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isak-dot-gov · 24 days ago

Text

POV

Pairing: Wife!Paige Bueckers x Reader

Word count: 3760(including lyrics)

Summary: Based on POV by Ariana Grande

My Masterlist :)

.........................................

The sun had set, casting a golden hue over the reception hall. The evening had been filled with laughter, heartfelt toasts, and more than a few happy tears. You couldn’t help but feel a sense of joy and fulfilment as you looked around, seeing the people you loved most gathered to celebrate you and Paige. Your heart swelled with happiness as you watched her dance with her father, her face glowing with pure joy.

The band played softly in the background, setting the perfect mood for the intimate moment. Paige’s white suit sparkled under the soft lights, and her laughter rang out as she twirled around the dance floor. She caught your eye and winked, making your heart skip a beat. You couldn’t believe you were finally married to her, the woman who had captured your heart so completely.

As the song ended, Paige hugged her father before making her way back to you. She took your hand and pulled you into a warm embrace, her smile wide and genuine. “I can’t believe we’re finally married,” she whispered in your ear, her breath tickling your skin. “I’ve dreamed about this day for so long.”

You chuckled softly, pressing a kiss to her cheek. “Me too, Paige. Me too.”

Just then, the band leader stepped up to the microphone and cleared his throat, capturing everyone’s attention. “Ladies and gentlemen, may I have your attention, please?” he announced. “We have a special surprise for our beautiful bride, Paige, courtesy of her lovely wife.”

Paige turned to you, her eyes wide with surprise. “What’s going on?” she asked, a mixture of curiosity and excitement in her voice.

You gave her a playful smile, squeezing her hand. “You’ll see,” you replied, guiding her to the front of the room where a microphone stood. As you approached, the lights dimmed slightly, and the room grew quiet with anticipation.

Taking a deep breath, you stepped up to the microphone, your heart pounding in your chest. “Hi, everyone,” you began, your voice a little shaky. “First, I just want to thank all of you for being here today. It means the world to us to have our family and friends here to celebrate our love.”

The room erupted in cheers and applause, and you smiled, feeling the warmth of everyone’s support. Once the noise died down, you continued. “As most of you know, Paige has been joking for months about how I should sing at our wedding since I’m a singer. Well, I decided to take her up on that and do something special.”

Paige’s eyes widened, and she covered her mouth with her hands, clearly taken aback. She had mentioned in passing that it would be fun if you sang at the wedding, but she never imagined you’d actually do it. The room filled with excited whispers as everyone realised what was about to happen.

“I wrote a song just for you, Paige,” you said, turning to look at her, your eyes locking. “This is the first time I’m performing it, and I wanted it to be a surprise because I wanted to show you how much you mean to me.”

Paige’s eyes filled with tears, and she nodded, her hand covering her heart. “I can’t believe you did this,” she whispered, her voice thick with emotion. “You’re amazing.”

You smiled, feeling your own eyes well up with tears. “You’re the amazing one,” you replied softly before turning back to the microphone. “So, here it is. This one’s for you, Paige.”

The orchestra, which had been setting up quietly behind you, began to play a soft, melodic intro. The sound of the piano mixed with the strings created a beautiful, ethereal atmosphere that filled the room. You took a deep breath, letting the music wash over you, and then you began to sing.

---

Song Performance:

“It's like you got superpowers

Turn my minutes into hours

You got more than 20-20, babe

Made of glass the way you see through me

You know me better than I do

Can't seem to keep nothing from you

How you touch my soul from the outside?

Permeate my ego and my pride”

---

As you sang the first verse, you kept your eyes fixed on Paige, every note carrying the depth of your love and the promises you had made to each other. The words flowed effortlessly, but each one held the weight of your heart, conveying feelings you had never been able to put into words before. It was as if the music was a direct line to your soul, sharing the love story you both had written over the years. Paige's reaction was immediate; her eyes shimmered with unshed tears, and as the lyrics unfolded, those tears began to spill over, streaming down her cheeks.

She tried to smile, but the emotion was too overwhelming, her lips trembling as she fought to keep her composure. The love in her eyes was unmistakable, shining brightly despite the tears, reflecting back everything you were trying to convey through your song. When she reached up to wipe her tears away, her hand shook slightly, and you could see how much this moment was affecting her. Her gaze never wavered from yours, full of admiration, gratitude, and an intense affection that made your heart swell.

The room around you seemed to fade away, everyone captivated by the raw emotion in your voice, but for you, there was only Paige. It felt like you were singing just for her, in a bubble of your own making, where the rest of the world didn’t exist. You could feel a lump forming in your throat, the overwhelming urge to cry building up inside you. But you swallowed it down, pushing through, knowing you needed to finish this for her—for both of you.

Your voice wavered slightly as you continued, but you steadied yourself, focusing on the reason you were here, on the reason you had written this song in the first place. You wanted to give Paige a memory she would never forget, to show her just how much she meant to you, how deeply you cherished her. With every note, every word, you poured your heart out, letting her see the parts of you that were reserved only for her.

And as you did, you saw her reaction deepen, her tears coming faster now, spilling down her cheeks without restraint. Paige's shoulders shook with silent sobs, her hand clutching her chest as if to hold herself together. The sight made your own eyes sting with unshed tears, but you kept going, more determined than ever to give her the performance of a lifetime—a performance that would be etched in her heart forever.

---

“I wanna love me (ooh)

The way that you love me (ooh)

Ooh, for all of my pretty

And all of my ugly too

I'd love to see me from your point of view

I wanna trust me (trust me)

The way that you trust me (trust me)

Ooh, 'cause nobody ever loved me like you do

I'd love to see me from your point of view”

---

The chorus was powerful, each word echoing with the intensity of your feelings for Paige. As you sang, you could see how deeply the lyrics resonated with her. Her hands were clasped tightly over her heart, almost as if she were trying to hold it together, overwhelmed by the emotions coursing through her. Tears brimmed in her eyes, glistening under the soft glow of the lights, and yet she smiled—an expression of pure, unfiltered love and adoration that made your heart swell. Paige was mouthing the words along with you, her lips moving silently to the rhythm of the song, as if every line was a secret she already knew by heart. It was as if the music had woven a cocoon around the two of you, making everyone else in the room fade away.

You could see the way her chest rose and fell with every breath, the way her eyes sparkled with unshed tears, and the slight quiver of her lips as she tried to hold back a sob. The sight of her so moved by your words made your voice catch in your throat, a lump forming as you pushed through the next line. You could feel your own tears threatening to spill over, but you will yourself to keep going, to give Paige the performance she deserved.

The connection between you was palpable, an unspoken understanding that this moment was just for the two of you. You felt a surge of emotion like a wave crashing over you, overwhelming in its intensity. Your heart pounded in your chest, and your hands trembled slightly as you gripped the microphone, but you knew, deep down, that this was exactly how you wanted to express your love for her. Every word, every note was a piece of your soul, laid bare for her and everyone else to see. You had always been able to communicate best through music, and tonight was no different. This song was a promise, a vow of your commitment and devotion, and the look on Paige's face told you that she understood that completely.

---

“I'm getting used to receiving

Still getting good at not leaving

I'ma love you even though I'm scared (oh, scared)

Learnin' to be grateful for myself (oh, oh, oh)

You love my lips 'cause they say the

Things we've always been afraid of

I can feel it startin' to subside

Learnin' to believe in what is mine”

---

As you continued to sing, you saw Paige’s expression change from surprise to awe. The initial shock of hearing you sing something so personal and profound gave way to a softer, more vulnerable look. Her eyes, wide with wonder, began to glisten with unshed tears, reflecting the warm glow of the lights that surrounded you both. She was completely mesmerised, her gaze locked onto yours as if she were afraid to blink and miss even a second of this moment. Every note, every word seemed to resonate with her on a deep, emotional level. You could see her lips part slightly, as if she wanted to say something but couldn’t find the words.

The way she looked at you, like you were the only person in the world, made your heart flutter with an intensity you had never felt before. It was as if time had stopped, and all that existed was the two of you, sharing this intimate moment in front of all your loved ones. Her eyes, filled with love and admiration, spoke volumes; they told you that she saw you in a way no one else ever had, that she understood every part of you—the good, the bad, the beautiful, and the flawed. It was a look that made you feel truly seen and cherished, a look that promised forever.

The song was more than just a performance; it was a confession, a testament to the deep connection you shared. Every line was a piece of your heart, laid bare for her and everyone else to see. It was your way of telling Paige everything you had ever wanted to say, all the things that words alone could never fully capture. The melody carried the weight of your love, the rhythm echoing the beat of your heart as it pounded in your chest. Each verse unveiled a layer of your soul, a vulnerable yet powerful display of your devotion to her.

As you sang, you could feel the energy in the room shift, the air thick with emotion. You were no longer just performing a song; you were sharing a piece of your soul, inviting everyone to witness the depth of your feelings for Paige. The lyrics spoke of your insecurities, your fears, your hopes, and your dreams—things you had only ever shared with her in the quiet moments of your relationship. And now, here you were, putting it all out there, not caring who saw because this was for her, and she deserved to know just how much she meant to you.

You could feel the tears welling up in your own eyes as you poured your heart out into the song. It was as if every word, every note was a declaration of your love, a promise to always cherish and honour the bond you shared. And as you sang, you realised that this moment, this song, was the most honest and genuine thing you had ever done. It was a reminder of why you fell in love with her in the first place, and why you would continue to love her for the rest of your life.

The orchestra swelled behind you, the music lifting your voice higher, carrying it across the room like a wave. You could see the effect it was having on Paige; her eyes shimmered with unshed tears, her lips trembling as she fought to keep her emotions in check. It was clear that she was deeply moved, overwhelmed by the raw honesty of your performance. And in that moment, you knew that this was the greatest gift you could ever give her—a song that captured the essence of your love, a love that was unbreakable, unshakeable, and eternal.

---

“I wanna love me (ooh)

The way that you love me (ooh)

Ooh, for all of my pretty

And all of my ugly too

I'd love to see me from your point of view

I wanna trust me (trust me)

The way that you trust me (trust me)

Ooh, 'cause nobody ever loved me like you do

I'd love to see me from your point of view”

---

The chorus repeated, its melody filling the room with an almost palpable sense of emotion. Each note seemed to carry a piece of your heart, and as you sang, you could feel the intensity of the emotions in the room rising to an overwhelming crescendo.

Paige’s reaction was both heart-wrenching and beautiful. Her tears flowed freely now, her cheeks glistening under the soft lights. She had initially tried to hold back her emotions, but as the lyrics spoke directly to her heart, she could no longer contain the depth of her feelings. Her shoulders shook with silent sobs, and every now and then, a sob escaped her lips, echoing softly through the room.

You could see how deeply moved she was by the performance. Her eyes were filled with a mix of awe and profound love, and it was clear that the song was touching her on a level far beyond what words could express. It was as if every word you sang was a direct reflection of her own emotions, resonating with the love and commitment you both shared.

The room seemed to hold its breath, enveloped in the raw and powerful atmosphere created by the song. The guests, though visibly moved, watched quietly, giving space to the intimate moment unfolding before them. The orchestra played with a delicate intensity, enhancing the emotional depth of the performance, while you poured every ounce of your being into the song.

Your heart ached with a tender, almost painful love as you observed Paige. Her reaction was a testament to the strength of your bond, and seeing her so profoundly affected by your gift made every moment of writing and rehearsing the song worthwhile. The way her eyes locked onto yours, filled with unspoken gratitude and affection, made you feel as though you were the only two people in the world at that moment.

You continued to sing, your voice steady despite the emotions threatening to overwhelm you. The connection between you and Paige was tangible, almost electrifying, and it was as if the entire room had become a cocoon of love and vulnerability. The chorus repeated, each iteration deepening the emotional impact, and you could feel the collective heartbeat of everyone present, pulsing in sync with the song.

---

“I couldn't believe it or see it for myself

*Girl*, I be impatient, but now I'm out here

Fallin', fallin', frozen, slowly

Fallin', got me right

I won't keep you waitin' (waitin')

All my baggage fadin' safely (my baggage fadin')

And if my eyes deceive me

Won't let them stray too far away, I”

---

As you transitioned into the bridge, your voice took on a softer, more vulnerable quality. The intensity of the chorus had given way to a more intimate, reflective moment, and you allowed your emotions to shine through with every note. Your eyes remained fixed on Paige, not wanting to miss even a flicker of her reaction. The connection between you was palpable, as if the music had woven an invisible thread that bound your hearts together.

The room, previously filled with murmurs and soft clinks of glasses, had fallen into an almost reverent silence. Every person present seemed to be holding their breath, captivated by the tender, heartfelt performance unfolding before them. The orchestra played with a delicate precision, their instruments echoing the emotions that swirled through the air. The notes of the song seemed to hang in the atmosphere, each one adding to the building crescendo of feeling.

You could sense the emotional tide rising, the intensity of the moment reaching its peak. The soft strains of the bridge created a space where raw, unfiltered emotions could come to the forefront. Your voice wavered slightly, not from lack of strength but from the sheer weight of the sentiment you were pouring into the performance. Each word felt like a thread of your soul being laid bare, and you could feel the collective emotion of the room, as if everyone was collectively experiencing the song’s depth.

Paige’s gaze remained locked on yours, her eyes brimming with tears that reflected the soft glow of the stage lights. Her expression was a mix of pure love, admiration, and an almost overwhelming gratitude. You could see how deeply she was affected by the song, her eyes conveying a depth of emotion that words alone could not capture. The way she looked at you was both heartwarming and heart-wrenching, a silent testament to the profound impact your performance was having on her.

As the lyrics of the bridge flowed from your lips, you noticed Paige’s eyes glistening with a mixture of happiness and vulnerability. Her gaze was fixed on you, her expression tender and filled with an unspoken appreciation. It was as though the music had unlocked a wellspring of emotions within her, and her eyes communicated a gratitude that was too immense to articulate.

The intensity of the moment seemed to grow with each passing second. The emotional buildup was almost tangible, creating an atmosphere charged with raw, heartfelt energy. You could feel the connection between you and Paige intensify, as if the music had bridged the space between your souls. Her silent reaction spoke volumes, revealing the depth of her feelings and the profound effect your song had on her.

As you continued to sing, the room remained enveloped in that profound silence, everyone absorbed in the beauty of the moment. The bridge of the song served as a poignant culmination of the emotions that had been building throughout the performance. Your voice softened, and the lyrics resonated deeply, capturing the essence of the love you shared with Paige. The moment was one of pure, unfiltered emotion, and the mutual understanding between you and Paige was as powerful as the song itself.

You saw how her gratitude and admiration shone through her eyes, her expression a blend of awe and heartfelt emotion. It was a powerful reminder of the bond you both shared and the depth of your love. As the final notes of the bridge faded away, the room seemed to exhale in unison, the collective breath of everyone present a testament to the impact of the performance. In that moment, you knew that the song had accomplished exactly what you had hoped—it had captured the essence of your love for Paige and conveyed it in a way that words alone could never fully express.

As you neared the end of the chorus, Paige reached out, her hand trembling slightly as she touched her heart, a gesture that spoke volumes. The sight of her so openly moved, her face radiant with tears of joy and love, filled you with an indescribable sense of fulfilment. It was a moment of pure connection, a manifestation of the love you shared, and it made your heart swell with an overwhelming, heartfelt ache.

---

“I wanna love me (ooh)

The way that you love me (ooh)

Ooh, for all of my pretty

And all of my ugly too

I'd love to see me from your point of view

I wanna trust me, ooh (trust me)

The way that you trust me, baby (trust me)

'Cause nobody ever loved me like you do

I'd love to see me from your point of view (oh)

Yeah”

---

As you sang the final chorus, you could feel the love radiating from Paige. She was openly weeping, her face a mix of joy and awe. You could see how much this meant to her, how much she appreciated the effort you had put into writing and performing this song just for her.

When the last note faded, the room erupted in applause, and you could see everyone on their feet, cheering and clapping. But all you could focus on was Paige, who was running up to you, tears streaming down her face.

She threw her arms around you, pulling you into a tight embrace. “That was the most beautiful thing anyone has ever done for me,” she whispered, her voice choked with emotion. “I love you so much.”

You smiled, your own tears spilling over as you hugged her back. “I love you too, Paige. More than words can say.”

You pulled back slightly, looking into her eyes. “I wanted to do something special for you, something that would show you how much I love you.”

Paige smiled, wiping away her tears. “You did more than that,” she replied softly. “You showed me just how lucky I am to have you in my life. I’m so grateful to be your wife.”

You leaned in, pressing your forehead against hers. “And I’m grateful to be yours,” you whispered before kissing

her gently, sealing the moment with a promise of forever.

As the room continued to cheer and applaud, you held Paige close, knowing that this was just the beginning of your beautiful journey together. And you couldn’t wait to see where it would take you.

..............................................

Isak speaks: Uhhhh... hi lol. Ik I kinda disappeared for a few weeks but I promise I'm currently writing a bunch of stuff for the next few weeks. So nobody hate me please

I'm also trying out using pictures for my fics(i was originally too lazy to do it but I always thought they looked so cool on other peoples fics so here we are), lmk what you guys think.

bye bye :)

#uconn wbb #paige bueckers x reader #paige bueckers #wbb #uconn women’s basketball #uconn x reader #uconn huskies

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californ1asnow · 1 year ago

Text

All Too Well - Mike Schmidt x Reader angst

part two here Reader has trauma from neglectful parents that leaves her constantly in the, “I can fix him mentality,” paired with obvious daddy issues. Slight trigger warning for physical abuse?

Word count 2k+

loosely based on the song, “All Too Well,” by Taylor Swift

Hurt no comfort

Subtle static hums in the background, enveloping the room in near-silence. The moon, having ascended to its rightful spot in the night sky, bathes Mike's house in a gentle, luminous glow that seeps through his curtains. Your body is entwined in the embrace of silk bed sheets, lying in quiet anticipation beside him. The familiar sensation of his gentle breath tickling lightly against the nape of your neck.

A month has passed since the nightmarish ordeal of Mike's former job. Through it all, you have stood by him with everything, and that loyalty has persisted since the aftermath. After his departure from Fredy's, Mike's night terrors have taken a darker turn, far worse than anything he had experienced before. You've attempted to gently coax the truth from him in the past, but he never divulged the full extent of his nightmares. It didn’t really matter to begin with, instead what truly matters is ensuring his sanity once he wakes up from these tormenting dreams.

You’d met Mike a few years ago after moving into the house next door. Looking for a new babysitter, he had offered you the job of watching Abby while he was away, and you agreed without hesitation. Gradually, the three of you formed a tight-knit bond, uniting through shared experiences of lacking any parental figures. Abby particularly admired you in various ways, given the absence of a strong female role model in her life.

Your relationship with Mike is, well, complicated. Sometimes the both of you would swear your bond is entirely platonic, absolutely nothing but friends. Defending swiftly against Abby’s claims that you two are secretly in love. However, the stolen gazes and lingering touches beg to differ. The line that marks the difference between friendship and romance is hazy, leaving you to wonder about the true tone of your relationship. Neither of you had crossed the physical line that tread into a more amorous kinship, so you could argue that there aren’t any subtle intimate undertones. But, your current situation doesn’t help that defense.

Your gaze is fixated upon the ceiling, circling through the darkness. Mike’s arms are wrapped securely around your waist, like an anchor thrown to sea, cementing you to your spot next to him. He’s recently ditched the need for his nature sounds, instead opting to listen to your heartbeat in an attempt to fall asleep.

It started right after he left the security job, claiming that he was done trying to relive the same dream every night.

“How are you going to fall asleep then?” You had asked him, brows furrowed and questioning.

He stopped for a moment, pondering your question intently. That thought hadn’t crossed his mind yet, and now that you mentioned it he couldn’t think of a tangible way to do it. Frowning, he looked back up to you with a shrug.

