybe tomorrow."

"Alright." John sighs, some of the tension in his shoulders releasing. " I don't want you to be afraid of me, doll."

"Then you're going to have to give me time, and space. I need to know what kind of man you are. And you should get to know who I am too.” There’s a wrinkle in his shirt, so you fixate on that rather than look right at him, smoothing it out with your fingers. “Let’s worry about becoming friends, for now. And then we can see if there’s something more.”

He doesn’t like that, you can tell by the way he pulls his hands back, reluctant to let go of you. But still, he nods, and smiles ruefully after a moment. “Guess I’m not as patient as I think I am. Too eager to get to the good part.”

You laugh lightly, the sound shaky from frayed nerves. “John, if we can be kind to each other, and come to an understanding, then it’s all the good part. You can’t build the things you want on foundations like this and hold it all together with sheer force of will.”

“You sure about that?" he jokes, trying to lighten the mood. "I’ve heard I’m pretty stubborn.”

Your eyes flick up to meet his. You still feel unsettled, your heart still pounding, your stomach still roiling with anxiety. The emotion in those blue eyes is something you can't identify, something fathomless that strikes you with a foreign kind of fear, the kind that's shot through with hope that you shouldn't feel.

“You don’t know me too well yet, John,” you say gently, “but so am I.”

Image Credits: Banner

Dividers: 1 - 2 - 3 by @/Cafekitsune

[helvegen-s]

Rage, rage | six

index

Pairing: Azriel x Hybern!Princess!OC

Summary: Nimue was a gift for the King of Hybern. His shining jewel, the perfect heir. However, she is clear about who the villain of the story is. When she saves her father's enemies from a tragic end, she realizes that now it's the Cauldron who has a gift for her: a mate.

Warnings: fighting, mentions of ptsd, just some fluff, enemies becoming friends and becoming lovers

Days and weeks passed, and Nimue found different ways to entertain herself and pass the time.

She had learned to appreciate Nesta's company, Feyre's older sister, with whom she spent long hours in silence, reading, sitting side by side in the library. She was a rough and direct person, but there was something that made them understand and fit together, like two sides of the same coin. Perhaps it was the fact that both had been inside the Cauldron that made Nimue understand her attitude, even though the others didn't.

She also spent long hours sitting with Rhysand. Sometimes Feyre, Morrigan, Amren, Cassian were present. Never Azriel.

They asked questions, and she answered the best she could: where the bulk of Hybern's forces were located, how many troops it had, who supported the King among Prythian's courts, what he was going to do with the Cauldron...

For many, she didn't have the answer, and she couldn't ignore that feeling of uselessness when she shrugged at their questions. She should have known all that. Her father didn't trust her in the slightest, not even to entrust her with the most absurd of information.

She had also started spending time with Amren, with whom she could spend hours and hours talking about the world, about magic, about how everything was related. They shared their own perspectives on the world, as Nimue found in the small female an equal: two ancient and powerful minds trapped in bodies that were too small for them.

However, the knowledge that Amren transmitted to her about Prythian's history was incredibly vast. Yes, Nimue had knowledge of the things the Cauldron had transmitted to her, but she still had so much to learn that she couldn't help but tremble with excitement.

On the other hand, Nimue also felt drawn to the fragile Elain. Like with Nesta, she felt a connection with the female, due to her relationship with the Cauldron. The Cauldron itself had said it, it had given her two sisters, and Nimue felt her chest swell just thinking about it.

According to Nesta, the Elain she saw now was a mere shadow of what she had always been in reality: a sweet and bright girl, warm like the spring sun, but extinguished by the traumatic experience of the Cauldron.

However, on rare occasions, when she and Nesta sat in silence reading in the company of the quiet and lost Elain, Nimue would look up from the book to find the middle sister smiling at her, a smile that the princess gladly returned.

On the other hand, she had begun to forge a sweet and slow friendship with Feyre: they sat together to have tea (Cassian had taught her, what a wonderful beverage), and the brunette told her story, from the harsh poverty and through Tamlin and the Spring Court, to Rhysand and the Inner Circle.

Nimue couldn't help but marvel at seeing Azriel through Feyre's eyes, as she told her what she had experienced with them.

She was gaining everyone's trust little by little, building it day by day with small demonstrations. However, Azriel kept slipping away.

Sometimes she felt a flash of something on the other end of the bond: joy, anger, disappointment, surprise. She supposed it was moments when Azriel let his guard down and his emotions escaped through the invisible thread that connected them.

When she crossed paths with him in the hallways, he simply looked away and walked past. When everyone in the house gathered for dinner and they coincided next to each other, Azriel didn't open his mouth all night or engaged in conversation with whoever was on his other side.

Nimue wanted to get closer to him. She wanted to know him, to see him with the eyes with which Feyre saw him: a loyal and good male to the core, willing to sacrifice everything for his people and with incredible insight. A trained warrior with a dark past that Feyre didn't tell her much about.

So she began to get up before the Sun shone in the sky. She dressed appropriately and cheerfully made her way to the training field that Cassian had shown her. There, every morning without fail, she found the two Illyrian males training: with swords, with spears, with daggers, with fists...

Every time Cassian saw her cross the training yard's gate, he couldn't help but burst into laughter. On the other hand, Azriel rolled his eyes and was already in a bad mood for everything he had left to do that morning.

But he couldn't help but think how funny the situation was, seeing Nimue arrive there morning after morning, sit and watch them train with a sweet smile on her face, sometimes with her gaze lost following some birds flying around her.