A soft sigh escaped your lips. It was troubling enough having to watch Mike struggle the past few years with his sleeping, and knowing it’s going to get worse made you uneasy. You glanced away from him before speaking, “You know, I read somewhere about how listening to the heartbeat of someone you trust helps calm the fight or flight response in your brain…” Words trailing off in a futile attempt of masking your embarrassment, your cheeks flushed pink.

From that suggestion, it became a nightly routine. Although you lived next door, you had been spending the last few weeks laying in Mike’s bed. Letting him drift asleep to the sound of your steady heart, with his head pressed comfortably against your chest. Once you were sure he was asleep, you’d slip away either to his couch or back into your own bed at home. You couldn’t complain about it though, the warmth in your stomach that rose from his touch wasn’t something you necessarily wanted to give up on. You’d forgo everything if it meant he could be happy.

Just as you were about to make the move to leave, you feel him stir next to you. The sound of frantic mumbling pulling you away from your thoughts, and when you turn over to face Mike you find that he’s contorted with panic. Eyes still shut, he’s trashing in his sleep, beads of sweat dotting his forehead. The hand closest to your own starts to twitch wildly, and you begin to realize he’s having another nightmare.

Waking him up during one of his nightmares is essential. You know how much it torments him to relive the same traumatic memories repeatedly night after night. Your gentle touch is the only lifeline connecting him back to reality. With a soft grasp of his shoulder, you nudge him lightly, whispering his name. “Mike,” your voice is gentle, attempting to lull him peacefully awake, “it’s just a dream, wake up.”

Mike’s eyes snap open wide, dark with terror. Frantically, he searches the room for danger, still stuck temporarily in a flashback. His chest rises and falls heavily, breath ragged and uncontrolled.

Hurriedly, he shoots up into a sitting position, ready to defend himself against a potential threat. Your heart breaks into a million pieces seeing him so upset. “You’re home,” you tell him, a hand reaching out to grasp onto him.

Suddenly, the weight of your mistake dawns upon you. In a swift motion, his fist hurtles towards you, and you barely manage to dodge it, swiftly ducking to avoid the blow.

The rate of your defense isn’t fast enough compared to his attack, and you catch the tail end of his clenched fist. A yelp of pain sounding from you, immediately bringing Mike out of shock.

When his eyes finally adjust to the darkness, he sees you sitting on the edge of his bed, back turned to him. His gaze snaps down to his hand, still closed in a shaking fist. Regret instantly flooding his system, he calls out your name nervously. Without turning around, you wave him off dismissively.

He moves off the bed, crouching down in front of you. Staring up at you from his position, he can’t see your face that’s burrowed behind hesitant hands. Warm fingers wrap gently around your wrists, asking for permission to move them. “Please,” he begs, “let me see, I’m so sorry.”

Instinctively, you let him pull your hands away, revealing the damage he had accidentally inflicted upon you. A dark crimson trickles down your chin, flowing from the split of your bottom lip. Mike’s thumb gently glides across the swollen skin, his touch feather light.

He fully sinks to his knees, a muffled sob wracking his body. He can hardly bring himself to face you, to face what he did to you. Accidental or not, he inflicted pain onto you, something completely opposite from what he’d promised to do.

Your eyes well up with hot tears seeing how upset Mike is. You let a gentle hand grasp at his chin, tilting his face upwards so that he’s forced to catch your gaze. “Mike,” your voice is as tender as you can will it to be, “I’m okay, I promise. It was not your fault.”

Broken apologies fly from his mouth, ignoring your statement completely. His mind was too focused on the bruise that’s sure to form rather than what you have to say.

“I’m sorry,” he says, voice trembling.

“Stop,” you tell him softly, trying to get him to calm down.

“I’ll fix this, let me fix this. God, I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“I’m not angry with you, it’s okay.”

You pull him up from his spot on the floor. Shaky arms wrapping around his middle, all the while he’s protesting against the idea of you being close to him again.

“It was a nightmare, you were just having a nightmare. I shouldn’t have grabbed you so suddenly, I should’ve known better. Please stop blaming yourself.” Your voice comes out more timid than you would have liked it to. Deep down you knew he never would have done that consciously, but you couldn’t stop the anxiety from overtaking you completely.

Your need to take care of Mike in his frantic state is more overbearing than the one to help yourself.

He knows this too, and whether he’s doing it intentionally or not, he’s been clinging to that notion for the past few years. He’d let you just close enough that you’d give him the comfort he wanted, but pushed you away when you became too attached. Keeping you at arm's length was enough to satisfy whatever comfort he’s been deprived of most of his life.

But now he realizes how much of a mistake it all was. You are hurt because of him. Because he’s been too wrapped up in his own issues to see how any of this could have affected you in the slightest. And now that it’s glaringly obvious, he can’t stand to keep you dangling like this.

He mutters your name regretfully, causing you to break your hold and look up at him. “You need to leave,” his voice is weak, strained from crying.

You shake your head in disapproval, “Mike I don’t think that’s a good idea-“

“You can’t be around me anymore!”

Silence. That’s all you could respond with to his raised voice. Mike had never yelled at you, or Abby for that matter, and hearing it is startlingly different from his usual tone.

Years of repressed memories come back flooding you like a tidal wave. All of the moments you locked yourself away in your room because you couldn’t deal with the screams of an angry parent anymore, it hit like a ton of bricks.

Your immediate action is to pull the pieces back together and fix everything. You could do that.

You must have done something wrong if he’s yelling at you, right?

“Wait, wait, wait,” desperately you start to plead with him, “I did something wrong. Don’t do this, please.”

“Just go, please.”

“No, I can’t. There has to be something-“

“Go.”

His volume is lowered but his words cut just as deeply. You know there’s no point in arguing now, his mind is clearly made up.

Solemnly, you get up without another word. Gathering what little you brought over, and you leave without saying goodbye.

—

You could just barely hold yourself together enough to walk through the front door of your house. Knowing you were secure behind your walls, free from the gaze of any onlooking neighbors, you collapse entirely against the wooden floor of your home.

Everything replayed in your mind on loop, from the moment you woke Mike up to his last few words. The confusion, anger, resentment, and sadness fueled the hot tears running down your face.

You feel like a tiny child again, curled up in a ball sobbing as silently as your body allows you to be. Left to be wondering why it’s always your fault that people are upset, and how you can change it so they aren’t.

You think about your relationship with Mike, wondering if it’s truly over now. All you ever wanted to do was help him, so why did it feel like you’re the one being punished?

It was as if you were stuck in that position on the floor forever, caught in a web of remembrance. Every aspect of your so called friendship with Mike questioned intently in your mind.

You think he might have tried calling you a few times the days after that incident, but your phone was set to silence and you couldn’t bring yourself to look at it. Despite the burning urge to check up on him and Abby, you kept your distance.

Time had moved too slowly when you needed it the most. Healing wounds won’t close when they’re constantly torn open the second you step outside the house and spot Mike’s across from yours. The best you could do is to keep busy with work and avoid staying home as much as possible. You made sure Mike couldn’t catch you in person to talk, and with your phone rejecting his calls it had been months since you last heard from him.

Guilt gnaws at the back of your mind. It shouldn’t take a fight like this to undo years of close connection between you two so quickly. But you felt like there was no other option, he had told you to leave him and you did.

The only thing you’re left with is your hurt and his memories, forever replaying in the back of your mind.

#mike schmidt #mike schmidt x reader #angst #hurt no comfort #Mike schmidt x reader angst #fnaf #five nights at freddy's #taylor swift #all too well #mike schmidt x you #mike schmidt x y/n #josh hutcherson

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fetusgooseandjuice · 2 years ago

Text

Pretty One

Pairing(s): Yelena Belova x Fem!Reader

Summary: A quiet day with your girlfriend ends with you having to leave your home when Natasha shows up in search for Yelena.

Word Count: 1,454

Warnings: Violence

Authors Note: This is based off of/inspired by the scene from Black Widow!

You were currently laid on the sofa, snuggled up to your girlfriend. Her head rested on a pillow against the arm of the couch whilst your head was lying on her shoulder, her arms wrapped securely around you.

She had returned from a quick trip to the corner store just a couple hours ago for some basic food items when you got comfy on the cushions, and turned on some random show on the television.

You were quite interested in the show at first, but that was before Yelena began to card her fingers through your hair and caress your back with her calloused, yet extremely gentle hands.

The comforting actions from her had you dozing off. Not into a sound sleep per say, but into a very relaxed and tranquil state, so you were no longer focused on the show that still lightly ran in the background.

Yelena on the other hand was unsuccessful with paying attention to the plot at all when she had what she believed was a real life angel laying right in her arms, toying with the strap of the white tank top she wore.

Your mouth opened into a yawn as Yelena continued to play with your hair, "Tired? I know you didn't really sleep that well last night." she asked.

You shook your head, "No, just really content with you." you mumbled in response.

Yelena never thought she could make anyone feel anything other than pain and suffering after her time in the red room. But then she met you who introduced her to the world of emotions; the main one being love. The kind that everyone hopes and dreams for, but not everyone gets.

She turned to kiss your temple, "I love you, detka (baby), so much." she whispered against your head. "I love you too, Lena." you said the words back to her with just as much meaning.

A few moments of comfortable silence went by before she spoke up again, "What if we just ran away." she suggested.

"Ran away?" you repeated with a giggle and she hummed, lightly chuckling.

"Yeah, you know just go wherever our hearts take us and never look back." she elaborated on her out of the blue idea.

"Where would we go?" you questioned.

Yelena shrugged her shoulders, "Anywhere you want to." You thought for a moment before responding,

"I've always wanted to go to London."

"Then we'll start with London. And then maybe we'll go to Paris because it's the city of love, and well, you are my love." she said, making you giggle once again.

You continued to talk about that for a little bit before returning to the calming quietness of just your slow breathing and the television. This time you both had almost fallen asleep until Yelena froze. If there was anything being a trained ex assassin had given her, it was heightened senses.

She knew that something was not right, and the fact that she had you with her right now made her protective instincts immediately set off sirens in her brain.

"You okay, Lena?" you asked, feeling her body suddenly tense up.

Yelena gently sat up and untangled herself from you, making a frown form on your face.

"Where are you going?" you asked, opening your eyes to see her standing up.

"Dorogaya (darling), I need you to go into the other room and stay there. Do not come out until I come to get you myself." Yelena tells you.

"What?" you sat up in confusion.

"I know this sounds weird but I just need you to trust me, okay?" she spoke as she pulled a gun out from under the couch cushion, making your eyes slightly widen.

"What— what's going on? Is someone here?" you said in a panic, watching as she slipped on her blazer that was laying on a chair.

She contemplated her next words as she didn't want you to scare you, but she also didn't want to lie to you, "That's what I'm going to find out. But first I need to know that you're safe before I go anywhere. So please, just trust me." Yelena spoke softly to calm you.

You hesitantly nodded your head, and she took that as her cue to take your hand and lead you to the other room. She stopped in front of your wardrobe and opened the door, "Stay here, and wait for me to come get you."

She pressed a kiss to your forehead after you sat down. You murmured an 'Okay' before she shut the door and her footsteps disappeared down the hallway.

~~~

Meanwhile, Yelena made sure her gun was loaded before holding it out in front of her, "I know you're out there." her voice echoed through the apartment.

A few seconds passed before another voice responded, "I know you know I'm out here." it spoke, followed by the front door loudly opening and closing.

"Then why are you skulking about like it's a minefield?" you heard your girlfriend say.

"Cause I don't know if I can trust you." the voice that was unknown to you answered.

You could hear Yelena lightly chuckle, "Funny, I was going to say the same thing."

"So, are we gonna talk like grown-ups?" the intruder asked.

Yelena's tone dropped lowly, "Is that what we are?"

You couldn't see it, but Yelena and the owner of the unrecognizable voice were finally face to face, each pointing a gun at the other.

For a few moments you could only hear shoes patting against the floor when your girlfriends voice threatened, "Put it down before I make you."

"You put yours down." the voice shot back, "Watch your step."

Nothing but an eerie silence could be heard by your ears. That was until Yelena and the stranger decided to quit the small talk and handle the situation in a different manner.

It was clear to you that they were now fighting from the loud crashes and shouting that rang through the apartment floor. Objects were smashed, glass was shattering, furniture was breaking. You knew that your girlfriends was significantly more than capable of handling herself, but you were still worried about her.

You weren't exactly sure how long the commotion had gone on for when you finally heard the voice speak again, "Truce." it said. It scared you that Yelena sounded like she was gasping for air.

"You've grown up." the stranger commented.

'Grown up?' you thought. 'Did Yelena know this person? Why are they here? Why were trying to hurt your girlfriend?'

"No shit." Yelena responded coldly. You could hear footsteps coming closer to you when the door opened, revealing your Lena.

Her hair was tousled and she looked as if she had just ran a marathon, but it was her. She was seemingly unharmed, but you just had to make sure.

You cupped her face as she kneeled in front of you, "Lena? Are you okay? Are you hurt?" your eyes concerningly scanned her body.

"I'm alright, printsessa (princess), I promise." she reassured you.

Yelena caught you when you threw yourself into her arms and wrapped yours around her neck to hold her close, not caring about how sweaty she might be.

"Hey dorogaya, I need you to do something for me, okay?" she said as she pulled back.

You hummed, wordlessly telling her to continue, "You know those bags we have packed for emergencies under the bed in our room?" Yelena asked and you nodded, "I need you to go grab them for me, okay?"

You both knew that eventually you would have to get up and leave. With Yelena being a trained ex assassin she had inevitably made some enemies. You just didn't expect that day to come so soon.

So you knowingly complied, standing to your feet with her. When Yelena moved out from in front of you so you could walk away, you saw who you believed to be the intruder standing just a few feet away.

She had fiery red hair that was styled into a braid, and wore an all black outfit. You coward under her rather intimidating gaze, realizing that this stranger who just attacked your girlfriend had just watched your whole encounter.

You felt a hand rest on the small of your back, recognizing it as Yelena's, "Ignore her, detka (baby). She won't hurt you." she said, pressing a kiss to your hair as she gave her sister a warning glance.

Yelena gave you a nod when you looked at her for you to go ahead and leave the room. You quickly walked passed the redhead who looked at her younger sister with her signature smirk.

"She’s a pretty one." Natasha stated.

Yelena rolled her eyes, "Shut up."

#yelena belova x reader #yelena belova x you #yelena belova x female reader #yelena marvel #yelena belova #yelena mcu #yelena x you #yelena x reader #yelena x y/n #yelena black widow

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4dbarbie-archive · 1 year ago

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4dbarbie remix: You're dreaming from memory

4dkelly notes: This could be a good introductory pointer for those new to non-dualism. Probably my last remix for a while because they always start off as a fun or great idea that ends up taking way too much time and mental energy lol. Also I know it says 4dbarbie remix and it's because I extracted all the text from her posts but almost half of this adaptation post is made with direct or adapted excerpts from the book I Am That by Nisargadatta Maharaj as she often incorporated his words into her posts so it might be more accurate to call it a 4dbarbie and I Am That remix. I've marked extracts that are from the book with an asterisk (*). My highlight colour key: key concepts are in pink, action points in purple, really important points in red, my notes (which are minimal) in blue

There is nothing that exists. Only you do. 1 The only thing you know for sure is: 'here and now, I am'. Remove the 'here and now', the 'I am' remains, indisputable. The world exists in memory, memory comes into consciousness; consciousness exists in awareness and awareness is the reflection of the light on the waters of existence. 2*

The person is a very small thing. Actually it is a composite, it cannot be said to exist by itself. Unperceived, it is just not there. It is but the shadow of the mind, the sum total of memories. Pure being is reflected in the mirror of the mind, as knowing. What is known takes the shape of a person, based on memory and habit. It is but a shadow, or a projection of the knower onto the screen of the mind. 3*

You (Self) are projecting this very moment live. Nothing is happening to you, I mean literally. Nothing is out there. 4 Everything you see and experience is only a mental condition, a dream-like state, easy to dispel by questioning its reality. It's you imagining it as real and fighting it with all your might that keeps it alive. In this dream, you imagine yourself to be a process, to have a past and future, to have history. In fact, we have no history, we are not a process, we do not develop, nor decay. 5*

When you sleep at night, you think the world you're dreaming of is real. You wake up in the morning and you go on living in a different world, which you also think is real. But while you were in the first dream you had no memory of this world, did you? You come into the waking state and forget all about that dream (because you dismiss it as unreal & imagined so you have no reason to care once the experience is over). You're present in a second dream, and you deal with this one because now that's "what is real". But there is no difference between sleeping and waking, awareness is the background of both. You just think the waking state more real because you've dreamt it over and over and reinforced your belief. They're equally imaginary. 6

Each and every moment is projected on your consciousness but in reality, there is no link or cause between them. Memory gives the illusion of continuity and repetitiveness creates the idea of causality (e.g. I have blue eyes because I take after my mom). When things repeatedly happen together, we tend to see a causal link between them. It creates a mental habit, but a habit is not a necessity.* Drop it. You, now, even if recreated completely from memory and appearing the same, are still doing the creating/projecting live. It is all memory carried over into the now. You never move, your mind does. You don't arrive anywhere, you've always been there. You don't become, you already are. 1

Memory seems to being things to the present out of the past, but all that happens does happen in the present only. It is only in the now that phenomena manifest themselves. Thus, time and causality do not apply in reality. You are prior to the world, body and mind. You are the sphere in which they appear and disappear. You are the source of them all, the universal power by which the world with its bewildering diversity becomes manifest. 7*

You recreate the world every day from memory. There is no yesterday but your memory of it. There is no tomorrow but your thought of it. You are moving from now into now, and nothing has reality but in your mind. In deep sleep you are no one, no thing, you are not aware of being anything. You are just aware of being. There is no world, no one, not even 'yourself'. 8 In the absence of the mind, even the sense 'I am' dissolves. There is no 'I am' without the mind. All experience subsides with the mind. Without the mind, there can be no experiencer nor experience. 8*

Consciousness creates the mind which projects the world, built of memory and imagination.* You create a world, then you create an ego in it that is desiring some thing - look at it, you are doing that now. Stop the urge to create and recreate worlds of desires. 1 You don't have to live by memory. You can see the world as it is, a momentary appearance in consciousness. 7*

See all as a dream and stay out of it. While it lasts, the dream has temporary being. It is your own desire to hold on to it that creates the problem. Let go. Stop imagining that the dream is yours. 5*

Realize your true being, all else will follow and take care of itself. You will no longer feel the need to manifest or get things, because you see you are the one imagining the things. You already are, and if you want to observe yourself as 'something', you can. After you rid yourself of your belief that you are the ego, you no longer feel compelled in any direction whatsoever. You do not feel like you need to be the body you imagine you were born with (because you were never it in the first place), or watch Sandra's from afar. You’re free to do or not to do whatever you want; you are dreaming, and you know you are dreaming, there is nothing to fear or fight, because all is yours. The thing to do is to establish that permanently, for all time. Then you can play any part you so desire, and be totally unaffected by it. 3

Free from memory and expectation, you are fresh, innocent and wholehearted. Needing nothing, you are unafraid. Whom to be afraid of? There is no separation, we are not separate selves. There is only one Self, your Self. 1*

Become aware that the waking state is just a dream and life will forever be a breeze. 6 When the world is real, it is heavy. When the Self is real, the world is light. 3#

References

4dbarbie posts: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8

* Text excerpts from I Am That by Nisargadatta Maharaj

# from Keys to The Ultimate Freedom by Lester Levenson

#remix #4dbarbie #nonduality #non duality #nondualism #non dualism

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moonriverrise · 2 years ago

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Dreams are supposed to be subtle messages from your subconscious, right? Then why the hell did Eddie keep having the same type of dream every single night. The same dream featuring the same boy with chestnut hair, doe eyes, and freckles sprinkled all over.

He didn’t know the boys name, but he’s around Eddie’s age based on looks. His hair is styled in a certain way, swooped to the side almost perfectly. He’s pretty strong looking and pale skinned, and has the most wonderful laugh Eddie has ever heard.

In the dreams that Eddie had, he meets this boy under a tree in a long sunflower field. He’s always there before Eddie, sitting with his back against the trunk of the tree, staring at the sky or simply laying with his eyes shut.

Whenever Eddie came up to him, he was greeted with the same phrase every time, no matter what differences are in the dreams.

“Hello, Sunshine. How are you?”

It's sweet, and it warmed Eddie’s heart in a way he never thought something could. Then Eddie would sit down and they would have conversations about their lives. Because, this boy had a life, probably something Eddie’s brain made up.

“Oh, and Dust thinks he’s so much better than me just because he’s good at Algebra. Who the fuck is good at Algebra?!”

The boy is entertaining, he’s funny, pretty, charismatic. One dream he has, turns a bit different after the greeting, which is said more solemnly. Soon afterwards, the boy asks Eddie something.

“Have you ever kissed a boy before?” He asked. Eddie has paused.

“What do you mean?”

“Uhm…do you ever think you might like boys the way you like girls?” And Eddie had to pause again, because, thats how he had felt. That’s the questions he thought about, the ones he had asked Uncle Wayne.

“All the time.” Eddie responded.

“Is it..normal?” Eddie looked over to the boy, who looks nervous, scared.

“Of course. You can like whoever you want. People who don't think that are stuck up pricks.” Eddie expressed. The boy had laughed, gently. Then laid his head against Eddie’s shoulder, and then shut his eyes.

“I have a friend, you know that one I mentioned, Robbie?” Eddie hummed. “She likes girls, only girls. I want to tell her about this, but I'm afraid. Even though I know she couldn't possibly be mean, I just don't want to be abandoned.” Eddie sighed.

“It’s okay. You just need to take your time with it, talk yourself through it.” Eddie advised.

“Sunshine?”

“Yes?”

“Can I kiss you?” Eddie had paused, once again. He looked over at the boy, who looked up at him in response, through his lashes.

Eddie traced his face with his eyes, placed a gentle hand on his face, rubbed a thumb against the boys skin, who let his eyes blink closed. He leaned into Eddie’s touch, embraced him, his being.

Eddie leaned closer to the boys face. The wind whistled loudly, and birds sang in the background. Eddie let his other hand cup the boys face, and their lips met, slowly.

It was slow, but deep. Gentle, yet hungry. They parted and Eddie stared into the boys eyes, as tears settled in them. A brief flash of panic runs through Eddie’s blood…

The boy laughed, giggled like a birds song. He wiped his eyes and whispered into Eddie’s ear.

“Thank you, for all that you are.”

Eddie’s eyes had fluttered open that morning, and he felt comforted with a sense of kindness and the ghost of tender lips against his own.

Then, Eddie got up, and got dressed, ready to go to work at the cafe down the street from his apartment in Indianapolis.

Dustin walked up to him during his shift, he was wearing a hat from that summer camp he’d gone to a few years back.

“Hey Eddie,” He said.

“Hello, Henderson.” Eddie responded, giving him a look.

“Wow! Don't have to be hostile!” Dustin joked. “You know my buddy i've been meaning to introduce you to?”

“Your babysitter?” Eddie asked while pouring creamer into a cup of coffee.

“Yeah! Steve! He’s here, sitting next to me and Robin over there.” Eddie didn’t follow where he was pointing, instead decided to focus on throwing a portable cup onto the coffee then calling out the order number as he slid it across the counter.

“Alright, hold on dude. Gare! Can you take order for just a second! I'll be back in a minute!” Gareth groaned but begrudgingly walked over to the cash register. “Thank you, I promise to spare your next character in Hellfire.”

“You better, man.” Gareth responded as Eddie walked out to meet Dustin.

They both walked over to the table and Eddie froze entirely when he meets eyes with someone so familiar.

It's the boy from his dreams.

“Okay, Eddie this is Steve. Steve this is Eddie.” Eddie waved a hand in Dustin’s face to shut him up.

“Do I know you from somewhere?” Steve. that was his name. He asked him that, and Eddie nodded slowly.

“I know you from somewhere too,” He responded. Steve’s eyes went a bit wide, and he stood, facing Eddie.

“Sunshine?” Eddie nodded, vigorously.

“Guys…” Eddie shunned Dustin with his hands again.

“Robbie is Robin- the gay friend?” Eddie asked. Steve nodded. “Dust…that’s Henderson?” He nodded again.

“What the hell?-” Robin spoke up. Steve shushed her.

“You look exactly how you did before.” Eddie said to him. Steve smiled.

“You look even brighter in person,”

#stranger things #sock meister drabbles #steddie #steve x eddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #st4 #stranger things s4 #steddie ficlet #poetic ideas in my head be makin my brain rot #so have this #i always see ppl having eddie call steve petnames (which i love) but i need to see steve calling eddie little silly romantic names #theyre so gay and so mfing cute #st #robin buckley #dustin henderson #idk if this is a modern au? or a like a soulmate au #idk what kind of au this is #just read it

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ugh-yoongi · 1 year ago

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about u | jjk

❝ this song is about a love that you can’t reconcile—wanting to make a home out of a person that has proved to you time and again that they are not a home; they are just a person. it’s about retracing scars, negative patterns, all with the silent belief that moments of communion and understanding might justify months of misfiring and regret. we’re all just trying to get back to that ‘first high’ feeling—an honest endeavor, however futile. ❞

✤ PAIRING jungkook x f. reader ✤ GENRE exes to fwb to strangers, college/grad school au; angst, smut ✤ RATING explicit. minors do not interact. ✤ WARNINGS toxic & self-destructive behavior (inc. jealousy and possessiveness). infidelity (with an external partner). reader is bisexual (which is not a warning but a general statement so the homophobes stay away) and there is a brief mention of coming out. two people who are both too honest and unable to communicate. swearing. cigarettes and alcohol use. kissing, some spitting, fingering, oral sex, protected vaginal sex. every time i asked jess to read this over for me she always came back with "jfc jewel" so i guess this is angsty. unhappy ending. ✤ WORDCOUNT 7.3k ✤ LISTEN TO this was based off of "winterbreak" by muna, but there are bits and pieces of the entire about u album in here, "everything" and "outro" especially. ✤ THANK YOU to muna for writing the album, @the-boy-meets-evil and @hot-soop for reading over this for me multiple times and putting up with all my brainstorming and my beloved @here2bbtstrash for the extra set of eyes. ✤ AUTHOR'S NOTE hi, thank you for reading! i cannot emphasize enough how much more sense this story will make if you listen to about u in the background. i would also like to reiterate that these two are maybe not all that likeable most of the time, but i hope they're still human. as i once saw in an ao3 tag, you are more than the worst thing you've ever done.

[ the first. ] You’d read an article once—something about the second time you fall in love.

It’s going to feel different, it’d said. The first time felt like a dream.

As you stare across the kitchen at Jeongguk, you think that might be true. The part about it feeling like a dream, because it used to be a pinky-lavender haze and everything that has come after hasn’t felt so good. Not a nightmare, but close. At least with nightmares you can force yourself awake. You can tell yourself it wasn’t real. You can pretend.

This is as real as it gets, watching him smile over the rim of a plastic red cup. Someone else’s hand on his arm. The girl it belongs to looks nothing like you, and you wonder if she’ll be the second time he falls in love. You also wonder why you didn’t stay home. You wonder about fault and regret and if either of them even matter. No, you eventually decide: there’s just you in Taehyung’s kitchen and Jeongguk on the other side of it and the result of a million decisions in between you.

There had been a plenitude of reasons you’d fallen in love with Jeongguk, but he’s undoubtedly beautiful. Soft, tinkling laugh; a smile that reaches his eyes. Not all that long ago you used to be responsible for both, so there’s a lingering, bitter sting beneath your wonder. Jeongguk is beautiful and no longer yours, and that’s enough to have you retreating to the living room.

Jimin’s at your side immediately. Wraps an arm around your shoulders and presses a kiss to the top of your head that does little to alleviate your guilt. Missing someone is always easier with thousands of miles in between you. All those distractions. Just like a nightmare, distance lets you pretend. Not so easy to do when all those ghosts come back to haunt you; when you can still hear Jeongguk’s soft voice in the kitchen. The music is so loud but you’d be able to hear him anywhere, you think.

Even places he’s not.

Jimin leans down, forces his way into your personal space. “Are you doing okay?” he asks, and his words are warm and wrapped in alcohol, but you nod. You’re scared you might start crying if you open your mouth. Afraid of what might come out besides shuddering breaths, which just makes you feel stupid. Baby’s first breakup, you chide yourself. Maybe Jimin can get you a commemorative ornament.

Taehyung is turning twenty-four and it should be joyous. It is joyous. People that aren’t you are laughing and dancing and pressing their cheeks together as they huddle close to take selfies. Someone you don’t recognize is cackling wildly as they wrangle Taehyung into a headlock and smear cake frosting on his face. Someone else is tutting and running a rag under the tap to wipe it off and then the frosting is gone. It’s hard not to draw parallels.

There one minute and gone the next.

Gently wiped away.

But the feeling lingers, doesn’t it? The tack of the frosting, all the love that transpired between you and Jeongguk. Sometimes you fear it’s permanent—not able to be wiped away with a rag run under the tap, not able to be wiped away at all. Just this burden you’re cursed to carry, because Jeongguk isn’t and can’t be yours but knowing does nothing to erase the past. Doesn’t help you forget. It’s fucked and it’s unfair, but that’s just the way it goes.

“I think I should leave,” you say, watching another scene play out in the kitchen. Jeongguk fills a cup and hands it to a different pretty girl. Everyone here is so pretty. Makes sense; so is Taehyung. Pretty people are drawn to one another like that. “Is it too soon? Will it be obvious?”

Jimin sighs, wraps you in a hug. Says, “Oh, love,” in a way that’s too sympathetic. Makes you sound too pathetic. “No one will blame you. These things are hard.”

You squeeze your eyes shut. Not that you don’t appreciate Jimin’s reassurance, but sometimes it all feels a bit silly. Weren’t you the one to walk away? Call it off? Are you allowed to mourn the very thing you destroyed?

And Jimin, bless him, is so patient with you. Asks if you need a ride home and you wave him off, remind him your parents’ place isn’t far, that the cold might do you some good. You tell him you appreciate him and his night shouldn’t be ruined on your account, and you just laugh when he tries to protest, tell him to go get himself another drink.

“Text me when you get home,” he says, voice stern, and you brush that off, too. “I’m serious. It’s late and it’s dark and anyone could be out there—”

“Maybe I should walk you home, then?”

All those articles you read about the second time you fall in love didn’t mention this. Said nothing about the way a voice will always be able to turn your world on its axis and how to right it again. Said nothing about how to coexist with ghosts. Said nothing about what to do with all the yearning and the pain and the stupid, selfish strands of hope. There are paragraphs about an overarching, general grief, but nothing about the specific one living inside of you.

The shock on Jimin’s face is reflecting your own. It’s nice to not be the only one caught off-guard and stammering over their words. It’s nice to have a friend when it feels like your entire world is on the edge of collapse. “I don’t…” he begins. Swallows thickly and turns to look at you, an obvious question biting at the back of his teeth.

You know the answer.

You know that what you should say isn’t what you want, just like you know it isn’t fair, this thing you’re doing. Because you turn to Jeongguk and say, “Are you sure?” which might as well be a yes, because you’re selfish and suspended in this liminal space and don’t want him to go home with anyone else. You don’t want him to move on.

He shrugs. “It’s on the way.”

You say okay. Let Jimin help you into your coat, hide his face in your neck as he tells you to be careful, and that stings. You’ve never had to be careful around Jeongguk before. The two of you never, ever hurt one another—until you did. The kind of hurt your heart hasn’t easily forgotten, is still stubbornly clinging to.

Your heart wants Jeongguk, always.

You want Jeongguk, always, so you let him grab your hand, link your pinkies together. You let him lead you out of the house and don’t turn back to see who might be watching. God, you want to, though. Want all those pretty girls to see that he’s leaving with you. Want them to know it’s your name that’s branded on his heart; your name beneath his skin. For once, you want someone to want what you have.