Azriel wanted to be angry. He wanted not to trust her, he wanted to see her as an enemy, he wanted to convince himself that she wasn't clean.

But it was so, so difficult for him.

It was so difficult for him to convince himself that she was a spy for her father. Especially when he caught her alone in the hallways of the house, asking out loud for any kind of sweet or cake and eating it as if it were the first in her life. Especially when he saw her reading silently in the library, next to Nesta and with a smile on her face for whatever she was reading.

Especially, when at dinners he caught her staring at him, with furrowed brows. Azriel pretended not to notice. But he always saw her on the other side of the table, oblivious to all the conversations around her, gripping the knife and fork and staring at him, with that expression of incomprehension that reminded him so much of a sulky child.

He wanted to maintain that facade and not give in. But it was so difficult for him to ignore that feeling, that pressure in his chest every time he saw her, every time he perceived her scent of sea salt and belladonna poison in the house's rooms.

Especially at night when he got into bed, he found it hard to ignore the emotions that slipped through the bond: half asleep and with his guard down, Nimue let out such waves of loneliness and melancholy from her end of the bond that sometimes Azriel felt like he was going to cry himself.

So, one morning, amidst the thick morning fog and the singing of the newly awakened birds, he headed towards Nimue on the training field, under Cassian's surprised gaze.

"Why don't you show us how you fight in Hybern?" he said. Nimue stood up like a spring, her face tinged with excitement. Azriel had to take several deep breaths to assimilate the amount of joy that went straight to his chest. He cleared his throat, "Just to know what to expect in case of a battle."

"Of course."

Nimue walked up to Cassian, who volunteered to fight against the princess first.

"No magic, just hand-to-hand combat. I must also add that I don't usually fight against women, but it doesn't mean I'm going to–"

Cassian hadn't finished speaking when Nimue gave him a series of blows so fast that not even Azriel could register: first stomach, then knees, neck, and finally a finishing blow that left the Illyrian lying face down on the ground and groaning.

Azriel let out a laugh almost without thinking, and when he felt Nimue's gaze on him, he did everything to hide it.

"For the Mother," Cassian coughed, getting up as best he could from the ground. "Warn before."

"If I warned you, it would lose all the fun," she said, smiling. She turned to the Shadowsinger and pointed at him with her finger, "Now you, pretty face."

Azriel felt a chill run from his heels to his crown, and swallowed to prevent his thoughts from wandering further.

Around his shoulders and wings, his shadows fluttered as they laughed softly.

How funny she is.

Yes, very funny.

And pretty.

Yes, we want to touch her and smell her. She smells really good.

Azriel clicked his tongue and shook his head, heading towards the princess. He positioned himself at a safe distance to avoid a surprise attack like the one she had used with Cassian, and in a defensive stance, he couldn't help but give her a wicked smile.

"You'll see what this pretty face is capable of."

At a speed only a fully trained soldier could move, Nimue traced a parabola towards Azriel, approaching from his left side and crouching to avoid any counterattack. He prepared to receive the blow, contracting the muscles of his abdomen.

But the blow never came.

Nimue fell to her knees, fists raised just an inch from Azriel's body.

"I can't," she whispered. She dropped her arms to her sides and stood up, face to face with Azriel. "I'm physically unable to harm you. I can't."

Azriel frowned, internalizing every feature of the female: the arch of her eyebrows, the angle of her eyes, the light of the first rays of the sun reflected in her iris, that slight tremor on the left side of her lip that he had noticed occurred when she was tense...

He never had the pleasure to be this close to her, the only times such a thing happened he was so blinded by rage that he couldn't appreciate such a raw beauty.

He snapped out of his reverie and entered back into that mental state of combat.

Taking advantage of Nimue's distraction, he prepared to aim a direct punch at her jaw.

But just an inch away, his body stopped completely, as dictated by a greater force.

Stop.

His hand immediately unclenched, and under his own gaze, he saw how his body acted alone and by instinct: as if drawn by a magnet, his own hand rested on Nimue's cheek, who buried her face further in that sudden contact.

They held each other's gaze, unable to act upon that pure and raw instinct. Azriel's hand on Nimue's face, his thumb tempting fate on the corner of the princess's lip.

Even through the leather glove, he could feel the warmth emanating from Nimue, like that of a bonfire on a cold winter night.

The princess raised her right hand, gripping the Shadowsinger's forearm and ensuring he didn't stop touching her.

She didn't want him to ever stop.

No one had ever touched her like that, with pure warmth. She felt like she was burning wherever the male touched her.

She didn't want Azriel to ever stop touching her.

But Azriel snapped out of his reverie, again, and as fast as lightning, he moved away from the female, breaking all physical contact.

At his side, the hand that had felt the sweet touch of her skin kept clenching, as if asking for more.

Such soft skin.

Let's touch it again.

He had gone too far, letting himself be carried away by the raw instinct that bond imposed on him.

Yes, it had to be that.

He definitely didn't want to get lost again in the gray eyes of that female, clear as the light of the brightest star in the sky.

Definitely not.

Feeling the heat rise to his face, he hurried to leave the training field before his own shadows came up with the Mother knows what, leaving behind a confused Nimue.

What had just happened?

What had all that been about, why had it felt so natural, so good?

Cassian had watched the whole scene, apart, with his mouth shut and thinking about who he would run to tell first: Feyre or Morrigan.