It’s strange. The two of you have been apart for eight months, and there’s a lot of things you might want to tell someone in that amount of time, but you find it hard now. Don’t know where to start, which words to use. Don’t want to say something stupid, because Jeongguk is just walking you home but you’ve assigned a lot of meaning to it, and eight months is a long time to yearn for something and finally get it.

So you say, “You didn’t have to do this, you know,” because it’s something that’s true and easy to say.

Jeongguk doesn’t answer right away. Drops your pinky so he can hold your hand properly—fully, all five fingers intertwined—and squeezes. “Is it weird for you?” he asks, and he doesn’t sound nervous. Almost sounds like he’s smiling a little, giving you shit. He sounds familiar.

“No. I don’t know. Maybe a little.” He asks why? at the same time he passes under a streetlight. Lights up golden and amber. He’s beautiful—“I don’t know. It’s just… I guess it’s just been a long time. We didn’t leave things the best.”—and no longer yours.

The Jeongguk walking beside you is not the same Jeongguk that walked out of your dorm eight months ago, tears staining his cheeks, the smell of a goodbye fuck still clinging to his clothes, his skin, sweat still dotting his hairline. This Jeongguk is sharper, more selfish with his laughter, and you wonder about all the ways heartbreak can change a person. How you’re changed for facilitating it. You wonder if Jeongguk blames you before deciding you’re too much of a coward to find out the answer.

“Was it that bad?” When you look over at him, he’s chewing on his lip ring, trying to bite back a smile. “You’ll have to remind me. I don’t remember.”

You stop walking, jerking forward when Jeongguk is left unaware and keeps going. “That’s not funny,” you say. “Jeongguk, that’s not—I did what I thought was best, okay? I thought I was doing the right thing—”

The smile drops from Jeongguk’s face. “Hey, hey, look at me,” he says, and he’s hesitant to reach out and touch you but he does it anyway. Cups your face in both hands. “I know, it’s okay. That’s just—it’s just life, right? You did what you had to do, babe. It’s okay.”

You did what you had to do, babe.

Did you?

Jeongguk is selfish with his laughter but never his affection, and knowing that feels like an albatross around your neck. You have broken him so entirely, but he’s still kind to you, finds it a worthwhile thing to be.

His eyes go to your lips. Tattooed fingers dimple your face just a little more, dig in deeper. When you dare to take him in, he looks… different. No longer amused, the way he was just seconds ago; now, there’s something dark there. Longing, anger, hunger. Jeongguk looks like he wants to swallow you whole and make you suffer; looks like he wants to cage you beneath him and worship you through the comedown.

I’d let him, you think as you bury your face in the crook of his neck. As you smell the smoke that lingers, the sweat and the alcohol. I’d still let him.

It’d be so easy to press a kiss there. To feel his skin beneath your lips: flushed, still warm from the party, not all daunted by the bitter winter wind biting at your cheeks. As you lean in further, you wonder if it’ll taste the same. You wonder how much can change in eight months and if all those old comforts change, too. If it’s something inevitable.

Jeongguk moves his hands to your waist. Crawls his fingertips beneath your jacket and finds bare skin. Sucks in the smallest bit of air, and you would’ve missed it had it been any other time, but winter is always quiet and subdued. Always smells transitional, something dangerously close to hope and redemption.

And eight months is a long time to miss the feel of someone’s lips, isn’t it, so you think you can be excused for reaching for something you thought you’d never have again.

The first kiss is hesitant, testing; pressed to the spot just beneath his ear. Maybe you don’t know this Jeongguk, but you know the version of him you used to love—the one you still do—and you know the way he’ll sigh. You know the way his hands will grip tighter. You can still hear it, the way you used to kiss him there and he’d say, don’t start something you can’t finish, baby, and the way you’d laugh and always, always finish it. Can still feel the warmth that used to bloom in your chest. The love.

Jeongguk won’t say that now, you know. Wonder if it’d sound more like don’t start something you already finished if he did. He huffs a small laugh, more an exhale than anything, and asks, “What are you doing?”

And you answer, “I don’t know,” because it’s honest. You admit, “I guess I just miss you,” because it’s true.

A war wages within Jeongguk. You can see the storms, the white flags that are close to being thrown out. Can see the way his gaze flits between your lips and your eyes. What he’s looking for, you don’t know, but the storm rages on. And just like real life, just when you think it’s at its worst, there’s a break in the clouds: a tangible beam of silvery-warm light when Jeongguk tangles his hands in your hair, thumbs at the hinge of your jaw. Jeongguk tilts your head back and looks ethereal in the amber glow of the streetlights.

He says, “We shouldn’t,” and you nod, because you know and the anguish on his face is surely mirrored on yours, but when he follows it with, “let me take you home, let me take care of you,” you find it impossible to care.

You nod.

Everything is amber.

Eight months is a long time to go without the way Jeongguk kisses you: intentionally, demandingly, insatiably. He still tastes the same. Tastes like the first time you’d ever dared to kiss him, back at that party freshman year, tongue flavored with cheap liquor. Jeongguk tastes forbidden and feels like coming home.

You couldn’t say how you make it to Jeongguk’s apartment, but the way you stumble over the threshold feels familiar. The way the door is barely locked when Jeongguk crowds your space; picks you up, wraps your legs around his waist, presses you against it, hips moving on their own accord, rutting, all those little sounds spilling from his lips—everything is familiar. This is not just a practiced song and dance but something memorized. Something instinctual. You could be apart from Jeongguk for years instead of months and your body would still know what to do.

He carries you to his bedroom and you don’t think about who else has been between his sheets, because he puts you down so gently. Kisses your lips, your jaw, your neck—all gentle, powder-soft. Sounds like spring when you paw at the velvety cashmere of his sweater, pull it over his head, and he sighs. Feels like he’s breathing fresh life into something he shouldn’t, something long dead, but then you skim along his warm skin and your world is reduced to the way it feels like silk beneath your fingertips.

“I still love you,” Jeongguk whispers against your mouth, his inked fingers toying with the button on your jeans. Pops it open, pulls the denim down your thighs. Doesn’t bother pulling them off, only goes as far as your knees. And it’s uncomfortable, the way it’s bunched there, but the way Jeongguk says, “Fuck, missed you so much,” is so sweet.

Everything happens too fast.

Jeongguk leaves your shirt on. Drags it up and over your breasts and kisses at the newly-exposed skin. Sinks his teeth in, lets it hurt for a second before he laves over the marks. Settles between your legs and coaxes an orgasm out of you with his mouth and his fingers. Speaks his praise into the juncture of your thigh, breathless as he touches himself, strokes his cock with the wetness lingering on his fingers. Looks so, so pretty when he sits back on his haunches and says, “Just wanna look at you,” and makes it sound wistful and longing.

Makes it sound like it means something.

He’s still touching himself, still slicking himself up. There’s a split second where he goes to move and thinks better of it. Looks to the side before looking back at you. The storm kicks up again. “Have—” he begins before he swallows thickly. Dares to look hopeful, even through the squall. “Have you been with anyone else? Since…?”

You haven’t. Tried to, once—another stupid party, more cheap liquor passed to your mouth from someone else’s, but it hadn’t gone anywhere. They hadn’t tasted like Jeongguk; hadn’t felt the same. Two puzzle pieces that fit together all wrong.

Jeongguk has, though. Something you’d heard from a friend of a friend that you weren’t meant to. They’d called it a rebound, and it had bloomed so many ugly thoughts in your head. Five months had passed. Jeongguk was fucking someone else in his bed while you were in yours, torturing yourself over whether or not to tell him happy birthday. Whether it was allowed to or not, it’d stung.

(You had. You’d reworded the text a million times, plucked up all the courage you could find before you sent it. It’d gone unanswered, just like you expected it would, and you thought it was because Jeongguk didn’t want to talk to you. Thought you were digging your fingers into wounds that had yet to heal, so it’d stung but you understood.

But Jeongguk hadn’t answered because he was fucking someone else. Had someone else’s taste on his tongue; was panting someone else’s name into the dark. The embarrassment had been the worst part.)

Still does, if you’re being honest with yourself, so you lie. “I—yeah,” you answer. “Just one.”

Looks like it stings Jeongguk, too. “Right,” he responds, blinking back tears, and he’s got a lot of nerve, you think. “Yeah, okay, I’ll just—a condom. Are you…”

“Jeongguk—”

“Are you sure? Maybe this isn’t…” He huffs. Drops the condom on the bed, hangs his head. “What are we doing?”

You stare up at the ceiling. Nothing up there but the swirls in the plaster. “I don’t know,” you admit. “Hurting each other, probably.”

Jeongguk walks his fingers down your thigh. Grips at your skin, wants it to bruise. Wants you to have something to remember him by come morning. “Sometimes I’m really mad at you, you know?”

“Yeah, trust me, I know.”

He nods. Refuses to look you in the eye now that you’re watching him. “I still love you so fucking much and I’m still so angry. What am I supposed to do with that? What am I… fuck, I thought I was over it. I thought I’d see you and not feel a fucking thing.” There’s fresh ink on the back of his left hand. You hadn’t noticed it earlier, but you notice it now, when he runs his hands down his face.

You also notice the way the atmosphere shifts, the split second in which his heartache bleeds into something else—resolve, maybe. Obstinacy. Like he knows how this is going to end and he’s going to do it anyway. He’s going to find the most painful part and press on it, dig his fingers in, and it’s just an inevitable, foregone thing. Something he can prevent and something he’s choosing not to.

“You fucked someone else,” he sneers. Rips the foil open with his teeth, flashing too white in the dark of his bedroom. Rolls the condom on like it’s an inconvenience. Like you’re an inconvenience. “Was it good? Was it worth it?”

You roll your eyes. Feel the way your breath catches in your throat, because you’re not going to cry. Jeongguk fucked someone else and is vilifying you and it’s hypocritical and ugly and unfair, but you’re not going to cry over it. You’re going to press the gas pedal as far as it can go, say, “Yeah, it was,” and find some wicked delight in the way his eyes squeeze shut, as if it can spare him from the pain.

The two of you used to love each other. Jeongguk used to smile down at you when you were naked beneath him like this. Used to lean in close and whisper that he loved you just as he pushed inside even though you knew, you could feel it in everything he did. Now, there’s no smile. Now, he leans down and spits on your pussy and pushes inside and doesn’t tell you a goddamn thing.

Not with words, anyway.

Because the way he fucks you says it all. Impersonal, desperate, bitter. He grips your hips and fucks into you frenzied and fast. Takes your hand and puts it on your clit and tells you to get yourself off. An inconvenience. Tells you he misses your tight cunt, tells you he misses the way it milks his cock, tells you he misses watching the way you come undone underneath him, but he doesn’t tell you he misses you.

There’s a moment, just after he spills into the condom and stays inside, just catching his breath, when you think he might say it. Might tell you he loves you around the lump in his throat, might apologize, might ask if you two can’t figure it out.

There’s only a moment.

Jeongguk doesn’t say anything. Lets the moment pass. Pulls out and ties off the condom and wordlessly gets up to throw it away. It’s the silence that pisses you off. The disregard. Jeongguk hates you for something you’d lied about doing that he’d done for real, so you can be wordless, too. You can treat him like an inconvenient, cheap fuck, too. You can get up and find your clothes and pull them on and let him watch, words biting at the back of his teeth, and you can tell yourself to feel nothing.

You can say, “You’ve got a lot of fucking nerve,” and not shy away from the resentment in your voice, because it’s properly placed. “You fucked someone else, too, so you’ve got a lot of fucking nerve, Jeongguk.”

Eight months is a long time to miss someone, to play at daydreams. To think of all the things you want to say, the things you’ll do. In not one of them did you think about this: you, fully dressed and stinking of sex, saying, “It’s late. I’ll show myself out.”

Jeongguk, tears glistening on his cheeks, saying, “No, let me—baby, I’m sorry, please—I’ll drive you.”

A shake of your head. Jeongguk doesn’t push it.

Roll credits.

[ the second. ] Jimin wants to talk your ear off about it—the girl you’re seeing.

It’s new and there isn’t much to say. You tell him the two of you met at one of the student showcases put on by the art department and leave off the part about all of Jeongguk’s old friends being there, that he would’ve participated, too, if he hadn’t dropped out after you broke his heart. Leave off the part where you would’ve been there to support him instead, in another life. Leave off the part where it’d just been morbid curiosity: you, not an art student, wandering those halls to see if Jeongguk’s photographs were still framed on the wall.

“Is she nice?” Jimin asks, head nearly knocking into yours as someone shoves by him. “Fucking asshole.”

You nod. “Why would I date someone that wasn’t nice?”

Jimin, perpetually unbothered until he decidedly isn’t, sends you a look that he hides behind the rim of his cup. “Because you’re in your self-destruction era and aren’t thinking clearly.”

“The fuck does that mean?”

“Exactly what I said. You know I’m happy if you’re happy, but…” He pauses as he trails off. Tries to wrap his words in something delicate. “It’s pretty clear you still aren’t over it. That’s all.”

You snort. “That’s all?” you repeat, like it’s some small thing. Like it’s normal and fine.

“I’m sure it’s easier to pretend when the two of you are thousands of miles apart,” Jimin amends, and he must see how you bristle, stung by the callout, because his eyes soften. “Tell me about her.”

She’s beautiful and kind and smart. Smokes clove cigarettes and the smell is always clinging to her skin. You know how to make her come but don’t know what she’s majoring in—fashion, you think, because she’s always holding fabric swatches against your skin. Tells you what suits you and what doesn’t. Tells you which textures don’t work, what’s too warm, and she doesn’t need to tell you what’s too cold because you already know it’s you.

She’s beautiful and kind and smart and has no idea you’re still in love with someone else.

But you can’t tell Jimin that, can you? Can’t tell him about how she’d dragged you to a private corner in the gallery and kissed you breathless; the way she made you come on her fingers; the way Jeongguk’s name nearly slipped out of your mouth as you shook. Can’t tell him that she’s got arms full of art. Delicate patchwork; nothing like the harsh, bold colors inked into Jeongguk’s skin, but it feels the same to trace the lines.

You can’t tell him much of anything, so what you settle on is, “She’s nice—good for me,” and it doesn’t sound convincing to either of you.

Jimin doesn’t call you on it, though. Not again. Instead, he keeps his gaze steady, staring into the fire, the flames dancing wildly when you meet his eye. “You need to be careful,” he says. “You’re going to hurt her, too. Maybe worse than you hurt him.”

“Jimin—”

“Just be careful,” he reiterates, and all you can do is nod. What else is there to do besides wait for the inevitable crash and burn?

And it’s a little unfair, you think, that Taehyung grows older every single year. A little unfair that guilt won’t let you decline the invitations. A little unfair that you can still pick Jeongguk’s laughter out of a crowd. A little unfair that these hometown friends-turned-acquaintances still throw sideways glances whenever someone else touches him, as if he still has someone to answer to; as if they’re expecting something.

An hour. You’ve survived an hour longer than you did last year, and it’s not much but you’re still proud of yourself. You’ve had a drink, talked to someone other than Jimin. Managed to ignore the way Jeongguk is ignoring you; the way he immediately leaves a room as soon as you enter. Maybe it’s better like this, you reckon. Maybe it’s what you need.

An hour is long enough. Jimin doesn’t comment on the way your bones crack when you stand to leave. No one needs a reminder of growing older. He doesn’t ask if you’ll be okay, either; if you need a ride home. Instead, he stays quiet as he studies you, clearly wondering if lightning strikes twice. If you’re going to be able to walk past Jeongguk and out the door without making another mistake.

You can at least make it across Taehyung’s sprawling yard and to the house. You can dodge the sweat-slick bodies and the girls sitting in laps. You can toss your empty cup in an overflowing trash can. You can pretend the eyes on your back are well-intentioned.

You can make it to the bathroom.

Annoying, the way your phone has been vibrating all night only to disappoint you. Irrational. You scroll past the emoji-laden messages, the coy flirting, because they’re from the person you’re actually dating—the person you told you were going to sleep early—and not from Jeongguk. You should feel guilty. You should feel guilty, but the face staring back at you in the mirror doesn’t look guilty at all.

She looks tired. A little beat-down, but that’s life.

Maybe that’s just what happens when you’ve spent the last two years of your life chasing after ghosts.

A knock at the door startles you. Sends your phone tumbling to the floor, screen probably cracked to hell, and you swear under your breath. “Just a minute!” you call out, a little stunned from how threadbare you feel all of a sudden.

Still, the knocking continues, and you’re on your knees on this bathroom floor and all you want to do is cry. You don’t want to be on this floor in this house. You don’t want to keep putting in the effort of maintaining the facades of all these friendships. You don’t want to keep coming back to this town, don’t want to keep being confronted with the harsh reality of all your mistakes.

“Just a fucking min—”

The words die on your tongue, because there Jeongguk stands, all the air in your lungs dissipating at the amount of space he takes up. Even worse when he steps inside and locks the door behind him. You feel like you’re going to drown. You feel like you’re going to scream or cry or both, and you’re still on the floor, still on your knees, and it feels too much like penance when you look up at him. Feels like you’re groveling, praying for forgiveness.

You stand quickly, ignoring the rush of blood to your head, the way your legs tingle. Jeongguk still hasn’t said a word, doesn’t seem like that’s going to change, either, and it’s really all you can do to stay on your feet when everything in you is screaming to collapse.

Eventually, he says, “You’re seeing someone,” and it isn’t a question, not really, but it borders on one. It’s a question and a confirmation and somehow sounds a lot like he’s asking for permission for something.

“I—yeah.” You swallow. “It’s new.”

He hums. Steps a little closer. Leans against the sink. Darts out his tongue to swipe at his bottom lip before he tugs his lip ring between his teeth. “Yeah? Does he treat you well?”

“She,” you correct, and there’s a flash of something in his eyes. Surprise, maybe. Jeongguk, at one point, had known everything about you, but not this. “And yeah,” you add on, barely a whisper, “she does.”

Part of you feels embarrassed. Jeongguk had known everything about you but not this, and you shouldn’t feel embarrassed or guilty but it still sits there in the middle of your chest. Feels like you’ve been keeping secrets. Feels like shame, even though you aren’t ashamed. Feels like you’re awaiting judgment. But the surprise in Jeongguk’s eyes disappears and something else settles in its place—uncertainty, if you had to guess.

“Are you happy with her?”

You shrug. “Like I said, it’s new.”

And Jeongguk is as emulous as ever, because he asks, “Does it feel like what we had?” and you already know the answer is no.

“I’m not sure anything will.”

It’s honest; you hadn’t said it to appease him, but he looks pleased anyway. You’re starting to understand why so many people write about their first love. Why it’s such a powerful role to fill. Because you and Jeongguk are standing in a bathroom behind a locked door, feet apart from one another, and you think, I don’t think there’s anyone I will ever love more than him even though it’s been two years. You think, I don’t think I’ll ever recover from this.

You think, I would try over and over and over again if he asked me to.

Later on, when you’re alone in your childhood bed and your face is streaked with tears, only your shame and guilt for company, you won’t be able to figure out who moved first, but one of you had.

Once upon a time, you had known everything about Jeongguk, too. You could recite his taste from memory, but it’s different this time. He licks into your mouth and it tastes like ash—nothing like the clove cigarettes your girlfriend smokes, but close enough that the parallel burns like acid in your throat. It’s close enough that you can keep your eyes shut and pretend again.

This time there’s no softness to be found. There’s just Jeongguk’s mouth pressed to yours, barely letting you breathe, not wanting anyone to hear. There’s just the sink digging into your back. Jeongguk’s hands gripping at your waist, pulling at the hem of your skirt. There’s the frustration and desperation of two people who love each other but will never, ever get it right.

There’s Jeongguk asking, as he spits into his hand and slicks you up, if you’re going to tell her.

There’s you, already too far gone, saying you don’t know.

There’s Jeongguk asking, as you’re clenching around him and dragging him with you to the edge, if you’d come back to him if he asked you to.

There’s you, already knowing the answer to this, too, saying you would.

But this isn’t that and Jeongguk doesn’t ask. When it’s over, he tosses the condom and does a half-assed job of helping you clean up and he doesn’t ask. He splashes water on his face and fixes his hair and he doesn’t ask. He tucks his cock back into his briefs and zips his jeans and he doesn’t ask.

Jeongguk has one hand on the doorknob and he doesn’t ask you to come back. Instead, he asks, “How long are you gonna keep doing this?”

For once, you don’t have an answer.

[ the third. ] You go even farther away for grad school.

You try to put more distance between you and Jeongguk, more distance between you and all the skeletons in your closet, but you just pack them up in different boxes and bring them with you.

You spend New Year’s Eve chain-smoking in your parents’ back yard—that same brand of clove cigarettes, because hearts are easy to break but some habits are not. Sometimes it’s a comfort to hurt yourself in the same way you hurt others, so you chain-smoke and you don’t go to to Taehyung’s birthday party because you weren’t invited and it doesn’t sting in the same way that it doesn’t sting that Jimin doesn’t call you once you’re home because he hasn’t spoken to you in a year.

The clock ticks down to midnight. Someone sets off fireworks. Absolutely nothing changes.

There are no half-baked resolutions. There’s no hope that this is going to be the year you get your shit together. There’s just you and the bed you’ve made for yourself; the autopilot you can’t—won’t—turn off, because you don’t know where you’re going anyway so you might as well just go wherever it’s taking you. There’s guilt and there’s shame and there’s baggage, but they’re all old friends. Those are old scars.

The sweatshirt you’re wearing doesn’t belong to you, and it does little to protect you from the bitter cold that bites at your skin. Jeongguk doesn’t belong to you, either, but he keeps coming back to you like he does.

“Mind if I sit down?”

You shrug, gesturing to the empty chair beside you. The small fire you’d built is down to its last embers, and it’s what you focus on, because you can’t focus on Jeongguk anymore.

“You weren’t at Tae’s.”

“Wasn’t invited.”

“Oh,” he breathes. “Sorry, I didn’t know. I would’ve—”

“It’s fine. I wouldn’t have gone anyway.”

He seems to hear what you don’t say. I wouldn’t have gone because I can’t be around you anymore. I wouldn’t have gone because I don’t trust myself with you. I wouldn’t have gone because I’ve burned down every good thing in my life trying to keep you. “Oh. Yeah, that—that makes sense.”

He’d texted you. Asked if he could see you. Just wanted to talk, and you’ve never cared much for symbolism, but nearing midnight on New Year’s Eve had seemed as good a time as any to let it go, so you’d said yes. Now, when there isn’t much to say, all of Jeongguk’s flimsy excuses are laid bare. Transparent.

“Was Jimin there?”

Jeongguk nods. “You didn’t know?”

You shake your head. Feels like it’s made of concrete. “No. We haven’t talked since last winter break.”

“Because of—”

How cruel, that you’d confessed to Jimin instead of the one person who deserved to know. “Yeah.”

“I’m sorry.”

You shrug again. “It’s okay. I don’t think it’s permanent, just until I can get my shit together, I guess. Wasn’t fair to drag him into my mess anyway.”

“It’s not that easy,” Jeongguk says, and it sounds like something he wants to be true. It sounds like something he’s said countless times in defense of himself. “We’d—I’d do it if I could.”

“Yeah,” you agree, “of course.”

Silence creeps up again, so you dig another cigarette out of the pack and offer one to Jeongguk that he waves away. “Cloves? That’s a weird choice.”

“Just something I picked up along the way.”

He hears you again: They’re what she used to smoke. It helps me heal to hurt myself with something that reminds me of her. Sometimes I chain-smoke clove cigarettes and I don’t wash the smell from my hands, my clothes, my hair, because it makes me feel less alone.

So he asks, “Was it real?”

“Doesn’t matter,” you answer, flicking the wheel of your lighter, words spoken around the cigarette stuck between your lips. “It never had a chance. Not a real one, anyway.”

“Do your parents know?”

“Know what? That I went away to college and started fucking women?” Jeongguk shrugs. Has the audacity to look embarrassed. “What are you trying to ask me? You wanna know if I keep coming back to you because I’m scared to come out to my parents?”

“No. I don’t know. I just—”

The laugh that escapes you is scorched and bitter. Sounds the way the tobacco tastes. “No, Jeongguk. I keep coming back to you because I keep hoping you’ll ask me to.” I keep hoping you still want me.

“I almost did,” he admits, and you can hear how he swallows around the lump in his throat. “The first time.”

“When you were a dick about me sleeping with someone else? Yeah, okay. You didn’t want me back, you just didn’t want me to be with anyone else.”

He huffs. “How the fuck do you know what I want? You’ve never bothered to ask.”

“Because it doesn’t matter,” comes your response, stilted and practiced. “It doesn’t matter what we want, because we’re just going to keep hurting one another trying to get it right.” You suck in a breath, wipe furiously at the tears on your cheeks. “And we’re never going to.”

“You don’t know that.”

“Then ask.” Jeongguk startles, looks at you with wide eyes. “Ask me to come back for real, Jeongguk, and I will.”

A beat of silence.

Two, three, four.

Someone sets off another round of fireworks. A dog barks. It’s so cold that you can see Jeongguk’s breath each time he exhales, each time he breathes out instead of speaking. All the words he isn’t saying. And it’s exactly how you knew it would go, but it does nothing to tamp down the devastation in your chest.

You’d confessed your transgressions to Jimin and thought your silence to your ex-girlfriend was a gift, that it was sparing her the pain of what you’d done. Now you understand that someone’s silence can be the most vicious thing of all.

[ the last. ] Graduation looms. It’s the last winter break you’re spending at home.

Your therapist suspects you get your compartmentalism from your parents.

They don’t mention it. They see the stack of boxes and your bare bedroom walls and they don’t say a word about any of it. They watch you pack everything in your car and don’t offer to help. They process their grief silently, and when you can’t stand it anymore, you say, “I dated a woman my senior year of undergrad, you know.”

They don’t say anything to that, either, but it feels good to tell them. Feels a little like freedom and reclamation, like you can be who you are in front of others.

When you leave for good, you don’t want to repackage all those same skeletons.

So you meet Jimin for lunch and you take it in stride that everything is weird, that there’s nearly two years of silence to fill. You don’t ask for forgiveness and he doesn’t demand it of you, just asks if you’re doing better. “I’m doing the best I can,” you answer, and it’s human and honest enough that he accepts it with a warm smile.

Jeongguk is more difficult.

There’s no way to neatly box up that kind of baggage.

You’d intended to stop by his apartment to talk, tell him you aren’t coming back anymore. There’s nothing left here for you, you’d told him, and there was a flash of something. A there’s me, isn’t there? that had gone unsaid, destined for the same fate as a million other unspoken words between you.

Because there is him, but there’s also the way you’re desperately trying to claw back into something resembling normalcy. You’d lost yourself when you also lost Jeongguk, and you need to figure out who you are without him. You need to know who you are once you stop running and let your demons catch up with you. You need to hear what they have to say.

Maybe Jeongguk had said it best last year—“It’s not that easy. I’d do it if I could.”—because you’re nothing if not predictable and self-destructive.

You’re nothing if not naked and on your back beneath him, your fingers threaded through his hair as he rocks his hips into you, more tender than you deserve. His lips are ghosting along your skin and every press feels like a brand. Feels like he’s both making a mockery of you and declaring you ruined for anyone who might come after him. Feels like you’ll love him until you die.

(Some version of you must exist outside of Jeongguk’s grasp—outside of his orbit, his bed—but right now, as he twines your fingers together and pins them above your head, you can’t figure out who she might be.)

Eight months had been a long time to think of all the things you wanted to say, and four years is worse. Four years, and you still can’t bring yourself to ask him to try again, but there’s nothing after this, nothing to lose, so your voice is hoarse and raw when you say, “Jeongguk,” and he groans a little, nips at the column of your throat because he loves the way you say his name. “Jeongguk,” you repeat, because he senses the urgency, hears what you aren’t saying.

“Yeah, baby, say it. Whatever it is, tell me.”

He rolls his hips faster. Before, he would’ve tried to prolong the ending, but he’s hurtling towards it now. There’s nothing after this, you know, but you need the confirmation. You need to finally put all of this to rest. “I want to—” His cock strokes someplace that whites out your vision. “Fuck, want to—want you to come with me.”

He laughs, full of himself, probably smirking out the side of his mouth. “Keep squeezing me like that and I will soon.”

“No,” you insist, shocked at the conviction in your voice, “when I leave. Come with me.”

Everything slows. Jeongguk pulls back, moves his hands to cover himself, and there’s nothing but cold confusion in his absence. “What?”

“I didn’t ask you before. Last year. I just—I left it up to you, and you’re right, I didn’t ask what you wanted, but I didn’t tell you what I wanted, either. But I’m telling you now. I’m asking—”

There was never going to be anything after this.

Jeongguk’s silence says it all.

The way he pulls out and rolls you onto your stomach. The way he fucks as fast and as hard as he can. The way he used to love you openly and honestly and now holds whatever’s left close to his chest like it’s something to be ashamed of.

Someone’s silence can always be the most vicious thing of all.

Roll credits.

thank you so much for reading, and an additional thank you in advance if you decide to reblog my work. as always, my inbox is always open for any feedback! ♡

#jungkook x reader #jungkook x you #jungkook x y/n #jungkook imagine #jungkook angst #jungkook smut #jungkook fanfic #bts x reader #bts x you #bts angst #bts smut #bts scenarios #bts imagines #bts fanfic

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dorotheataylor · 9 months ago

Text

Lover

Pairing- Gojo Satoru x Fem!Reader

Summary- Listen to Lover by Taylor Swift

Warnings- FLUFF FLUFF FLUFFF, established relationship, really really small adult talk, this is really cliché, no curses!au, modern!au, my poor english, reader and satoru are so in love :( (i wanna cry) Based on Lover by Taylor Swift <3

Word Count- 2.7k words (excluding lyrics)

A/N- The amount of love I have for this man is insane. Gege when I catch you Gege!! Anyways this is something I imagine everyday with this man and decided why not share this with y’all? Hope y’all like this!

"Good morning Toru," you said in a sleepy voice as you rubbed your eyes.

Satoru smiled and said, "Good morning, my love," placing the coffee mugs on the nightstand nearby and leaning down to kiss you. You kissed him back for a moment but then immediately pulled away.

He looked at you with a frown and you spoke, "you know I have a very bad breath in the morning."

His frown suddenly turned into the grin you adored so much. "And you know that I don't care," he said before leaning down once more and kissing you. And this time you didn't resist.

You snuggled up into him to cuddle. He wrapped his hands around you as he laid beside you.

We could leave the Christmas lights up ‘till January

This is our place, we make the rules

"Happy new year," you beamed before moving even closer (if possible) to him. His body was warm- the body heat you’d always miss when you woke up in bed without him engulfing you.

"Well there's still some couple of hours left," he chuckled before kissing your forehead, "but happy new year."

Although the Christmas tree was gone by now- from the holiday a week ago- multiple strings of Christmas lights remained hung up on the living room walls. Turned off, the fluorescent lights were more gloomy than cheerful due to the festivities being over.

It being the first Christmas with Satoru in the new apartment, the one you both collectively bought together just over six months ago, the holiday was a milestone for your relationship. Decorating the small apartment was fun, placing ornaments carefully on the tree with Satoru while he broke over half of them; accidentally of course.

And now the lights remained, hung up on the walls of the open living room. While you took the first sip of the coffee- the caffeine sliding down your throat and almost scorching your tongue- it was as if Satoru read your mind.

“The Christmas lights are still up, we forgot about them.” There had always been a mysterious way about him, always seeming to know what you were thinking or feeling at any given time.

You'd heard of him in your university days. The uni heartthrob, star basketball player and the guy of every girl's dreams studying with you. Your friend would go on about him every now and then until she found her 'the one' as she called it.

You had to admit that you'd grown a crush on him too but you were too scared. He was the popular guy every girl swooned over, and then there was you, just managing to get through the uni. You doubted if he even knew about your existence. So you never worked on your feelings and just continued the way you lived.

The first time you officially met and talked with him was on the annual prom night. You were sitting alone, trying to get a shot as you watched everyone, including your best friend, dance on the slow song playing in the background.

You'd come there without a date as no one had asked you. You were slightly upset but your friend cheered you up, ditching her own boyfriend to go with you. But after a few hours of having fun, she wanted to spend time with him and of course you didn't mind.

So here you were, deep in thoughts and didn't notice someone coming up to you until the person spoke.

"Hey."

You immediately knew who's voice it was. You turned your head to look at them. And there he stood, dressed up in a black tuxedo, his white hair perfectly styled and faint blush on his cheeks as he showed his smile. Your heart started to pick up its pace as your cheeks heated up. Why would they not? Satoru Gojo, the popular guy of the whole campus and your long time crush, was talking to you.

"Hey," you replied, surprised and internally relieved you didn't stutter.

"Mind if I join you?" he said gesturing over the empty seat besides you.

"Not at all." You said and handed him a drink as he took the seat.

You were surprised, that 'The Gojo Satoru' would be so sweet and awkward at the same time. Still you two talked and got to know each other. Apparently, his date ditched him when he refused for PDA, and he claimed to enjoy your company more.

Have I known you twenty seconds or twenty years?

He almost got shy when he asked you for a dance. But you still accepted nevertheless. And let's just say it was the best time of your life. Neither of you two knew how to dance and all the time you were just stepping on each other's foot or just laughing your asses off. You knew you'd just met him but it felt like you'd known him for years.

The night ended with him asking you out. You gladly accepted. And with that, started a beautiful love story one could only ask for.

“I think we should leave them up,” a quizzing look you gave him with your eyebrows prompted him to explain, “you know, ‘cause why not? We’re adults, we don’t have to listen to any rules anymore, right?”

You laughed. “I guess I see your point... but it’s already New Year’s Day, and Christmas was a week ago. If others come around, what will they say?”

"Who cares, this is our place. Meaning," he held you tighter and continued, "we make the rules here. We could live it 'til the next January."

"You're crazy, Gojo." You said playfully and he rolled his eyes.

"Well sorry to break it to you sweetheart but you're stuck with me," he said with a little smirk.

"Wouldn't have it another way." You said giggling and giving him a quick peck on lips before getting out of the bed. As you were about to leave, he held your wrist and pulled you back. You landed back on the bed as he held you tightly once again.

"Let's just stay like this for the whole day." He said as he closed his eyes.

You giggled, "’Toru, if you don't let me go then we won't be getting any breakfast today."

"I don't care." He said as he buried his face in your chest, "you're warm and I want cuddles." You laughed at his childish behaviour and cuddled back with him. You slowly ran your fingers in his hair just the way he liked. He groaned at the feeling and hugged you even tighter.

There was a comfortable and peaceful silence until he said, "by the way I already made us breakfast."

You widened your eyes when you heard him. "Really? I'm surprised the house is not on fire yet."

He sat up and rolled his eyes. "You know I'm a better cook than you."

You hit him playfully on his chest as he laughed. He got out of the bed and went into the kitchen and you went to the bathroom and quickly brushed your teeth, excited to see what he had prepared for both of you.

He came back with two plates of honey-drizzled pancakes. You were sitting on the bed by then and your mouth immediately started watering after seeing the pancakes.

"Tell me how it is." He said after putting down the plates. You took a bite before widening your eyes and looking at him proudly.

"I see you've gotten my recipe perfectly." You said wiggling your eyebrows making him chuckle.

He chuckled, his eyes shining with satisfaction. "I wanted to do something different this time. You're always the one making breakfast, so I thought I'd give it a try and show you that I can make your recipes too. Consider it my New Year's resolution. Plus I know how much you hate to get out of the bed in the morning, so breakfast is now my duty."

Your heart melted at his thoughtful gesture. He had gone out of his way to make you happy, to bring a change to their routine. It was a small act, but it spoke volumes about his love and dedication. You couldn't help but fall in love with him even more if possible.

Moved by his sincerity, you leaned in and kissed him passionately, feeling the warmth of his embrace. In that moment, your connection deepened, your love reaffirmed. Your lips gently parted, and your foreheads touched as you locked eyes, sharing an unspoken language of love and understanding.

You’re my my my my Lover.

"You don't have to do anything special to make me happy." You whispered, "as long as you're with me, I'm content."

A smile graced his lips, and he spoke softly, "I love you."

"I love you too. More than words can express." You said before attaching your lips with his once again.

"Cheers to the New Year!" echoed throughout the room as everyone joyously raised their glasses and took hearty sips of their drinks. The lively party was in full swing, with conversations overlapping and laughter filling the air. To your right, was a group engaged in a spirited drinking game, while in a quieter corner, a few couples were making out while Satoru and Suguru shared jokes and laughter near the balcony, relishing their drinks.

I’m highly suspicious that everyone who sees you wants you

You tried to focus on the conversation you were having with your friends but failed miserably. All you could see was the unfamiliar girl who was now flirting with Satoru. He looked like he had no clue about it. Beside him, was his friend Suguru. Unlike your boyfriend, he noticed the dirty glances you were throwing at the girl.

You see him nudge Satoru with his elbow and point your way. Your eyes met his blue ones for a moment when you instantly looked away. You didn’t want to admit that you were jealous but god you couldn’t help it.

I’ve loved you three summer now honey but I want ‘em all

He was so gorgeous with his soft white hair and cold blue eyes that any girl would fall for him. But those cold eyes only showed warmth and love when they looked at you. You were the only one Satoru loved and will continue to do so till the end of time.

You looked at him again only to see him smirk. Can’t able to bear the sight of it, you decided to take matters into your own hands.

You excused yourself from your friends and walked over to where Satoru was standing. “Darling, It’s getting late. We should head home.” You said in a saccharine voice with a forced smile. Not waiting for his reply, you pulled him by his arm. The last thing you heard before exiting the venue was some words of 'good luck' directed towards Satoru by Suguru.

When you got into the car, you immediately turned towards the windows, not in the mood to talk. Satoru got inside and smiled at your behaviour.

When you got home, you both had to run inside because it had started raining. You immediately went to the bathroom to get dressed for bed, without sparing Satoru a look. After you were done, you laid on your bed and pretended to fall asleep.

Satoru, very well knowing that you were awake, gave your shoulder a nudge. “Y/N?”

"Go away, I'm trying to sleep."

“I highly doubt that. Is it something I said?”

“No.”

“Then what is it?”

“Well, I wasn’t the one who was totally oblivious to a girl hitting on me when my girlfriend stood just a few steps away.” You scoffed as you sat up.

“You can’t be serious.” He chuckled.

“Of course, I am.”

“Baby, look at me.” He said. When you didn’t listen to him, he cupped your face and made you look at him. He looked straight into your eyes and said, “You know you’re the only one for me, right? You’re the one who I’m deeply in love with.”

When you didn't say anything, he sighed and stood up. "Come with me." He said giving you his hand.

I take this magnetic force of a man to be my Loverr

You looked at him confused but took it nevertheless. "Why are we going outside? It's raining." You said when you noticed you were being led outside the house.

Satoru knew how much you loved the rain. That’s why if he was going to do this, he’ll do this with the things you loved.

You were still trying to comprehend as to why you were in the rain but you didn’t complain. You loved rain. It helped you calm down and helped relaxing your mind.

Satoru led you in your small house garden. You had already started getting soaked from the rain as you asked, “Why are we here?”

And you’ll save all your dirtiest jokes for me

“Why? Getting wet already?” he said as you rolled your eyes and laughed. He smiled at you. He swore his heart swells every time he hears you laugh or sees you smile, especially when he is the reason behind it.

“Let’s dance.” He said and spun you around. You laughed when he pulled you towards him and tried to waltz.

“You’re still a terrible dancer.” You said jokingly.

“Well you’re the only one who gets to dance with me so I suggest you get used to it.” He said, trying his best not to mess up the steps.

“Did you learn the basics of waltzing?” you asked when you saw him doing correct steps.

“Well, I know you love to dance and I’m a terrible dancer. So I tried learning just so you can have, not excellent but at least an average dance partner.” He said, scratching his neck sheepishly.

And at every table, I’ll save you a seat Loverr

You didn’t know that you could fall for him even more. He learned to dance, just for you. He knew you loved to dance so he tried to become better at it, just for you. You knew how hectic his schedule can get but still he took some time off it to learn how to dance, just for you. You loved this man so much and you’ll never get tired of admitting this.

Can I go where you go?

“There’s still something I need to do.” He said, now sounding somewhat nervous.

You raised an eyebrow and looked at him in suspicion, “what is it?”

You didn’t want to think the worse but with the way he was behaving, you couldn’t help it. Is this it? Is he going to break things off? You didn’t know how you will survive if your thoughts came true.

Can we always be this close?

He took a deep breath before reaching for his pocket and taking out a small box. He bent down on his knees and held open the box in front of you. You widened your eyes at sight before you and gasped when you realised what was happening.

“Y/N, I never knew I could love someone as much as I love you. You’re the ride and die for me, the one who is everything to me, the one who’s laugh and smiles makes my day, the one who’s tears break my heart, the one who will always own my heart. And I can’t believe that you love an idiot like me. I want you to be the first and only love for me. I want you to be the one who lights up my day with just a smile, who makes my nights beautiful with just a touch.”

Forever and ever and Ah

“I want to be the one for you who you’ll spend forever with just like you have always dreamed of. I don’t want to spend another minute without you being by my side.”

You’re my my my my

“So Y/N L/N, will you marry me?” he finished, tears falling from his eyes. You didn’t know when you started crying but this moment was the best moment of your entire life. You practically jumped on Satoru as you hugged him.

Oh you’re my my my my

“Yes, yes a million times yes!” you said in between your tears as Satoru hugged you back. When you pulled away, he slowly slipped the ring onto your ring finger.

You immediately leaned in and kissed him, pouring all your unsaid love into this kiss. He kissed you back with the same passion as you. You felt like you fell for him all over again. The love story that started long back when you were in university, when you never thought he even knew your existence, when you never thought he’ll notice you, when you never thought he would even speak yet alone dance with you. And you definitely didn’t think that out of everyone, Gojo Satoru was ‘The One’ for you. But even after everything, you wouldn’t have it any other way.

“Happy new year, Gojo.”

“Happy new year to you too, soon-to-be Mrs Gojo.”

Darling you’re my my my my

Loverrr <3

________________________________________

ever blushed while reading your own writing? I just did lmao. Hope y’all liked this!

#gojo x reader #gojo satoru #jjk x reader #jjk gojo #gojo satoru x reader #gojo fluff #taylor swift #lover #jjk satoru #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu gojo #gojo x you #jujutsu satoru #satoru gojo x reader #fluff

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pinkygirlymeg · 2 months ago

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My opinions on 2.2 - As a Brazilian SPOILER WARNING

First off I'ma kick it saying yes, I am disappointed at Bluepoch for not adding diverse and PoC characters, however, this is a very much positive light on 2.2 because well, I enjoyed the update, I'm not here to defend Bluepoch but to appreciate the research and interesting things I think they added to their game about my people and culture.