Maybe both at the same time.

Taglist:

@lilah-asteria @agentsofsheilds @leptitlu @just-here-reading @glitterypirateduck @saltedcoffeescotch @krowiathemythologynerd @donttellthecats @annblvd @annamariereads16 @crazylokonugget @smoooothoperator

[sarawritestories]

All Too Well Synopsis/ Masterlist (Coming Soon!)

CassianX OC (Rhys' Sister), Eris VanserraX OC (Rhys' Sister) (eventually)

I watched the Eras Tour Movie today and had wave of inspiration hit me and also correlated well with an idea @awkardnerd gave me

Content Warnings: This will talk about SA under the Mountain, mentions of suicidal ideation, cheating, depression, PTSD (I think this covers most of it I will adjust accordingly)

Summary: Cassian and Rhys' Sister Estella had fallen love and had a happy little life before her and Rhysand were taken away and were Under The Mountain for 50 years. Both are Amarantha's play things, and Estella yearns to be back home with her love. Though the Heir of the Autumn Court has his eyes set on the Princess of Night.

After Amarantha Cassian's and Estella's relationship is tested until the one thing she feared most happened. Cassian began to distance himself and inevitably found his mate. Leaving her behind and not getting support for her family, Estella flees and finds comfort in the one place she never thought; The Autumn Court.

Each Chapter will be Titled a Taylor Swift Song-Though consider All Too Well the Theme Song. If you want to be on the tag list when I start posting this please let me know!

Mood Board

Estella's Character Bio

Love Story Part 1 Part 2

Enchanted

Tolerate It

Last Kiss

Wildest Dreams

My Tears Ricochet

Cardigan

Invisible String

Clean

Willow

...Ready For It?

Vigilante Shit

Long Live

Never Grow Up

[outofconcheol]

Exit West (LMH x F!Reader)

pairing: Minho x f!reader (afab)

genres/au/rating: angst, smut, some fluff, post-apocalyptic au (based on the Netflix series Sweet Home), 18+

summary: Even when the world is plunged into its darkest hour, you find the faintest light in Minho.

warnings: heavy angst, lots of mentions of blood and injuries (i tried to make it as non-graphic as possible), minor character deaths, weapons, panic attack (again not graphic), it's heavily implied OC struggles with agoraphobia and PTSD, brief infidelity, Minho and reader do get into verbal arguments (they're a little toxic lol), Minho is a true loverboy, ambiguous but hopeful ending, smut warnings: kissing, fingering (f rec), unprotected sex, brief nipple play

word count: 6.3k

a/n: i'm so sorry that this took so long, google docs decided to be a jerk and delete a huge chunk of this while i was working on it (I apologize in advance for the poorly written angst)! It is based on the world of Sweet Home but honestly you don't need to have watched the show or read the webtoon to follow along. the title is from the book by Mohsin Hamid. I hope you enjoy! &lt;;3

The sharp wire of the metal fence cuts into Minho’s palms, digging into his mottled skin, and he braces himself for the jump. Leaping over, Minho lands silently on his feet, skills honed from many years of observing his cats take the same leap from couches or counters. But none of that existed anymore.

His eyes remain sharp, taking in the cover of woods around him, and he remembers that while the trees helped him stay hidden, they hid the monsters from his sight as well. No sooner than he’s managed to calm down the ever-present racing of his heart, he’s swinging the door to the bunker open, closing it quietly behind him.

Wincing, he examines the cuts on his palms, tinged with dirty specks of rust. He wasn’t sure how much longer he could keep doing this, knowing the small supply of rubbing alcohol he’d managed to collect over the past few months was now down to the last bottle. And there was no more to be found.

The small bit of sunlight that streams in through the barely-qualifying window illuminates your sleeping figure nestled amongst a pile of dirty blankets, and Minho almost hesitates to disturb you like this. You look so peaceful like this, a stark contrast to the emptiness that fills your eyes when you wake, the pain of living through two starkly different lifetimes contained in their depths. He knows his eyes hold the same.

“___,” he shakes you awake gently, watching you stir. The gashes that mar your face have begun to scab over, leaving ugly scars in their wake.

“I brought dinner.”

That gets you to jolt up, rubbing sleepily at your eyes. 

“Are you okay? Anything hurt?” You shake your head, a small frown on your face when you see the fresh red marks that litter his palms. He has the feeling you’re lying to him again, but he doesn’t push it. A lot went unspoken between you two.

Minho wordlessly hands you over a full sleeve of crackers, your eyes lighting up. You chomp down eagerly on one, before pausing, holding it out to him.

“I already ate,” he lies, knowing he didn’t want you to sacrifice any kind of meal for his sake. He’d eat the less full sleeve when you fell back asleep.

Moments of silence pass between you, the soft sounds of your eating lulling Minho’s tired eyes to fall, becoming heavy with sleep. He rests his head on his knees, fighting back the shiver that night brought with it. 

A deafening roar breaks through the stillness, and you freeze, dropping the crackers to the ground. Minho is by your side in an instant, hand tentatively reaching out towards your shoulder. But he never closes the gap.

“Ten seconds,” you croak out, so softly that Minho thinks he might not have heard you. “If the distance that sounds travel is 343 metres per second, then ten seconds means it’s far enough away from us.”

The ghost of a smile twitches at Minho’s lips, and he wants to praise your sharp skills, considering he’d only ever been a pabo, but you’ve turned around and fallen asleep again, your back to him. 

Minho settles into the blankets across from you, watching you for a few minutes before his body is weighed down by the exhaustion of the day, knowing the exact same thing waited tomorrow. The end of the world was more boring than he’d expected it to be.

It hadn’t always been this way. The chaos had naturally broken through the quiet, starting one night when a fire broke out in his apartment complex. Amidst the screams and sounds of windows shattering, Minho’s only concern had been the cats, scooping them up, taking special care to cover their ears from the blaring alarms. But all of it hadn’t made a difference anyway.

He thought it was his neighbour at the end of the hallway. Or at least, it looked like him. He’d always had some sort of disdain for the man - in Minho’s eyes he talked too much. Always interrupting him during his morning mail runs to brag about his latest conquests when it came to dating. It was a sore spot for Minho, especially considering his own romantic interests were so singular, something he didn’t want to get into whenever his neighbor cornered him.

But the vain man who talked Minho’s ear off about sleeping with as many women as possible was nowhere to be found, lithe limbs transforming into ropes that broke through the ceiling. Heading straight for Minho.

Somewhere in the chaos, Minho briefly had time to register that whatever was in front of him was no longer human. And so, he did the only thing he could do. Run.

The floor slipped underneath him, hurtling Minho to the ground, the cat carrier thrown open next to him. Soonie, Doongi, and Dori are nowhere to be found. His palms claw against the tile, trying and failing to lift himself up, eyes widening when he sees the red that coats his palms.

“Please,” Minho croaks, attempting to break through to the human underneath the monster. “Don’t do this.”

There’s a brief flash, a spindly arm reaching out for Minho’s face, and he ducks. The sound of shattering glass follows, the grotesque body flinging itself out the window. Minho heaves, hot tears leaking from his face as he remains curled in the fetal position, arms braced over his head. When his breath returns to him, he looks over at the empty carrier and lets out a sob. Slowly, his eyes turn to the shattered window. 

Blood lines its jagged edges, dripping to join the mess on the floor. Peering downwards, Minho sees the mangled body of the thing (he refused to acknowledge it had been his neighbor) that had attacked him, unmoving. 

He had to get out of there.

…

The knock at the door startles you. It’d been days since you’d locked yourself away from the chaos, days since you’d heard a sound. But the screams would never leave your head. 

You’ve been huddled up in the same corner since it all started, exactly ten feet away from the door. Close enough to act quickly in case someone (or something) came knocking, but far enough away to duck into one of the rooms of your apartment for safety. 

However, the splitting pain in your ankle prevents you from doing either. The bruises are turning a nasty shade of yellow, mixing with the unsightly violet from before. You’re pretty sure it’s broken, your bookcase toppling over onto it the day this had all started.

The knock startles you again. It’s soft, gentler than the ramming you’d expected if a monster were to come knocking. But still, you could never be too safe. 

“Churu,” a soft voice whispers through the darkness, and you freeze. There was only one person in the world who’d know that word, and come knocking at your door.

Your palms burn as you drag yourself against the floor, taking extra care to make as little sound as possible. Fighting the urge to curse when the door creaks, you brace yourself against it, peering through the peephole. 

The banged-up face of Lee Minho greets you on the other end, and you nearly sob with relief. Swinging the door open, you take him in at the threshold, peering at you with a strange gaze. You’d often joked to Minho that his eyes resembled his cats’, curiosity mixed with having seen too much contained in their depths. But it seemed especially true today, his lip split open and face haggard while he clutched a baseball bat in his hand.

You know the first thing he’s going to ask before it even leaves his mouth.

“Are you hurt?” he huffs out, watching you collapse against the door frame.

“Junho is gone.” You watch Minho’s entire figure tense up when his best friend’s name comes off your lips, his grip around the bat tightening.

“I-, I tried to talk to him, but there was a weird sound on my phone that kept breaking us up, and then I heard him scream, and then…”

You collapse against Minho in a fit of sobs, forced to recount those awful last moments when you’d heard your boyfriend die over a phone call, the chilling screech of something that wasn’t human cutting off his screams for help. And you were trapped halfway across the city, crumpled on the floor, unable to do anything to help him.

Minho’s arms wrap around you, supporting your weight, and he’s moving you both over the threshold, taking care to shut the door softly behind him. You don’t know how many minutes you spend wailing against his chest, the sight of another human forcing you to confront the horror you’d dealt with in the past few days, but eventually, the pain in your ankle makes itself known again, and you slide to the floor.

Minho rests his head against the door frame, his own eyes red-rimmed, and you watch his face contort, trying to hold back the tears from falling.

“I’m sorry,” you blurt out, watching Minho’s gaze snap to yours. 

“What for?” he croaks. “It wasn’t your fault.”

“I’m so scared, Minho,” your eyes fill with tears. “I thought that no one would come for me, that I’d be alone here, and that I’d…”

You choke, unable to finish the sentence, and you watch Minho straighten next to you. The warmth of his hand wrapping around your waist startles you, watching his lithe body contort as he helps you up off the floor, taking special care not to put weight on your ankle.

“You’re with me now. I won’t let anything happen to you.”

There’s a furrow in Minho’s brow when he hears your request, lips tightening into a thin line while his throat bobs.

“Absolutely not.”

The decision is final, resolute, stubborn — Minho’s arms are crossed over each other, and he stares down at your figure among the blankets, eyeing the makeshift splint currently tied around your ankle.