I also think it's relevant to tell a bit about me, I'm a Brazilian woman natural from Rio de Janeiro, who early in life moved to a rural area in Goiás and later moved to the capital city of Brasília. I visited São Paulo, the city where 2.2 takes place quite a few times since parts of my family live there to this day, however the longer I've been there was 6 months, my visits to São Paulo also consisted mostly of living my the small towns around the big cities and living mostly in rural areas. (I've visited the big city but only to buy things that we didn't have mostly)

Starting off with some of the things I enjoyed the most: Music

So far there has been 3 songs of which I've listened

Starting with the one in the announcement of the special program; https://youtu.be/JsPw7aaB3WQ?si=aGYVp_yvvf1M5m5A

I do like the song, but this one is where they got the Brazil vibes a bit far off? They were going probably to the style of Bossa Nova, a Brazilian musical genre (noticable example are Garota de Ipanema) but I think in this one they went to much on a vibe that matches more french style music? Or at least reminds me of that (I'm sorry if I'm getting it wrong french people!!! Do let me know if I did).

The second one is the Livestream music! You can listen to it while they announce characters and garments;

I think the song is also not the best but definitely catches more of a Brazilian vibe, the style of music seems to be more centered around another genre commonly from the north east region of Brazil! (Noticable example is Figa de Guiné) Where they use a lot of triangles and little bit of the guitar, they're also going for a more beach style music to match the garments me thinks.

And now the third one and my favorite as off publication of this post. The "Trade Winds Garden" theme;

https://youtu.be/qCz036VZYXc?si=Gsbyl4JZzdPUpPqh

Once again they're going for a Bossa Nova vibe but this time, they nailed it perfectly. The strings and the chocalhos (sorry couldn't find a translation to that) work perfectly to create a representation in form of music! The style of the background of the new suitcase also fits the time period of Brazil's early 1900s or late 1800s that I think they're going for, the best example of a closely related song to this is also one of my favs "Águas de Março" is a music of the same genre who I think that this one might be based off.

Ok now with the characters and I'll start with the character I'm most familiar with the vibes!

Lopera the 6 star from the second part of the 2.2 version

Although we don't have much info on the story yet, she seems to be based of the "caipira" culture, I'll use the term Rural culture because "caipira" was a term used in a pejorative demeanor towards me and my family before.

Rural culture is a lot about family and as we know, Lopera ran away from her's, this is fairly common in these circles because living in a rural area while being young and full of dreams can be quite trapping! As for her design. I absolutely love it! From the hat to the sandal she embodies the spirit of a rural girl, the hat is ofc my favorite part, it's usually optional and men are more likely to not use hats as woman are. Being a Rural girl who easily burned in the sun I had to use long sleeves, long dresses and a really big straw hat, although the sandals are the norm when walking at home, usually we would use boots in the farm. In any case, I love her design and her clothes. In the i2 she seems to be more leaning towards a city girl, wearing the shorts and boots like she's ready for anything they throw at her. I personally like the i0 outfit more than the i2 for the many reasons I stated before and for the projection I did in her when I saw her.

Now for our singing best Anjo Nala!

I also loved her vibes! I saw a lot of people saying she's purple scary woman and I agree a bit with that but I really like this trope so I'm eating it! She's one of the characters that I also think I would enjoy way more if she has more melanin but for lore reasons I think she was never even a possibility for that.

First addressing the whole Anjo Nala is Kimberly, I disagree and don't think they are the same person. My evidence is that Kimberly has an identical twin who has been recently murdered! In the newspaper we can see that a ruthless murderer's life has been put to an end. I believe Anjo Nala is that twin who got murdered, aside from the visual differences both have, they also behave completely different at least from what we can see on the PV. Anjo Nala also speaks portuguese in one of her voice lines, knowing Kimberly she would've probably already said things in Portuguese had she known the language at this point. There's also some visual differences to the two, like anjo Nala's tail and horns being different than Kimberly's.

Now putting that to the side. Anjo Nala seems to be based of a more high class songstress. The beautiful girl who sings in the boats that pass by the river. Although that is a more romantic view of our culture it's still within Brazilian literature to have that type of character. The seducing demons from the rivers are also very much part of our culture as you can see from the "Boto Cor de Rosa" a character from Brazilian mythos and folklore.

The i0 dress looks simply so cute, matching the style and era of the outfits worn by the ladies here in the big cities of Brazil, as for her i2 it seems to be more of a stage outfit, I love it too, but personally, like Lopera I like her i0 more. Although I love the art and the background of her i2 and the references to the festivals of new year here and the carnival with the lights blowing in the sky voice line and the people laughing and dancing! She's a very cute character overhaul!

Mr. Duncan... Another character whom I think would look very good with more melanin, mr.duncan embodies a very common guy in Brazilian families, the "Tio do Pavê" or that cute and funny old uncle who cracks dad jokes whenever you meet with them, he seems like a passionate and generally nice guy and OMG I love seeing older man being added to the game! It really brings variety and the possibility of old men yaoi (looking at u Shamane), I really enjoy his character for how much I can see of him in my own family and it's very fun to think of all the cute interactions he could pull off! Design wise, he feels a little bit more like a tourist, although I've seen my dad wear similar outfits before when going to the beach or simply enjoying an outdoors barbecue. I like both of his i0 and i2 basically equally! I think he looks overhaul very nice

I won't make a comment about our skeleton hand just yet, White Rum seems like the most mysterious one so far! But I will make a post about them if I happen to have some new matured thoughts of if they get more info about them

Lastly for the garments, I LOVED the garments for this version, making the Brazil patch a beach vibes update is expected but they surprised me a lot! The outfits do look really like the things any Brazilian would wear to go to the beach, my favorites being Vila's and Yenisei's garment. Specifically talking about Yenisei, it might be me going on crack mode but I think her design is based off the Victoria Regia story of Brazilian folklore and I think it works perfectly with Yenisei's connection to rivers!

Marcus looks like the cute and sweet girl at the beach but girl that sunburn marks will be weird looking with all that fishnets /silly

Vila looks gorgeous and 37 is not beating the most beautiful character of the game allegations, I also think her garment has something to do with 37 accepting the malleability of truth and how it bends and changes like a river, truth changes in every different perspective!

Shamane looks gorgeous and I look forward to all the yaoi potential he got hwhshssh /silly and seriously I also love the representation of our fauna in Shamane's garment.

Few that was quite a lot I think I'm done for this post at least! I can and will yap more about this version once things come out and I'm yet to make a post about the PV, I did see it and I have some thoughts that I still need to mature! If you have any questions, suggestions or corrections they're all welcome! I just enjoy discussing things about my culture and country and how people from the outside world perceive us!

#reverse 1999 #reverse 1999 2.2 #brazil #Lopera #Anjo Nala #megramble

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danieyells · 5 months ago

Note

After Hotaburi's chapter i was very curious about Zenji voicelines! Can i ask for them, please?

@yuri-is-online YOU DON'T HAVE TO WORRY ABOUT OVERWHELMING ME although I appreciate the concern!! If I get overwhelmed or need a break I just put it aside until I'm ready or have the time and energy and attention span or ideas if necessary haha so no need to worry there 'u' (Also. . .good luck with those fics lolol)

ZENJI IS OUR LAST BOI. Until we get Ed and Lyca anyway. Which will honestly probably be in like. A week or two. Possibly less. I had my suspicions when I first read his that he was a ghost lol knowing he is. . .it gives them a little different feeling I guess haha.

Hello: (the first time the game is opened after that character is set as home screen NPC. Only happens once per day, unless the character is switched out and back.)

"Why, hello there, my dear. Suppose we kick off another swanky day here?"

You've Got Mail: (whenever there's something in the inbox, usually Arena rewards)

"Come now, read those messages out, won't you? They're fan letters for me, aren't they? ...They're not?"

Default: (requires no affinity, has no time constraints)

"You want to know the meaning of my words? I see— I'll have to give you a lecture on romanticism."

"What's this? Well, it's a biwa, of course. It's a biwa just as you are yourself."

what does that mean tho. . .i mean i get what it means but also it feels like it must mean something. . . .

"Girls, be ambitious... Dream big, my dear."

proud women enjoyer zenji kotodama

"A man who's everywhere but can be found nowhere... That's what it means to be an inspired man of the quill."

i think that's just what it means to be a ghost bby. . . . . . . . . . .

"Heh. There's no doubt about it. Zenji Kotodama is once again the most styling man on campus. These glad rags are the cat's pajamas."

Affinity 1: (between 5am and 11am)

"Come now, let's depart in search of something sensational."

Affinity 2: (between 11am and 4pm)

"Oh, have you come to see me? This is troubling. I'm afraid I'm out of autographs."

where have you been distributing them. . .?

Affinity 3: (between 4pm and 8pm)

"What am I doing here? ...I'm people-watching."

Affinity 4: (between 8pm and 5am)

"Ordinarily I ask for write-ins for my advice salon on the World Wide Web...but tonight, I'm taking it out into the field."

i wonder if he's waiting to encounter people who'll be able to see and hear him or if he's just like. . .genuinely ignoring/forgetting/disregarding that he isn't seen or heard. . .or maybe he was ignored a lot in his lifetime too so he doesn't question that people don't respond. . . .

Affinity 5: (between 8pm and 5am)

"The moon is beautiful... I always look forward to passing the hours in conversation with you and Towa on nights like these."

i thought you didn't hang around jabberwock after dark because the dark was dangerous tho. . .maybe if the moon is big and bright he doesn't mind because it's not as dark lolol

Affinity 6: (between 4pm and 8pm)

"My folktale videos? I filmed them at Haku's behest, but I can't imagine these old things will capture my fans' hearts..."

based on that the Urashima Taro video has his voice in it but his character story recording doesn't have him or his voice in it(and Haku deliberately tries to make the background interesting because he knows it'll only be the background and biwa sounds,) I think his voice can be recorded but if he's visibly in the recording it won't be captured? That or Haku has recording equipment that can capture ghost voices, but not images???

Affinity 7: (between 11am and 4pm)

"It truly is the age of YouTube. Can you fathom the romance of my artistry spreading to all four corners of the globe?"

Affinity 8: (between 4pm and 8pm)

"Every tool has its own knack you've got to acquire to use it properly. Behold— my mastery with a fishing pole!"

Affinity 9: (between 8pm and 5am)

"This doll here is special. The moment I met him I felt a destiny such that I knew we couldn't be strangers."

Affinity 10: (between 10pm and midnight)

"Oh, I didn't mean to give you a fright... I ought to have expected this. A sudden brush with an inspired man of the quill would take anyone's breath away."

Affinity 11: (between 5am and 11am)

"Have you got any siblings, my dear? Why no, I don't mean anything by it. Just a little morning conversation."

i can imagine him looking fondly at his doll as he says he doesn't mean anything by it. His sibling isn't one of the most important things in the world to him or anything. He's just making conversation. btw in Japanese he says "morning talk" which sounds an awful lot like "pillow talk" to me and idk how many people would be comfortable discussing their siblings after the deed--

Affinity 12: (between 11am and 4pm)

"Are you going to Mortkranken, my dear? ...I see. No, I don't mean anything by it. Are you hurt? I hope you'll take care."

so while it makes sense for Zenji to ask this as he is noted in his profile to be a worrywart, not to mention he died on campus, but also. . .y'know, his brother lives there.

Affinity 13: (between 4pm and 8pm)

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to sneak up on you. Apparently my footsteps give the general students the heebie-jeebies..."

In Japanese it does clarify that he moves without the sound of footsteps at all because the general students freak out hearing his footsteps since they can't see him

Affinity 14: (between 5am and 11am)

"A swanky morning calls for a swanky breakfast, and some swanky radio calisthenics."

apparently radio calisthenics are still pretty popular in japan. in any case man are you sure you died like a year ago you sound so old

Affinity 15: (between 5am and 11am)

"Why, Subaru hasn't risen yet. Go ahead and wake him, won't you, my dear? I'll accompany your efforts from here with my biwa."

Affinity 16: (between 11am and 4pm)

"A burst of inspiration has taken hold of me... No. The ghost of artistry has possessed my soul!"

okay well be careful with ghosts taking over your soul you don't have a ton left if you lose that--

Affinity 17: (between 10pm and midnight)

"To be a Darkwick student is to greet danger as an old friend... But I hope that Haku and Subaru have a long life ahead of them."

Affinity 18: (between 8pm and 5am)

"Zenji Kotodama is a wonderful name, don't you think? A sensational name befitting of my sensational sensibilities."

Affinity 19: (between 10pm and midnight)

"Trouble sleeping? Then I'll read you a story. How about Urashima Taro?"

Affinity 20: (between 5am and 11am)

"I was standing by your pillow last night? Horsefeathers, I'd never. I was there the night before last."

BABY I DON'T THINK THAT'S BETTER. YOU ARE STILL WATCHING THEM SLEEP. WHAT ELSE DO YOU WATCH THEM DO.

Affinity 21: (between 11am and 4pm)

"Go ahead and eat. No, don't give me another thought—I'm on a diet, you see. Watching you is enough food for my soul."

you see why i suspected initially that he didn't know he was dead? can you eat at all buddy?? i don't think it's a diet if you've lost the ability to consume food. . . .

Affinity 22: (between 4pm and 8pm)

"Haku's busy today—film me in his stead, won't you?"

Affinity 23: (between 8pm and 5am)

"I've got a little story about a hapless fool of a man... I'm sure it's hardly worth listening to. I wonder if I'll ever get the chance to share it with you?"

the true stories seem like the ones he wants to avoid. . .'a hapless fool of a man's story that isn't worth listening to but i'd still like to share' sounds an awful lot like it must be about him and his life. . . . In Japanese he says 「救いようのない、馬鹿な男の物語さ」 "it's the story of an irredeemable/hopeless, stupid man.". . .who did you hurt, Zenji?

Affinity 24: (between 10pm and midnight)

"To be able to look into your eyes and bid you good night... I'm the luckiest fella for miles around."

Affinity 25(max): (no time constraints)

"Maybe we did meet too late. But it's all right. I promise I'll find you in the next life."

but. . .but we have this life. . .although this is one of the few acknowledgements he really gives of his own ghostly nature. He wants to be able to live with you. To be tangibly there for you, to touch you and support you, to be able to show you off to others. . .but he can't be recognized. He can't be seen or heard but by a select few, it's only thanks to Haku that he can be seen or heard by you. It's too late for something 'real' now. So he can plan for the future. For the next life. He'll find you when you're both alive and then you can do everything you'd want to do with a real physical boyfriend. He promises.

Spring: (March-May) (between 5am and 11am)

"In spring, the dawn... Red tinges the slowly paling mountain rim... Ah... These mountain fellas must've been goofy for some doll..."

(between 11am and 4pm)

"There is hope buried under the cherry trees... It means that spring is the season of chance encounters."

isn't the like. rumor that cherry blossoms are pink because they dye their petals with the blood of corpses buried beneath them or something? i swear i read that somewhere. apparently it comes from a poem. is hope a body buried under a sakura tree. is that where they buried you, Zenji?

(between 4pm and 8pm)

"The cherry blossoms of Hotarubi are ephemeral—they bloom only to be quickly washed away by the rain. But I am rather fond of that way of life."

Zenji simultaneously lives in Acceptance and Denial stages of grief it seems lol

(between 8pm and 5am)

"The beauty of the cherry blossoms under the night sky inspired me to pick up my pen... Oh, it has gotten easier to lift."

Summer: (June-August) (between 5am and 11am)

"Have you seen him!? Who? Why, my doll, of course! This is very troubling. I've got to find him before the boogeymen stir!"

. . .somehow this reminds me of the Jiro dialogue where he's like "if Yuri asks where I am, tell him i went to bed, i'm going out" lol if the doll reminds him of Jiro, it seems to make sense that now and then it wanders off on its own. I wonder where it's going though?

(between 11am and 4pm)

"My ideal summer vacation? I wish to lay down my burdens in the springs of Yugawara and pursue my wordsmithery in peace, as so many greats have done before me."

Yugawara is a hot spring town in Japan! Apparently since the Meiji era people would go there for inspiration and such thanks to the atmosphere

(between 4pm and 8pm)

"This master wordsmith studied by the light of fireflies... I see. Haku! Turn out the lights!"

(between 8pm and 5am)

"I heard a frightful rumor... Apparently the ghost of a dead student has been spotted around Hotarubi..."

THAT'S YOU. YOU ARE THE SCARY GHOST OF A DEAD STUDENT. PEOPLE CAN SEE YOU MORE BECAUSE IT'S SUMMER.

Autumn: (September-November) (between 5am and 11am)

"Fall is the perfect season for a new book, and I have the perfect one for you... From inspired man of the quill Zenji Kotodama, the fruit of his sweat and blood... "Body.""

(between 11am and 4pm)

"A song for you in the season of the arts... From inspired lute priest Zenji Kotod— Wait, where are you going!?"

why is this the one time 'biwa' is translated to 'lute' lol. . .although 'lute priest' does sound way better than 'biwa priest'

(between 4pm and 8pm)

"Gauging the literary significance of this video by something as insignificant as views... Horsefeathers, isn't it?"

yeah!!! don't judge your worth by views or follows, zenji!!!

(between 8pm and 5am)

"I've decided to make you the heroine of my next work... A beautiful princess who bites into a poisoned apple and falls into a deep slumber... and seven of you!"

a fascinating retelling of Snow White. . .Snow White And The Seven Snow Whites. . . .

Winter: (December-February) (between 5am and 11am)

"Good morning, fellas! Time for my biwa recital to color the chill of this frigid sunrise! I call it "Six O'Clock in the Morning.""

zenji nO PEOPLE ARE TRYNA SLEEP

(between 11am and 4pm)

"There's a rumor going around that you can hear a biwa playing in the music room when no one's there... I go all the time though, and I've never heard it..."

again. . .that's because it's you. . . .

(between 4pm and 8pm)

"The setting sun... The sky dyed purple... Your beautiful profile, obscured... (gasp) I've been struck by inspiration!! My dear, I have to leave you here!"

(between 8pm and 5am)

"Are you cold? Then let me warm you up... My dear, why are you scooting away? I'll only make you colder...?"

it really seems like he forgets he's a ghost pretty often lmao

His birthday: (June 19th)

"Is this...a birthday present...? (hic) (sob) I'm the luckiest fella around...!"

people don't give him gifts often huh. . .or he's just very emotional. both could be true.

Your birthday:

"I've planned the perfect day to celebrate the miracle of your birth... We'll start with an ode to you, accompanied by my biwa."

he planned you a whole outing or maybe a party! with all day musical accompaniment!! What a sweetheart!!

New Years: (January 1st)

"Happy New Year, my dear. I'll be making the first shrine visit with Haku—care to join us?"

Valentine's Day: (February 14th)

"My dear...is this for me? (hic) (sob) I'll treasure it always...!"

well given he probably can't eat it. . .fair reaction

White Day: (March 14th)

"I'm sorry... I did try to explain that a biwa recital would make a better gift, but Haku insisted I present you with confections instead..."

thanks haku you a real one lmao although music wouldn't be bad just. . . .

April Fool's Day: (April 1st)

"No, I would never lie to you. An inspired man spins fiction with his quill, not his mouth, after all."

y'know, i love the honesty! you keep making stories and being open, zenji!

Halloween: (October 31st)

"Why, you gave me quite a fright in that getup! What a marvelously queer celebration this is! So this is the legacy of westernization..."

no the marvelously queer celebrations are in june. although halloween is also marvelously queer sometimes--

Christmas: (December 25th)

"Merry Christmas! I've completed a new fairy tale. May my wishes reach the hearts of children everywhere..."

not a gift for you, but for the children! can a ghoul ghost and a human have--

Idle: (about 20 seconds without interacting with the game) (below 13 affinity)

"...And they lived happily ever after. How did you like my new story? I'd love to hear your— What? You weren't listening!?"

(13 affinity and above)

"Can you see me? Phew... You've been so quiet, you had me worried, my dear."

Absent: (logging in for the first time in 2 or more days?)

"Ah, I'm so relieved you're all right, my dear. I wondered if something had happened on a mission... I'm glad my fears had no teeth."

THAT'S ALL OF EM. He's really. . .he is himself the whole way through huh lol. At the same time when he does acknowledge his ghostliness(and oftentimes he does the exact opposite, simply lacking in self-awareness) he seems a little lonely and regretful. . .I wonder if he was always such a worrywart or if he started worrying more after he died, realizing first hand just how dangerous things could be. I'm surprised how few acknowledgements his doll gets, although I don't think he carries it on the home screen?

I wonder how different his personality was when he was alive. Probably not very different tbh.

ANYWAY IT IS HALF PAST MIDNIGHT FOR ME. BEDTIME.

#zenji kotodama #danie yells at tokyo debunker #danie yells answers #danie yells with anons #yuri is online #datamining cw #now i just have to go back through and fill out the ones i left out for everyone. . . .#a concern for a danie from another day lol #tokyo debunker

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hearteyesforjoel · 1 year ago

Text

Old Man

okay okay, we’re FINALLY here, it’s finally done. i’ve had this idea stuck in my head for forever, it’s based on a dream i actually had, go figure lol. enjoy, first fic i’ve written in literal years <3

word count: 1280

jackson!joel x reader

warnings: tbh not much, a creep, heavy kissing, cheeky joel.

Content. If there was one word to describe how you felt at the moment, it would be just that. The radio playing some old country song you couldn’t be bothered with to remember playing softly in the background, not overpowered by the light chatter of the Jackson patrons. It was a quiet night for the Tipsy Bison. It had been a pretty uneventful day of patrol, the only thing keeping you going from lookout to lookout being the promise Joel made that morning before you both left the gated community.

“Sweetheart, we gotta get going for the day”, his voice still raspy with sleep as you both enjoy the comfort and warmth provided by the fluffy duvet. Your head rising and falling on his chest with each breath he took. Through the curtains you could see a peak of sunlight, taunting you to start your day.