“Minho, please.” It comes out as a whine, years building in your eyes from the frustration of being trapped in the bunker for months on end. 

“I said no.”

Minho had dragged the two of you to safety not long after he’d found you, stealthily dodging the strange creatures that had begun to pop up on the city landscape. There was little in common between them besides their monstrous appearances, but Junho’s screams lingered in the back of your mind, causing you to wake up every night in a cold sweat for the first few weeks.

The tiny bunker became your new home, and Minho your roommate, forced together by circumstances beyond your control. You’d snapped at him when he brought up the idea of leaving, wanting to search for food and supplies outside. 

Unfortunately, your ankle made the final decision for you — Minho would have to be the sacrificial lamb, risking his life for you both. It filled you with an immeasurable amount of guilt, knowing he put himself in danger every day to provide for you both. But it also made you angry, the listlessness that had begun to brew inside you only becoming stronger when you felt more and more useless every time he’d come back with food and medicine for you and nothing for himself. 

Regret cut through you like a searing knife. Who was Minho to do all these things? He’d been Junho’s best friend, not yours. The relationship between you two had been cordial at best, Minho barely managing to string more than five words together every time he was around you. It always seemed to you like Minho stood at the other end of a vast abyss, impossible for you to reach in any way. Admittedly, you’d been no help in closing the chasm, even since you’d both escaped together, the pain in your ankle lulling you to sleep as soon as you swallowed the meds he brought every day. 

Your eyes flit to Minho across the bunker, holed up into the corner. You watch his hands rummage around in his pocket, pulling out a switchblade. The shiny metal gleams in the rays of the sun, Minho’s fingers enclosing around a lock of his messy, overgrown hair—

“STOP!” The switchblade clatters to the floor at the sound of your voice, Minho’s lips parting in surprise. A deep flush creeps across your neck, wondering what had prompted you to interrupt him in the moment. His eyes study you with a curious glint, a thousand questions hidden in them.

“You’ll dull the knife,” you manage to get out, amazed at the calmness in your voice despite your heart racing at a million miles an hour. “What if we need it?”

Minho’s lips twist up into a smirk, and you wonder if he can see through your thinly veiled excuse. If he does, he doesn’t say anything, throwing a baseball cap over the shaggy strands, smiling when they fall into his eyes. 

“Fine,” he acquiesces. “You can come along. But any sign of trouble and you have to leave me and get back here, okay?”

“What do you mean, leave you? You’re coming back with me, of course.”

“___.”

“Minho.”

You push yourself off the ground with your palms, hobbling over to Minho’s side. 

“Thank you,” you whisper softly to him, and Minho rubs at the back of his neck sheepishly, before the door to the bunker creaks open once more, this time the two of you stepping out into the sun together. 

. . . 

Sweat pools on Minho’s shirt, the sun beating down on the two of you while you make your way through the woods, eventually finding yourselves in a vast field. You’re slower than he is, trailing behind him while you skip on your partially healed ankle, but Minho finds he doesn’t mind.

In fact, he thinks he must look like a fool, the huge smile that threatens to take over his face creeping up every few minutes. Somehow, it feels different now, having you here with him. The sun’s rays feel less ruthless, and there’s the faint rustling of a breeze through the meadow. It's almost like he’s on an adventure, and not caught in an endless struggle for survival. He’s filled with the hope that maybe the two of you can come out of this alive. Together.

Pushing through the blades of grass, Minho pauses when he hears a small thud behind him, followed by the faint sound of wheezing. Turning on his heels, his heart turns to ice when he sees you, knees curled to your chest, the faint sheen of sweat lingering on your skin. 

“Shit!” Minho curses into thin air, crouching onto the dirt next to you. “Stay with me ___!”

His arm swings out to steady you, but recoils at the last second, not wanting to startle you. Guilt eats away at his chest when he realizes this is all his fault. He’d been the one to agree to let you go outside. Realization dawns on him that there’d been a reason you stayed in the bunker the entire time, his mind flashing back to the days you must have spent alone in your apartment, full of pain, wondering if anyone would show up.

Minho panics, looking around the field for something, anything that could help hold you over until this passes, when a thought crosses his mind.

“Do you want to hear about the time I tried to walk my cats?” He babbles out, cheeks hot at the silly interruption. It works though, your face jolts up, the trance finally broken. Your eyes are red-rimmed, hair dampened with sweat, snot running down your nose. Minho thinks you’ve never looked more beautiful.

“It was in a field just like this, I brought them out here with their harnesses,” he continues, the smile growing on his face when he sees the stream of tears that run down your cheeks dry up.

“It was a disaster. I thought Doongie ran away for sure, and Soonie just laid down in the grass on his belly, refusing to get up. Dori was the only one who took to it,” he reminsces fondly, a half-sob, half-chuckle escaping him at the memory, trying to soothe the hollow ache in his heart when he thinks of them.

“I wish I’d met them,” you reply softly, your hand resting on Minho’s shoulder.

“It was my fault,” Minho spits out bitterly. “Junho was over all the time, I could have introduced you. They would have really liked you I think.”

Just like I do.

“I hope we find them,” your voice is quiet, but there’s a resoluteness to it that surprises Minho. “They have to be out there somewhere, waiting for you.”

That strange feeling of hope bubbles up in Minho’s chest again, and he helps you up, fighting the burning in his cheeks when your hand remains clasped in his, the two of you hobbling through the field.