You pout slightly, “But I love seeing you like this; so relaxed and cozy. Maybe Tommy can find someone to fill in for us? I know, tell him we came down with a cold?”

He snorted, “Yeah right. The last time we used that excuse, he saw all of those lovely marks you left on me.” Joel smirks as he recalls the memory.

“Well, I’ll just have to hide those marks this time around”, you say as you grin up at him, sliding your hand up his neck and to his scalp, pulling on his hair lightly.

Joel groans, a devilish look flashes in his eyes as he tightens his grip around you. He hums, “How about I make you a deal? If you can behave yourself today during patrol, I’ll take you out tonight. How’s that sound darlin’?”

You raise your eyebrows, “Joel Miller wants a night out on the town with me? Feel like I just won the lottery”, you tease with a smile.

Joel grins a shit-eating grin and pulls you closer. “Don’t push your luck sweetheart”, he says as he places small pecks from your temple to your neck, nibbling along the way.

You’d gotten to the bar before Joel, he mentioned having to stop by Tommy’s. Something about a new area of Wyoming to patrol. You honestly weren’t listening to the details, too excited for the night to come. You hum along to the old country song playing in the background, sipping on a glass of whiskey. The burn providing a warm comfort to the cool breeze from the fall air outside.

“Hey, what are you doing here all alone?”, you heard a familiar voice from behind you as you sat at the bar. When you turn to look over your shoulder, you saw that the voice came from one of the stable hands. Jake? James? Maybe Jason?

“Oh, no, I’m just waiting for someone”, you said with a small, polite smile. If you’re being honest, the guy always gave you weird vibes. Sometimes as you would leave for patrol on your horse, you could feel a lingering stare, leaving the hairs on the back of your neck standing at attention.

As you focused your attention back to your glass, you saw the barstool next you pull out, your pest of the night sitting down next you at the bar.

“Well in that case, I’ll just keep you company until then”, he smirked, looking you up down. There it is, that familiar uncomfortable feeling.

“Ah, no, that’s okay. He should be here any minute, I’ll be fine to wait alone”, you say as you pick at your cuticles, hoping he’ll take the hint. He laughs, resting his arm on the back of your stool.

“Some friend he is. Really, let me get you a drink, sweetheart”, he says, the term of endearment sounding bitter coming out of his mouth.

Before Jake? James? Maybe Jason, can say anything else, you feel a familiar hand rest against waist. “Should I throw your ass out of this bar or do you want to walk out on your own? Think carefully”, Joel nearly snarls as he puts himself between you and the once confident, now tense man.

He raises his hands in surrender, “Hey, man, I didn’t mean any trouble. I’m just, I’m just gonna…”, he slides off the barstool and quickly leaves, tail between his legs.

Joel turns to you, concern all over his face, eyebrows furrowed. “Are you okay? Did he touch you?”, he quickly scans your form. His big, brown eyes fully of worry.

You grab his bicep, pulling him closer to you. His familiar scent putting you at ease. “I’m fine, I’m just glad you’re finally here”, you say as smile, happy to finally have a relaxing night with the love of your life. Neither of you have had a night to yourselves, usually spending your nights enjoying dinners with Tommy and Maria, movie nights with Ellie. It’s not that you don’t enjoy the company of your family, but sometimes you just want Joel all to yourself.

“I’m sorry it took so long, Tommy found an abandoned town a few miles out, thinks there could be supplies worth the trip. We’re gonna head out first thing in the mornin’, there’s an old clinic we need to check out. Could be medicine there.”

You sigh, knowing you’ll both have to cut the night short. Defeated, you stand up from your barstool, grabbing his bicep to lead Joel out of the quaint bar. “Well, come on old man, you need your beauty sleep if you want to get up bright and early”, you tease him, sliding your hand to the back pocket of his jeans.

Slowing down his stride, Joel stares into your eyes. His once soft brown eyes, now dark, a devious glint in his eyes. Without hesitation, he grabs your arm and pulls you to the side of the bar, away from any prying eyes. His actions surprising you.

You inhale sharply, your whole body heating up from just the simple touch on your arm. “Joel? Joel, what are you doing?”.

He quickly pins you against the brick wall behind you, caging you in between his arms. Joel leans in, his lips grazing your neck, his warm breath bringing chills to your skin. You’re breathing heavily at this point, your insides practically begging for him to do something, anything to alleviate the burning desire within you. Joel begins to coast his lips up from your neck, your jaw, and finally hovering over your own. With heavy eyes, you both stare into one another’s eyes, waiting for the other to break.

You can’t take it anymore. Finally, you give in and roughly bring your lips together, his chapped, yours soft. Quickly, you bring one hand to comb through his dark hair, the other to rest against the back of his neck. His own grabbing at your waist, placing one hand to your neck, just under your jaw. Softly, you whimper against him as he bites your bottom lip, allowing him to take control of the kiss, his mouth exploring your own. You sigh heavily, the hand in his hair pulling on his roots. He groans, pulling away from the kiss, both of you gasping for air.

“Where did that come from?”, you whisper, slightly out of breath.

Joel smirks, eyes still heavy and burning with want, “You wanna call me an old man, sweetheart? Let me show you what this old man can do“. He grips your hand, pulling you back onto the street, beginning the short walk back to your shared home.

There it is, that fiery desire that only Joel can ignite.

Yeah, you were in for a long night. Maybe you’ll tell Tommy you both caught a cold?

______________________________________________

if you read all the way through this, i love you.

thank you so much for reading, i definitely need to keep writing, ya know, leveling up my skills.

prompts and requests are always open and welcome! xx

#omg i did it #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller fanfic #joel miller x reader #joel miller #jackson!joel #the last of us #tlou #tlou fic #pedro pascal #writing #my writings #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal fanfiction

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capsyst · 11 months ago

Text

I am deeply touched that so many people enjoyed my little animation of Technoblade. I genuinely didn’t think that my post would get spread much, if at all, so thank you from the bottom of my heart for reblogging it and giving me such kind words.

While Procreate does include a playback feature, unfortunately the playback for how I animated this is 45 minutes long and well beyond the capacities of tumblr’s compression and limits. And since I don’t yet have a YouTube channel to host such a lengthy video, the best I can to is provide this quick and dirty breakdown of my process.

I animate the roughs in procreate and you can see that I am VERY loose with my initial pass. I often forget if I’m drawing him with 4 or 5 fingers, I changed his outfit halfway through the animation from a draping cape to a coat, and proportions fly all around. The most important aspect of this initial pass is just to get the timing and movement right.

I then do a second cleanup pass. It is not shown here, but this is what the lineart will eventually be based on. This pass is to refine the art and solidify it. Fix anatomy issues, those finger and clothing issues, and just generally work on sticking closer to the model I had chosen for my reference.

Then I do the lineart pass. I did this in Procreate Dreams by importing the animation as a video, lowering the opacity to 50%, and using it as a guide for the lineart. Here I refine the animation further and clean up any lingering problems.

Finally once the inking is done I color the animation. In Dreams I realized that groups are a godsend for this process. Every color was its own separate layer. But once I finished a layer I could group it together and Dreams treats it like it’s own singular track on the timeline. Then once I finished another color I would group those together with the group I already finished. And then again and again and so on until eventually I only had one layer for all the lineart and color. But if I ever needed to fix anything I could expand those groups and go directly to the frame in question. It’s a really handy feature!

Because he looks out the window at one point I wanted to have the light cast shadows on him. So I colored all the frames before and after the window in a darkened pallet, and the frames where he is at the window in the actual colors. Then I animated a shadow layer that I placed over those frames where he’s at the window at 30%.

For the background I drew an extra wide scene in Procreate and imported it into Dreams. I included an outside, and inside, and three curtains. Two closed, one open. With all of this in Dreams I then added the camera move, and a warp effect on the open curtain to make it seem like it was pulled open quickly. It was surprisingly easy to do!

As a final touch I added a reddish tint to the end when he goes full crazy.

If anyone has any questions about the animation process, or about Dreams or anything, please feel free to ask and I’ll do my best to answer as I can.

Again, thank you for enjoying this animation. I’m deeply touched by the response.

As an added bonus, here’s my 3 favorite smear frames!

#procreate dreams #procreate #animation #2d animation #procreate animation #hand drawn animation #dreams #technoblade never dies #technoblade #Minecraft #mcyt

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nsharks · 2 years ago

Text

buckshot | simon “ghost” riley

words: 2.4k

plot: simon teaches you how to use a shotgun so you can protect the family while he’s gone.

tags: mostly fluff, dad simon, a small touch of smut, lots of gun talk, fem!reader

a/n: I am not pro-guns at all this is just a fic. also based on my research shotguns and hunting rifles are the only guns you can own in the uk.

“Why the hell not?”

Simon is standing in the doorway of your bathroom, arms crossed and his mask off as he watches you brush your hair.

Sharing a home with him, and now a baby with him, has made Simon the most protective person you’d ever met. Perhaps even more so in the past few months he’d been home since the birth of your son. He refused to let you do anything but rest and nurse for the first month. He’d wake up multiple times during the night just to check the locks on all the doors, and recheck them, and then check up on the baby’s room, as if someone could have snuck in and swept him away.

You’re paranoid, Simon, you’d told him a couple times. Groggy and woken up again by his nightly patrol. Sometimes you even caught him just sitting in the living room at ridiculous hours; he claimed that it was due to a bad dream, but you suspected he was trying to take “watch” while his family slept.

“Because, Simon,” you say in exasperation, seeing his irritated reflection in the bathroom mirror. “I don’t like guns. Why would I want to shoot them?”

Simon always kept a shotgun hidden in the house.

You’d known that he had the license for it since before you. He even made you get licensed a couple years ago (in case of emergencies, he’d said). But you weren’t a fan of that sort of thing, and he hadn’t insisted on you actually using one until now.

“You don’t have to fuckin’ like them. You just have to know how to use one,” Simon says tersely. He runs a hand through his hair, an action he does only when he’s maskless around you. Even after all these years, it’s still a shocking sight to see him without the skull painted over his appearance.

Skull or not, he’s intimidating.

You don’t share his worries about your and the baby’s safety. Not when you’ve got him to scare people off.

“I really don’t want to,” you sigh, setting the brush down. Your voice is soft and careful, not wanting to fight him over something so ridiculous, especially when you’ve seen how paranoid he’s grown.

In no time at all, you’re standing in front of him with your hands placed on his bare chest, the strain of his muscles softening only slightly under your touch. It takes him a moment before his arms slide around your waist.

“Y/N,” he breathes out through his nostrils and leans over to touch his forehead to yours. “I’m… leavin’ soon. Next week. You’re not going to have me here in case… in case shit happens.”

“Nothing’s going to happen,” you tell him in a whisper. “Not to me, not to our son.”

He doesn’t seem convinced. Instead, the notch in his throat presses against his skin as he swallows.

“Bloody hell, Y/N. Can you just do this for me?” His forehead slides down to the dip in your neck, breathing in your neck like he always does, and his voice has turned hoarse. “I need to… keep you safe. Have to.”

You’ve only ever heard the story about his family and his little nephew once or twice. It’s not something you could bare thinking about when your son slept just meters away, but it crosses your mind.

Maybe Simon has a point.

It took him so long to feel safe, worthy, of growing this family with you.

You can only imagine the fear he must feel. How much responsibility he feels to make sure your fate doesn’t end up like the rest of his family members.

Hands moving to the expanse of his back, you melt into him and finally give in. “Okay,” you whisper. “Okay, okay. Show me how to use a gun, Simon.”

_____

You both feel awful saying goodbye to your son for the day.

It’s the first time you’ve asked for a nanny. Simon preformed his own “background check” on each name you listed off to him, names that had been mentioned to you by friends or family. After his thorough research, you had finally settled on someone to watch the baby while the two of you went on your “hunting” trip.

“I think he will miss you the most,” you’d pouted, watching Simon hold your son before you left.

The baby looked so small in his arms; even at three months old, Simon’s hand could cover the entirety of his little back.

“No way, love,” Simon gave a small kiss to the boy’s forehead. “You’re the one feedin’ him. He’s gonna miss the fresh meals more than his dad today.”

Now, not at home with the baby for the first time since his entrance in your lives, Simon is driving you down a gravel road in the middle of nowhere. You have been awfully quiet the whole ride, equally as hesitant about the new babysitter as you are about what your husband is dragging you out here to do.

You know what he does. You’ve known perfectly well what Simon is infamous for, what his nickname is, and the long list of names of the people who have died at his hands. You’re okay with it since you never have to see it, because when it comes to violence, you are nothing like your husband. You used to catch Simon practically smirking when a gory or violent scene would come on in a movie. Meanwhile, you’d bury your gaze in his chest and grimace.

Don’t worry, pet, they’re not even showing it accurately, he’d tell you, as if that would help.

The place he stops at is a wooded area where the dirt road starts to dissipate into tall grasses. He claims to know the property’s owner so it’s fine for you to be there. He’s instructed you to wear long pants and comfy shoes for the occasion. For himself, he’s opted for black cargo pants and his painted balaclava.

“C’mon,” he says, stopping the car and eagerly getting the shotgun he brought out of the trunk.

You follow him into the woods. Something about his confidence indicates that he’s been here before, but you’ve never known him to hunt animals, especially with what his father used to do with them.

“We’re not… we’re not killing anything, right?” you ask when he finally stops walking. There’s nothing but tall trees around you and the occasional bird or squirrel causing you to flinch in surprise.

Simon’s too busy loading the gun to look at you.

“No.”

Something about his voice is different than the Simon you know. Concentrating intently, he closes the shotgun and then reaches for your waist, pulling you close to him.

“Take it,” he says huskily. Your fingers outstretch to wrap around the gun and take it from his hold. It feels… heavier than you anticipated and your grasp is awkward, the butt of it pressing into your chest.

“Well, not like that,” you can almost hear the amusement in his voice, but then it sobers, deepening with a tone of command. “Place this hand on the stock wrist.”

He’s behind your body, closely pressed against you so he can maneuver your hands where he wants them. You’re trying your best to focus since this is a serious situation, a loaded gun in your hands, but it’s hard not to feel the satisfying warmth emitted from his chest.

Once Simon seems satisfied, he asks you, “How does it feel?”

“Heavy,” you admit.

“Let’s fix your stance,” he instructs gruffly, “That should help.”

He uses his booted foot to tap against your feet, urging them further apart until they’re about shoulder-width. He shows you how to stand properly, how to bend your knees slightly and keep the gun high by your cheek as you hold it. He tells you to keep your feet planted to absorb the recoil. You’re doing your best to follow his instructions, feeling like one of his soldiers.

“Is this okay?” you ask, his hands dropping from yours so it’s only you now.

He takes a step back and inspects you with heavy eyes, the same eyes he drags over your naked body in bed. But this time, he’s not inspecting every detail of your bare skin and reveling in the beautiful sight of your curves and dips. Instead, he is inspecting the quality of your stance as you hold a weapon, and you try your best to appear confident under your husband’s experienced gaze.

“Good girl,” he finally says. The praise makes you shudder. “You’ve got a solid stance.”

“Can I shoot it now?”

“Eager, are we?” He shakes his head and leaves you to grab his backpack. He pulls out a couple of empty bottles.

“Point it at the ground, love,” he orders before he steps in front of you. You obey, lowering your aim and being mindful not to shoot him as he places the bottles on a fallen tree in front of you.

Once he’s out of the way, back by your side and wrapping his arm around your waist, you lift the shotgun back to the position he has showed you. His hot breath floods through his mask and tickles your neck.

“There’s a safety lock on it,” he mutters lowly, pointing to a little switch next to the trigger. “You need to move it if you want to shoot.”

“Oh,” you say, cheeks flushing from the sound of his voice. “Should I unlock it now?”

“Go ahead,” Simon says, “The gun in the house is loaded. You just have to unlock it if you ever need it”

There’s something about the way Simon’s powerful presence envelops you that makes your head feel fuzzy. It’s time to shoot now, but your heart is thumping wildly and you can’t help but lean into him.

“Can you… can you shoot it with me? For the first one?”

“Just the first one,” he warns, but is already placing his hands over yours, touch warm and strong and reassuring. There is always safety to be found in his touch. “Don’t worry so much about aim, alright? These aren’t regular slugs. They’re buckshot’s.”

You blink. “What?”

“They have a bunch of little pellets, not a single projectile. It’ll be easier for you.”

Although you are wildly out of your element, he is comfortably in his. You’re almost certain this isn’t even the kind of gun he uses in the field, but still, it is a language he is readily able to speak no matter the weapon.

“Finger on the trigger,” he murmurs in your ear.

Your finger finds the curve of the trigger, his finger following yours so you’re not pressing it on your own. There’s not another second for you to hesitate before he’s shooting it for you, bringing your finger down with his. The shot rings out. Echoes among the wilderness along with the sound the shattering bottle.

The recoil presses you further into his hold, but he keeps a firm grip on you, taking most of it in himself.

“I’ve got ya,” he assures you, noticing the wideness of your eyes. “That was good. You did good.“

“Oh, wow,” you sputter. The strength of it, the feeling of its power beneath your gentle hands, is not what you imagined. You wonder what it feels like to have this frightening kind of rush all the time. How it must feel to watch a body take the bullet rather than a bottle.

“On your own now,” Simon huffs.

The warmth and security of his touch is lost when he steps away and leaves the gun in your hands. The weight causes your hands to falter, but you repeat everything he’s told you in your head and adjust your grip. You want to show him you can handle yourself. Ease his worries with the assurance that you’re not weak and incapable whenever he’s gone.

But you hesitate.

Swallowing, you take your eyes off the next bottle to look at him for help. “Simon, I can’t-“

“Hey, hey.” The command in his voice remains, firm yet gentle. “Yes, you can. You are the strongest woman I know.”

“But… but I’m not you.”

“You don’t have to be me to shoot a shotgun.” His eyes catch yours and he gives a small nod of encouragement. “It’s just for protection, yeah? Not trying to turn you into a soldier.”

With the small encouragement, your finger returns to the trigger. You widen your stance a little. Keep the gun’s stock up by your cheek. You feel his eyes watching you carefully, but for just a moment, you pretend Simon isn’t there. Because the truth is, he’s not there all the time. There are stretches of time when the only person you, and now your son, have to rely on is you, and that’s not a responsibility you take lightly.

You shoot the gun and the next bottle shatters.

The strong recoil causes your feet to dig into the dirt and your body shudders.

“Christ, nice shot,” you hear Simon say over your steady breathing. You lower the gun and beam at him, the rush from the shot filling you with confidence.

“Thanks to you, lieutenant.”

_____

Practicing until all the bottles are broken leaves you with a sense of adrenaline that Simon assures you he knows how to soothe. The sun starts to set as he gets you back to the car, but once you’re inside, he’s pulling you onto his lap and attaching his lips to your collarbone.

“That’s my fuckin’ girl,” he groans against your skin and anxiously peels off your top, your pants, every piece of fabric that gets in his way. He kisses the marks that pregnancy has left behind, always supplying them with adoration. His skin is hot to the touch, just as consuming as it had been during his teachings, and when he starts moaning into your neck about how fucking hot you are, you wonder if seeing you shoot a gun is the cause of the wild lust in his voice.

“Got to reward you,” he hums low, giving you his fingers just how he knows you like them. “You were such a good girl for me.”

When you’re back home that night, finally leaving after his reward in the car, Simon is the one to put the baby to bed. Then, he joins you in your room, slipping his warm body under the blankets beside you, and sleeping through the night for the first time in months. He thinks, maybe, now he won’t be quite as worried when he has to leave you both next week.

——

a/n: ok I promise simon picked up all the glass and threw it away somewhere because he’s not a litterer 👍🏻 also I don’t like any kind of gun at all and I’d prefer if they didn’t exist but I can understand why someone like simon would feel safer with one in his house given his past

#simon ghost riley x you #john soap mactavish #call of duty #ghost #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley #fanfiction #fluff #cod #tw gun

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renren-006 · 3 months ago

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ADMIRATION

Bakugo Katsuki x fem reader (AGED UP)

✴︎✴︎✴︎✴︎✴︎✴︎✴︎✴︎✴︎✴︎✴︎✴︎✴︎✴︎✴︎✴︎✴︎✴︎✴︎✴︎✴︎✴︎✴︎✴︎✴︎✴︎✴︎✴︎✴︎✴︎✴︎✴︎✴︎✴︎✴︎✴︎✴︎✴︎✴︎

plot: Katsuki was someone to be admired

a/n: I just watched Ep 149 and omg! anyways kinda inspired by it

NOT manga canon. For this story, no specific quirk is mentioned for the reader

You always admired Katsuki. When you were young and joined UA, of course, you ended up in Class 2A. You watched everyone in Class A become stronger, and soon you stood by them. Katsuki never noticed your presence in class or in training for a very long time. Once he finally did it was hard to know where he stood in regards to liking you or thinking you were a dumbass. Mina had to drag him over and apologize to you before the blond-haired boy told you he thought you were pretty and walked away. You remember Mina stood there for a solid five minutes before screaming towards the older boy about how that wasn't what they had planned.

“SHUT UP PINKY. I can confesse how I want” while he continued to walk further and further away. You two didn't talk for three days before you cornered him after practices.

“If you wanted to take me on a date you should have asked” you had told him.

“I thought that was implied dumbass”

You two had a lot to work on communication-wise, seeing as he held a lot of emotions close to the chest. Gradually he opened up and gradually he wanted to show you off to his friends.

“Look here. I've got a girlfriend and you dont” he would joke when he would sit down and toss you into his lap in front of his squad.

“It's not fair Baku-bro” Kaminari would sing, “If I had the confidence you had I'm sure I would”

“In your dreams” Bakugou shot back. You held in a laugh.

“You should just tell Jiro how you feel kami”

“Don't encourage him” Bakugo would say, never truly meaning it. You knew he cared about them.

“I cant” Kaminari said, Kirishima patted the poor boy on the back consoling him. Sero just looked down in the dumps about not having anyone.

As the years went by the entire squad soon had significant others and soon they were all graduating and moving on to become pro heroes.

You took one of the lower ranks, being content with keeping the work small and community-based, as well as doing your hardest to help with disaster zones. Bakugo made it to one of the top spots, his personality made it harder for him to exceed the Number 5 spot he sat at.

You loved watching him continue to grow and work alongside his friends in those high-ranking spots. You were watching one of the news channels doing their nightly debrief on what had happened that day when Bakugo had entered your shared home. His face popped up on the TV before he entered the living room.

“Why are you watching this shit?” he asked, giving a small kiss to your head.

“Because I like admiring you: you told him, he froze.

“You..admire me?”

“Of course I do. I've admired you since UA, since you battled with everything you had. You're amazing.”

“You never told me that,” he said softly

“I didn't think I had too,” you said, turning to face him now. “I've always admired you, regardless of being together, you're an amazing hero katsuki. I can't wait to watch you continue to grow”

That night was spent cuddled up in bed with a movie in the background, neither of you paying attention. You were too busy telling Bakugou everything you admired about him, and he was too busy looking at you with love.

#mha bakugou #bakugo katsuki #bakugou katsuki #katsuki bakugo x reader #bakugo x reader #dynamight #bakugo fluff

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slxsherwriter · 11 months ago

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Out of Trauma Comes....

Fandom: Don't Breathe

Pairing: Norman Nordstrom x reader

Warnings: Child death, loss of limbs, ptsd struggles

Word Count: 4,076

Author's Note: I have fallen down the Stephan Lang rabbit hole. This is the first in a series of Norman one-shots. Reader does have a military background. This decision was based off of the relationship that Norman had with Hernandez in the second movie. Hope everyone likes! As always, not beta read, so mistakes are mine.

You woke with a start, gasping for breath that wouldn't seem to fill your lungs. For several agonizing seconds, it felt like it would never happen before finally, your body kickstarted itself. The silence of the room was only broken by the brief choking gasps of air as you tried to regulate your breathing. Then your ears registered the frantic beeping of a heart rate monitor. Your own. Forcing yourself to take a few slower breaths, it calmed down as you managed. Stiffness below reminded you that you were stuck in a hospital bed. Right. The accident.

With a grimace, you forced yourself into a seated position. The pain was a worthy distraction, taking your mind off the vivid flashbacks that played before your eyes. Like a bad horror movie that you couldn't pause.

A nurse came in, far more quickly than they had the past three weeks. Must have been fewer patients on the floor for them to monitor. When you had first arrived four weeks ago, despite your status, it had taken time for them to show up.

“Everything okay?” No, nothing was okay in the least about the entire situation. Swallowing down the words, you found yourself giving a shaky smile.

“Yeah, fine. Just a bad dream.” PTSD. Post traumatic stress disorder, that's what it was. You knew well enough to recognize the signs after seeing some of your closest brothers go through the same thing. “Sorry, didn't mean to cause any worry.” She gave you a softer smile, one that felt like pity. You hated every second of it. Of all of this, if you were honest. You wanted to be back home, away from the world and everyone in it. Why should you have lived?

“Not a problem at all.” She checked over your IV line and monitor before moving to the door, taking her leave. But before she fully left, she looked over her shoulder. “From what I heard, you're getting out of here tomorrow.” There may not have been a God but that news could have brought you to belief.

“Thanks…for everything.”

*****

Using the crutches to get into your home, you grunted with the effort. The cracked ribs were healing and could bear the brunt of your weight with some protest and discomfort but you weren't hanging around any longer than absolutely necessary.

A chill ran down your spine and the urge to look at the street was almost overwhelming. But you knew what you would find there if you did. Just repeated flashes of blood, broken glass, and phantom pains. Unconsciously, your jaw had started to clench, something you only realize when you heard a small crack.

“Fuck.” The word bounced through the empty house. A slow sigh and you were moving to the staircase. Life now had a whole new set of obstacles and challenges. Ones that you couldn't have ever dreamed of if one were to ask you. Yet, here you were. “Don't have a fucking pity party now. Get your ass up the stairs so you can take a proper shower. Then, you can check on Norman.” it was the right thing to do. You had heard from your older neighbor just once in the entire time you had been in the hospital. Understandable, given the circumstances and what he had to be dealing with, but it didn't quell the drive to follow up. Having been a neighbor for the better part of five years now, you had grown close to Norman and Emma. Just the thought of the girl was enough to constrict your throat and threaten to have tears spilling from your eyes once more.

White knuckling the crutches, you slowly made your way up the stairs. It was both painstaking and painful but there was a small sense of accomplishment when you hit the top landing. One thing out of the way, many many more to come. No use in getting too excited over it all just yet. The shower was the next thing to tackle.

***********

Having only fallen once, the shower could be considered a success. Dressing wasn't as difficult as anticipated, the bed that you had easy to get on and off of with the wall right there that you could brace yourself against. Now, down the stairs? That was a whole other ballgame. Slow, very slowly, you worked down each step. It probably would have been easier to admit defeat and go down on your ass but that stubborness that often got you in trouble decided to rear it's head. This was life now so it wasn't like something that you wouldn't have to get used to. Might as well start that right now.

The shower made you feel a bit better. Something about being able to shower at home, in your own space, with your typical washes and shampoos just did something different than when you were stuck showering in a hospital. While you still were in tremendous discomfort that bordered on pain that was barely tolerable, you still felt better. Plus, being out of those hospital clothes just helped give a little mental boost.

Tossing a jacket over your shoulders, you opened the door with a slow breath. The street was quiet, just as it often was. There were so few left in this neighborhood, the stranglehold of the economic crisis squeezing life out of Detroit day by day. Those that remained were too headstrong to go more than anything else. You and the man across the street had that in common. Not the only thing. The memory that came of the first meeting had you wanting to laugh. It was either laugh or break out into tears because the bad came rushing hard. Shaking away the thoughts as if the physical action could dislodge and remove those mental images.

The walk across the street didn't take too long, though getting up his steps took a few moments. It seemed that Shadow knew of the presence on the porch before you could even knock. The bark that came from inside was excitement, something recognizable and in a way somewhat comforting. It was normal. Routine. Despite the fact that nothing about this would ever be the normal that you both once knew. There was no answer to the rap of knuckles against the wood. Not for a minute. Or five.

A part of you wondered if you should just leave him be. You had your own trauma from the entire thing but his loss was so much greater than your own. A leg compared to a child? No comparison. Still, something rolled in your gut at the thought of leaving Norman to his misery, grief, and pain. You had been alone in the hospital. Being alone and isolated was never good. So, that thought made you knock again and call out.

“Norman?” Your voice nearly cracked and you had to take a second to take in a breath. The situation called for composure. Letting your own emotions shine through wouldn't help the moment at all. “I'm sure you don't want to see anyone right now…” What words were supposed to be spoken for this sort of thing? Huffing out in frustration, you stared at the door.

“Can you please let me in? You don't have to talk. I know you aren't alright, I wouldn't expect you to be but seeing you would at least settle my own mind. Please?” Maybe appealing to that part of him would get the older man to agree. Another few moments passed, bringing about a sense of defeat. This wasn't something to barrel through, to hit head on like a bull in a china shop. If Norman didn't want to see anyone,you couldn't force your presence upon him. At least not with his house closed up like this. Just as you were getting ready to turn around, locks disengaging rang out and the door opened. Shadow's bark was significantly louder, the thump of his tail against the door frame audible.

He looked rough, like he hadn't been sleeping. Something that was relatable. More than that, it was in the way that he held himself. A man defeated had a certain posture after all. An awkward silence fell over the two of you as you stood there before the door opened a bit more and he stepped to the side, a silent signal to come inside. The crutches hopefully made enough noise for him to be able to keep his feet out of the way as you entered the home, as mindful of where you were placing them as you could be. The last thing that was needed was for you to cause a physical injury to the man.

“When did you get home?”

“Today.” A grunt was the response that you got and honestly, you hadn't expected much more. The house was dark, though it didn't matter much to Norman and you weren't going to say a damn thing. He led you to the kitchen, where he was having some coffee from the smell that lingered in the air.

“They have her in jail.” That perked your ears up as you eased yourself into the seat. Crutches were kept close by just in case quick movement was needed.

“Good.” Your voice had come out firmer than intended. But really, it was where the young woman deserved to be. She had killed someone, not just someone but a child. All because she had been stupid about drinking and driving. Frankly, at this rate, she shouldn't leave. Two lives permanently altered in ways that could never be repaired by one decision of a third party. Maybe it would have been just injuries to you and Emma if you had moved faster. Hurling your body in the way of the oncoming car in an attempt to get the girl out of the way or at least shield her to some degree had been an instant reaction. If only it would have worked.

Clearing your throat a little, you tried to shrug off the anger that had been growing in presence day after day for the last two weeks. “It's no less than deserved. The police hadn't been by to talk much to me besides that first week I was actually conscious. I've been a bit out of the loop on what is happening.” The idea of checking your phone had fallen to the wayside in the focus of getting ready to leave the hospital. He set a cup of coffee down in front of you without having asked. The warmth of the cup seeped into your chilled hands, causing you to close your eyes for just one moment.

“She'll rot in jail.” She better. But it wasn't like a trial was going to happen any time soon. Those things took time. An extended amount of time, with additional suffering to come for the both of you. Norman fell silent for a long while, staring off in that unseeing fashion of his, eyes seemingly focused just above your right shoulder. What more was there to say? “You're on crutches.” An observation without any real direction.

“Yep.”

“They wouldn't give you a prosthetic?”

“I opted not to get one right away. Getting out of there and home was more important to me. I have an appointment set up in two weeks with a physical therapist and someone who can fit me for one.” Your voice grew softer for just a second, obvious to the both of you. Was it self consciousness that caused it? A worry of bringing up something that would upset him?

“And your other injuries?” A wince that you were thankful could not see came before you could stop it. A feeling of guilt crawled the back of your throat, robbing you of your voice for a mere moment.

“Things that will heal with time. Some medicines for the rest of my life.” And the daily reminder that you just hadn't acted quick enough. Something that would haunt you every time you looked down and saw the empty space where your right left should have been. “All things that I can manage.” He hadn't said anything about himself, about how he was dealing. Poorly. There was no need to put a word to it but hearing it would at least lead in a direction of knowing what to do to help him. He was deflecting, though you had pleaded with him to let you in on the basis of not having him talk. Silently, you were able to reach out and carefully curl your fingers around his hand. For a brief moment, tension wracked you as the expectation of him pulling away reigned up. Instead, there was a slight tremble and he was curling his own fingers in response, squeezing her hand tightly.

*****

Daily trips over to Norman's became routine. It was good for the both of you, in all honesty. Getting out of the house instead of sulking around and wallowing, despite arguing that it wasn't a pity party, did you no good. And the same could be said for the older man. A familiar motion that helped dictate the day and forced the both of you to keep to a schedule. He was a little more open in talking about it, letting you know what the detectives had to say and where everyone was at with the case. You couldn't speak to the sinking feeling that rolled in your gut any time that it was discussed but it was shoved to the side and never mentioned. The man had enough stress.

He was good for forcing you to talk about where you were at with your physical therapy and the prosthetic. You had been fitted for it several weeks ago. Things weren't one size fits all. The molding process had been interesting, with a reassurance that it would be correct once it came in. And finally, after a long wait, it came in two days ago. You hadn't realized physical stress that just the therapy would have you going through, let alone the entire concept of learning to walk again. Because that was what it was. Relearning to walk. Balance would be all new, weight shifts entirely different, and movement to adjust to when it came to walking.

There had been an argument between yourself and your therapist that had left you stewing, in a rotten mood that was volatile at best. Norman had realized something was wrong when he ran into you while out walking Shadow. Shadow, as always, let out that excited bark and his tail started going a mile a minute. It was not acknowledged on your end and the silence was clearly enough of a tip off for him.

“Did it go that poorly today?” You jumped, startled by the comment, and the fact that he had engaged when you hadn't said a damn thing. A huff was the only response he got for a long moment.

“I ended up in an argument with my therapist.” The words were a little sullen. Not typical at all. He waited patiently, not saying anything else, forcing you to elaborate. Pulling the information out of you without being too forceful but with the knowledge that he could be as stubborn as you. “They wanted to keep the prosthetic there until I properly learned to walk….” The words caught for a moment, not wanting to admit to struggling with it. Everything about the weight distribution felt wrong to your body.

“I wanted to be able to bring it home so that I can work at my own pace, without all those eyes on me.” He hummed for a moment, not saying anything else right away, mulling over the information as his hands folded over top of his cane.

“They let you?”

“Yes.”

“Then why are you sitting here?”

“What?”

“If they let you bring it home, why are you sitting here and not walking?” The words that your therapist had said rang around your head. Coupled with the frustration over the entire situation, you had opted to sit and stew in the anger. It was easier. Mentally and physically. Still, Norman was right. And if there was one person in the world that you couldn't argue with right now, it had to be Norman. That sight less gaze seemed to settle on you, his head ever so slightly tilted, listening for your reaction. You knew the signs well enough by now. “Get your things and come over.” Now, that was entirely unexpected. Realizing that he was serious, you pulled yourself up and moved to grab everything into a bag.

*******

Norman knew his house intimately, which is the reason why he chose to do it in his space rather than yours. Every uneven floor board that would cause a balance shift, which wall would easily be reached as a brace if falling down. And how to move easily through the space, forcing you to move after him. Like a game of chase. An annoying game of chase.

But there seemed to be a method to his madness as you were starting to get the hang of movement. It wasn't just walking in a straight line. No, this was actual movement, natural in hoe you would operate day to day. There were plenty of stumbles, sending you crashing down to the hard wooden floor. But the gruff responses demanded that you get back to your feet.

Exhaustion began to tug at the edges of your consciousness. Muscles ached and protested each movement as they strained further and further under unfamiliar stress. The stumbles became more common and that sense of anger came rushing back, but along with it an embarrassment that you weren't picking up as fast as you wanted. That you were looking like a fool in front of Norman.

He had demanded that you attempt the stairs. Well, more like a suggestion without room for any argument. It took effort to even think at this point how to shift your weight and the movement needed to swing your leg. Norman was close this time, closer than he had been while moving throughout the house. A brace of sorts, just in case there ended up being a tumble down the stairs.

The first step was managed well enough, the second with a little more difficulty but by the third, your body had decided that it had enough. Thankfully, you want tumbling forward instead of backwards into Norman. Your fingers scrapped against the wood of the stairs, a shaky breath taken as your throat constricted for a moment.

“I think that's enough for today. Come on, let's get you resting.” The raspy, grizzled voice of the older man was the only thing keeping you tethered to reality at this point; grounding you in a way that let the desire to scream, to cry, to throw things fade into the background. You were tired, hurt, and angry. But the warm hands against your hips helped to guide you back to a standing position. “Think you can get back down? Or do you want the crutches?”

“Might as well try.” The stairs were narrow, so Norman couldn't stand beside you. But, he stayed in front of you despite the risk of being toppled into, hands remaining against your hips to help act as an extra brace. The stabilization actually helped as you managed to get down the two steps, nearly sagging into the wall to your left. The older man had the audacity to chuckle. You wanted to be upset about it but found that you didn't have it in you.

“We will work more tomorrow.”

“Norman, you don't have to…”

“I'll stop by after my morning walk with Shadow.” You knew the routine well enough after all. When the man had his mind made up, he was all but impossible to deter. It was in that moment that you realized his hands were still pressed against you. A fact that you hardly minded. They weren't moving and neither was he as he was still crowded close. The presence was both exciting and comforting. You would be a liar if you said that he hadn't felt attraction to the man, had since you had first met. But it had never seemed appropriate.

“Okay.” Again, it was an argument that wasn't going to be winnable. His mind was set. This close, you could see the way that his lips seemed to twitch upward, the hints of a smile present. And in response, you found yourself mirroring the expression. “I'll be ready.”

“Good.” With that confirmation, he pulled you away from the wall, as if you were nothing more than a feather in his grasp, one arm sliding around your waist to help you keep your balance. “You can take it off on the couch. Do you need to do anything with it now?”

“Gotta make sure I don't have any blisters, pressure patches, or breakdowns in the skin.” That was easy enough to focus on, even as the warmth of his body beside yours was making it difficult to focus. “I'll clean up when I get home and use the cream that they gave me.” He helped you get settled down on the couch.

“Can I?” His hands moved forward before hesitating. You hadn't had anyone besides the doctors and nurses touch the area. You hated having to do it yourself. But, as he waited for permission, you found that you couldn't deny the request.

Carefully, you took his hands and guided them to the prosthesis. Norman moved his hands slowly over the entire thing, kneeling beside the couch to be able to trail them down to the foot before back up, all the way up to your thigh.

“They did a good job.” Again, the touch lingered. For a second, you swore he could hear your heart racing, the almost unsteady beat loud in your ear. The moment was far more intimate than it had a right to be. Were you reading into it too much? Maybe. Norman hadn't exactly shown all that much interest in anything more than the steady friendship that had formed between the two of you.

“Yeah.” Finally, he pulled away and inched up to settle onto the couch beside you. The entire world felt off kilter, in an entirely new way. “Yeah, it's supposed to ultimately function better than some of the older models. I didn't exactly understand the technical stuff on how the knee hinge works but I know it cost the VA a pretty penny.”

Carefully, the process of removing it was begun. The movements were still a little foreign to you but something you were getting the hang of; eventually they had said you would be able to do it in your sleep. Norman's fingers wrapped around your forearm, squeezing lightly. Actions paused immediately, you glanced towards him, trying to determine what the touch was for.

“Give yourself a second.” You didn't understand what he meant. “You're shaking. And I can hear the little noises of pain.” You hadn't realized that you were even making noise, and now that he had pointed it out, you could feel the tremors in your hands and arms. He had noticed it all before it had registered.

After a few moments, the process was finished and you tucked the prosthetic in the bag, along with the sock. The skin was a little red and there were some indentations along the pressure points but overall, nothing looked worrisome or terrible. Thankfully.

“Better?” A rush of gratitude welled up. Shadow nudged your hand on the other side and in that moment, you realized that just as you hadn't wanted Norman alone, you weren't either. Swallowing hard to push back the emotion and chalking it up to the exhaustion that you were feeling, it took a second to respond.

“Yeah, better. Thanks, Norman.” Unable to help it, you found yourself leaning into him just a bit as you scratched Shadow behind the ear. It didn't feel like it was too much or stepping over the line after the way that Norman had been close before. Hopefully, that wasn't too bold an assumption. For a second, it may have been when he seemed to tense before you could feel him relax. The final reassurance was when his arm curled around your shoulders, an unfamiliar but incredibly comforting weight that brought a smile to your face.

#slasher writing #horror writing #slasher x reader #slasher x you #norman nordstrom x reader #norman nordstrom x you #norman nordstrom #don't breathe #don't breathe fic #the blind man x reader #the blind man x you #stephen lang characters

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