Half an hour later, and you’re stopped outside the remains of what looked to be a convenience store, completely ransacked. Minho ignores the emptiness he feels when he lets go of your hand to peer inside, his heart dropping at the bare shelves.

Behind him, a twig snaps, your sharp gasp echoing amidst the silence. The gleam of the switchblade is apparent in seconds, Minho pulling it out of his pocket.

The woman is whimpering, her gauzy white dress in tatters. His eyes trail to her hands, the discoloured nails offset by the glint of a fancy diamond ring, and for a moment, he could almost believe she’d just walked out of the church, beaming from the happiest day of her life.

But her eyes say differently. Hollow pools of black, nothing behind them. She’s one of them.

“___, run.” Minho commands, not even turning to look behind him. He hopes you’re gone already, hopes you won’t have to stick around to see this dark side of him, the one that was used to doing battle with monsters every time he left the safety of your little bunker.

But you’re not gone. Your hand wraps around his, lifting it up to study the switchblade in his hand. He looks into your eyes, full of fear but also sadness at the sight in front of you, and he wonders if you see yourself in her. What things could have been with Junho.

“I don’t think she’s going to hurt us,” you wrestle Minho’s blanched fingers off the blade. “We should just go.”

You pocket the knife, Minho’s jaw tensing at the thought of leaving the woman behind, unsure of the potential harm she could cause. He opens his mouth to protest, but realizes you’ve already begun to walk away, your slumped figure visible against the setting sun. You’re crying again.

The woman wails harder when she sees the two of you go, her cries echoing into the silent night.

It’s cold tonight in the bunker. 

You shiver among the pile of blankets, watching your breath turn into mist in the frosty air. Teeth chattering, you look over to Minho. His pile of blankets is even more sparse than your own, and you catch sight of his own trembling figure. 

It’s cold, your voice echoes in the back of your mind, your feet dragging across the floor, the blankets dragging behind you. 

It’s cold, it echoes again, Minho stirring when you lay by his side, throwing the extra blankets over the two of you. His eyes go wide with shock when he sees your face across his in the darkness, studying the way your hair falls messily in your face, the rapid rising of your chest with every breath. 

It’s cold, it repeats a final time, your lips surging forward to meet Minho’s, a strange noise escaping his throat before one of his arms comes up to wrap around you, his other palm steadying him against the floor. It’s cold and Minho is warm, the heat from his body burning through you when his tongue traces your lips, before slipping inside, a low whine escaping your throat. 

You break away from him, flushed and shivering, but no longer cold. Minho’s hot breath fans against your cheeks, his thumb resting tentatively at the curve of your jaw.

“Touch me please,” you beg him, and his grip around your waist tightens, hands tracing circles on your side. His lips find yours again, thumbs slipping underneath the hem of your shirt, resting against the curve of your hips. You burrow your face into Minho’s neck, leaving featherlight kisses against his jaw, heat rising in your chest when you hear Minho hold his breath. Breaking away, you meet his gaze, the tips of his ears turning red. 

“Anything,” he whispers against your lips. “I’ll do anything for you.”

Sparks crackle in the air between you, the once stagnant air in the bunker becoming filled with frantic energy, you slipping a leg over to straddle Minho, him fumbling with the buttons to your clothes, pushing aside just enough to feel how wet you are. The fingers of his other hand trace under your shirt again, climbing up your stomach, thumbs brushing against the underside of your breasts before he tugs at your nipples. 

Sighing, your hips move against Minho’s hardness, pushing aside the worn fabric of Minho’s flannel to press kisses to his collarbones, his thumb working on your clit. Your back arches when he presses another finger inside, and the familiar burn of your orgasm begins to rise, building in your stomach.

“Let go for me,” Minho groans, and the deep growl in his voice has you hurtling over the edge, trembling as you fall apart on top of him. The two of you exchange shallow breaths, Minho’s fingers still buried inside you, and you feel your core begin to clench around them, whining from the oversensitivity.

“Please, please, can I fuck you?” Minho whispers, desperation in his tone. You nod, head spinning with everything that had happened, and you reach back under his sweats, fishing his cock out from underneath them.

He pushes into you slowly, groaning when he feels your walls widening to accommodate him. The two of you stay there for a few moments, catching your breath before you tell him it’s okay to move. His hips snap lazily against yours, fucking you slowly and deeply, soft pants and the sound of your wetness reverberating through the bunker.

You rock against him gently, and you reach for his hands, his warm fingertips slipping through your own easily, limbs tangling together in desperation. 

“You’re perfect god, you’re perfect, I love you, I love you so much,”  he slurs the words, the confession ringing in your ears, soft groans accompanied by the speeding up of his thrusts before he spills inside you. 

Lifting you off of him, his arms reach around your body to press you against him, his lips ghosting your forehead, and you feel the wet trail of tears on his cheeks. Eventually, his breathing slows, soft snores telling you he’s fallen asleep, but you remain restless for the rest of the night.

The headache hits Minho like a freight train in the morning, as he stares up at the rust-covered ceiling. There’s a faint chill in the air, one that became even more pronounced when he woke up and you weren’t by his side, and he wonders for a second if he’d imagined it all, from the softness of your lips to the way the words he’d been wanting to say, waiting years to say spilled out of his throat, every kiss and laugh you shared with Junho burned into his memory. And all he did was look on, hopeless in his desperation. Until everything changed last night.

A loud clang startles him, and he jumps up, watching you throw a heavy sack containing the supplies he’d stockpiled against the walls of the bunker, your back turned to him. He lifts himself off his feet, padding softly behind you, his arm reaching out for you.

“Don’t touch me,” you hiss, words clipped and venomous, and you keep rearranging, completely ignorant to the way Minho stands there, unable to formulate a response, his tongue feeling as though it’s weighed down with lead. 

Rage lights up inside him as he watches you move around him, the silence making his heart freeze over, and he decides that he can’t take it anymore. It’s been months with you acting this way, cold and distant, refusing to let Minho in. Before, he’d been able to write off your happiness with Junho as an excuse, as a reason why he couldn’t let himself get close to you. But Junho was long gone.

“We’re not doing this,” he spins you around to face him. “You don’t get to walk away from me like that.”

You push against Minho’s chest with all the might you can muster, and he staggers back. The look in your eyes makes you seem like a wounded animal, ready to pounce.

“Why’d you say it?” Another push, the words leaving you in a broken sob. “Why’d you do that?”

You bat against Minho’s chest until he can no longer take it, grabbing both of your hands with one of his, pinning you against the wall.

“Because it’s true,” he breathes, looking past you through the window outside, unable to meet your eyes. “I love you ____. I’ve loved you this entire time, even when you were with Junho. And I hate myself for it.”

He lets go of your arms, stepping back, his shoulders beginning to shake with the force of his own sobs. 

“Why do you think I stayed? Why do you think I put myself in danger every day to make sure that you had medicine for your ankle, food to fill your stomach? Why do you think I go out there and kill every single monster I run into, because I need to make it back here, to be with you again?”

“You shouldn’t!” you scream at him. “What kind of life is this? Love should be the last thing on your mind right now, Minho! You should fucking worry about your own neck, and stop giving a damn about me!”

The words tear through you, because you know that if it weren’t for his love, you wouldn’t even be alive right now. And it hurts, hurts to think of how long he’s spent living like this, merely surviving, a wall of ice around his chest.

“You’re right, I shouldn’t. But I do. Do you know that these past few months, I’m the happiest I’ve ever been? What kind of fucked up logic is that? I have nothing, nothing in this world besides this stupid bunker and the clothes on my back, and it makes me want to sob with joy. Because I get you. I get a chance at life with you, after so many years of wishing for it, and knowing I could never have it.”

He falls onto the ground, tucking his head into his knees. 

“The universe gave me another chance,” he whispers softly.

Your blood turns to ice, and you crouch down next to him.

“What do you mean, another chance?”

He looks at you, and you finally see all the pain in his eyes come to the surface, everything that he’s kept bottled up inside.

“It should have been me,” he mutters, lost in his own head. “I told Junho about how I wanted to go up to you that night, how beautiful I thought you were, but before I could do anything, he was there. It ended up being him.”

Your head reels from his confession, and you think back to everything that’s happened through the years. All those memories you had with Junho, Minho lingering in the background, purposely keeping his distance. Memories that you could have had with him instead. Bile rises up in the back of your throat, and you back away.

“I can’t do this, Minho, not right now, I can’t–” 

“I know.” He’s at the door before you can stop him, one foot on the other side of the threshold. “Don’t worry about it.”

He leaves before you can even ask him to stay.

Minho knocks back another shot, stomach churning when he sees Junho approach the pretty brunette, chatting her up. She’s batting her eyelashes and giggling at him, and he knows he should be grateful that his best friend is helping him out, on a desperate mission to cure Minho’s singleness.

But all he can focus on is you in the corner, nervously watching your boyfriend flirt with another girl, and Minho wants to vomit when he sees your lip tremble, eyes glassy with tears. 

He’d driven himself nearly mad with the fantasies about what he’d do if he was in Junho’s position, how much better he could treat you. But at the end of the day, that’s all they were. Fantasies. You two were happy together, and he had no place in it.

Minho suddenly remembers the shiny ring that Junho had shown him last week, tucked away in the drawer of his dresser, and decides promptly that he needs to step outside, the stale air of the bar burning his nostrils.

There’s a faint breeze outside, and it calms him, rewiring his muddled senses enough for him to plop down on the curb. Minho heaves, the alcohol coming back up his throat, but he tries his best to breathe deeply, like his therapist had told him. The pity in her eyes when he’d explained his feelings for you lingers in the back of his mind. You were a vice he couldn’t quit.

A shadow looms next to him, and Minho looks over to see you standing on the curb next to him, studying him curiously.

“Not a fan of cheap vodka?” you chuckle, taking a seat next to him, and Minho internally curses when he feels your thighs brush. He was too drunk for this. 

“Just needed some air,” he tries to laugh it off too. “Gonna have a killer headache tomorrow.”

“She was pretty,” the statement startles him. He couldn’t give less of a damn about the girl Junho was talking to, but it seems that wasn’t the case for you.

“Not interested,” he grits out. Not when she’s not you.

“You know, dating isn’t all it’s cut out to be,” you sigh. “I mean, there are good times, don’t get me wrong, but the bad times feel a thousand times worse when you care about someone. Like seeing your boyfriend flirt with another girl right in front of you.”

There’s a bitter edge to your words, and Minho surprises you, reaching over to cup your cheek and tilt your head towards him.

“Junho is a fool,” the words come out in a slow, heavy breath.

“Happy birthday, Minho,” you whisper, a small smile on your face, and Minho leans in, lips searching for yours. The kiss is quick, a brief graze full of shy reluctance, but you’re surprised you don’t back away, dizzy when he retreats, and missing the feeling of his soft lips.

You lean your head on his shoulder, the two of you lingering on the curb for a few moments, before Junho’s loud voice echoes in the background, startling you apart from each other.

“Hey dipshits, the party’s inside,” he drawls, walking over to swoop you off your feet. Junho presses a peck to your cheek, wrapping his jacket around you, and your eyes roam around frantically, looking for any sign of Minho. But he’s already gone, the faint outline of his leather jacket the only thing you see before he disappears around the corner of the bar, vanishing into the night.

Minho stumbles through the forest, the pounding in his head only growing worse, the memory of the kiss you’d shared consuming his thoughts, splintered with snippets from the conversation with you. The one he’d been waiting so long to have.

The spell had been shattered, and Minho thinks he’s foolish to imagine that it could have lasted, the two of you playing house together, and he cursed the false hope he’d harboured for so long. It was a fucking apocalypse, you were desperate for release, and you’d never cared. Not like he did.

But then his mind flashes back to the kiss, and he doesn’t know what possessed him that night, or possessed you to return it. The moment was the single spark that kept the flickering flame of his love for you going, even now, when you’d basically banished him.

A sharp pain surges through him, and Minho staggers to the ground. He clutches the fabric of his shirt, lifting it up to see the ugly wound he’d been letting fester for weeks, a stray swipe from a monster he’d run into. It’s pulsating now, stabbing into his side, and he wants to kick himself. Why had he been so selfless?

Sometimes, he thinks loving you was the worst decision he’d ever made, the way it consumed him completely. He thinks that maybe if time could reverse, and he had a second chance, that he’d never do it, never lock eyes with you from across the party, your smile forever etched into his memory. But that was a lie. Minho knew he’d do it all again for as long as his heart continued to beat.

Minho feels something squelch on the ground below him, a metallic tang hitting the back of his throat. He swipes at it, crimson coating his fingers. Blood. His blood. He presses a tentative hand to his face, swiping at his leaking nose, but the bleeding won’t stop. There’s too much of it.

Minho screams when his spine cracks, the pain splitting through his entire body, and he feels his eyes roll back into his head. 

When he opens them again, the world is dark. And he runs.

. . .

Your lungs feel like they’re going to collapse, parched for air as you make your way through the forest, wobbling through the trees, looking for something, anything that could lead you to Minho. 

Your heartbeat echoes in your ears, accompanied by a ringing that hasn’t ceased since you left the bunker. The decision still made your stomach turn, afraid to confront the outside world without Minho by your side, but you had to find him. Had to let him know that you wouldn’t let him suffer anymore.

Mind lingering on a specific memory from Minho’s birthday, you realized there’d always been a strange undercurrent between you, even when Junho had been around. Despite how many times he drew away from you, you never let him escape completely. At first, you’d thought it was because he was Junho’s friend, but it all changed after that night outside the bar, your attraction to Minho settling in your chest like a lead weight.

You think back to the months you’d spent together, the world falling apart around you, and how Minho had become your entire world, the reason you’d continued to hope. How you’d fallen in love with every part of him, from the way he’d let you take the first share of food to the messy strands of his grown-out hair. 

The wind whips through your hair, the dense cover of trees thinning around you, and you stumble upon the meadow, a lone figure illuminated in the moonlight. You know it’s him.

“Minho!” you scream, watching as he stumbles across the field in response, trying to get away from you. “Minho!”

You scream until your voice runs hoarse, fighting through the pain in your ankle, and eventually, Minho draws closer and closer, collapsing in the middle of the field. His back is turned to you, and he ducks his head, avoiding your gaze.

You think he’ll run away when you approach him, but he remains lifeless, as still as a statue. Crouching down beside him, you lift his chin, turning his face up to you, a gasp caught in your throat at what you find.

There’s something wrong with his eyes. They shift from the dark brown irises you’d come to know to hollow pools of black. His face is smeared with blood, and his breathing is shallow.

“____, you have to go, I’m turning, it’s not safe, I’m not safe–,” Minho grabs your arm, looking at you with desperation in his eyes. His speech is garbled, but you can hear the gentle tone of his voice still trapped inside. He’s still Minho.

“How dare you tell me to run,” you hiss at him. “How dare you tell me to leave?”

“You don’t understand,” he growls, hands shaking in rage. “I’m a monster!”

Fear strikes you at the realization that something was very wrong with him, something neither you or him had ever been able to anticipate. But it’s overcome by a stronger, more profound emotion.

“I don’t care,” you take his face in your hands again. “I love you, Minho. I loved you through the world ending, and I’ll love you through this. Because your life is mine now, just like mine is yours. It’s our second chance. And we will do whatever it takes to survive.”

Minho clasps your hands in his, fingertips rubbing against your knuckles, and you smile when you notice that his eyes are normal again, no longer filled with darkness. Maybe there was a chance.

“We’ll head west,” Minho rests his forehead against yours, pressing a soft kiss to your temple. “I saw a hospital nearby. Maybe there are other survivors, people just like us.”

You nod, throwing your arms around him and burying your head into the crook of his neck. The two of you would exit west as soon as the sun rose, ready to start a new journey together.

Perhaps the life you shared was far from perfect but you realized that you’d clutched onto it as desperately as him, because he was the only thing you had. You were each other’s home.

a/n pt. 2: As always, any feedback or comments are much appreciated, but I appreciate you all anyway. Lots of love, Isi 💜