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generalllimaginesss · 5 months

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author’s note: I blacked out while writing this, so it will be as much of a surprise to me when I wake up and reread it as it will to you when you read it for the first time. It wasn’t requested, just something that my brain came up with and wouldn’t let me sleep until I finished it. It’s loosely based off of Olivia Rodrigo’s The Grudge and the movie Sweet Home Alabama (my favorite movie). Also, this is completely made up in my head and in no way reflects something that Luke Hughes has done, or will do. It’s also 2:06 AM and I can’t promise that it’s proofread very well because I can barely keep my eyes open (I worked a double today).

Warnings: cursing, ANGST, cheating, kinda sad but has a good ending. Slow beginning, but I promise it gets better!

Without further ado….

The Grudge

“Hello?”

The single word that was the catapult for the demise of your relationship. The single word that changed the course of what you pictured your future as.

Luke’s side of the call was silent, the only noise able to be heard was his breathing, heavy as if the weight of the world was crushing his lungs, deflating him of life.

He wasn’t supposed to be calling. He had told you he was having a guys week, a time for him to regroup with his brothers and friends at the lake house. It was his own little sanctuary away from the life that he had worked so hard for. A quiet place. He had asked for that time, to which you agreed, he needed a break.

“Luke? Everything ok?”

He wanted nothing more than to hang up the phone in that instance. The reality that he was about to destroy the last bit of trust that you held for him constricting him as he fought with his vocal cords, trying like hell to form some form of vocalization.

“I need to tell you something,” He managed to squeeze the words out, every bit of courage mustered into it. The feeling of facing the mistake that he had made seemed impossible compared to simply just refusing to acknowledge it. He could ignore it all, ghost you, and pretend like he had never ruined everything. He had ruined your relationship, your love. You. He had ruined you, including everything that came from the relationship the two of you developed a couple of summers before he had left to play for Michigan.

Ironic that it would begin and end during the summer.

“Ok. Are you-”

“Are you alone?”

His brothers will kill him when they find out, but your family? The thought of them being there to wipe your tears and listen to your rants that have to do with him break his heart. He had developed a special relationship with your dad, your mom always put a stocking out for him during the holiday season, your brother? He had taught your little brother how to skate, how to play hockey. Even though he couldn’t coach your little brother’s team, he had supported him since the beginning. He had bought him his first jersey. 43.

“Yeah, Luke. You’re scaring me.”

“God, I fucking hate myself. I’m so sorry,” Sobbing, the sound of his arm wiping his nose could be heard. He knew he shouldn’t cry. He chose this.

He knew he didn’t always treat you like you should have, no deserved, to be treated. He didn’t spend time with you like he should have, he didn’t tell you he loved you enough. When you yelled at him about things, he would scream back. He would never hit you, but his words cut through your core, sometimes feeling worse than what you imagined the sting of one of his slaps might feel like.

The anxiety that stemmed from Luke’s call gripped your lungs, confusion coursing through your body outweighing the blood that sucked at carrying the oxygen at the moment. There was nothing random about your relationship, he didn’t surprise you with anything, much less a phone call.

Something is wrong.

The silence was deafening, overwhelmingly so.

“I tried to tell myself that you would never find this out, but there was somebody taking pictures and I need you to hear it from me first, ok?” He closed his eyes forcing himself to find some shred of courage left inside of him.

“Ok,” The word was breathy as it left your lips, a courtesy to encourage him to continue.

“I cheated,” It flowed out of his mouth in such a casual way that it felt like somebody had stabbed you in the back, twisting the knife and watching as you writhed in pain. The taste of iron flooded your senses as you bit your cheek to hold yourself together.

“We went to one of the local bars. She was the bartender, she knew us. Trevor invited her to the house after her shift and me and her ended up alone together while the others were out back and one thing led to another…one of the guys took a picture and posted it on their story. They forgot about you.” He tried to explain it in a way that redeemed himself. He was only 20 years old…this bartender could’ve taken advantage of him, but you knew him.

He didn’t get close to just anybody, he was the gate to his space. Nobody would get through the gate if he didn’t want them to, including this girl. Which made the bile that was building in your throat much more bitter. The fact that he not only cheated, but is trying to play victim makes you bubble with rage. Luke Hughes was very good at many things, but the one thing he had never quite mastered the role of was “victim.”

The shock coursed through your body like metal to a magnet, searching endlessly for something to smash into and deciding your heart was the place to do that. It felt like you forgot to breathe, your lungs aching for a breath.

“Y/N?” He willed you to talk, silence causing more anxiety than your anger ever would have.

“I never would have done this to you,” Your whisper spoke more volumes than a scream would have, cutting through the phone and going straight through Luke’s body. He wished you would scream at him, tell him he fucked up, but the way you said those words made him feel like this was it. He couldn’t come back from this one.

“I’m sorry,” His words were meaningless, but he spoke them nonetheless.

Those two words sent you into a silent rage, one that wrecked the inside of your mind but couldn’t be seen by anyone else. You hung up the phone, throwing it across your room and immediately packing everything that had to do with Luke into a box that you found.

Packing 4 years worth of things that you acquired from him was emotionally draining, each article triggering memories through the years.

His first Michigan Hockey sweatshirt that he had bought himself packed into the bottom of the box reminded you of the date he had planned. He had snuck the two of you into the arena when no one was there and taught you to skate, skills that still stick with you to this day. His first hoodie became yours that night, the smell of his cologne long gone from the comfort it brought you many nights when you felt lonely.

A Devils snow globe and jersey that was decorated with the number 43, his number, packed next. He had bought it for you the day he was drafted, convinced that it would be worth something one day. And it was. Just not to you anymore. The snow globe was attached to a memory that was better left forgotten. It was for your birthday, which happened to be the day after his. When you had gone all out for his 20th birthday, buying him a new custom suit and designer shoes that required months of savings, he gave you a snow globe that “you could add to your collection.” You had said some backhanded things to him, a huge fight came from that. A fight on your birthday, something else that you would’ve never done to him.

The last items consisted of hoodies, a few pairs of sweatpants and boxers, and a couple of jackets. The last thing, however, was something that you didn’t know if you could part with.

It was a letter that Luke had wrote you for Valentine’s Day the second year of your relationship, a sweet surprise that you weren’t expecting with your usual bouquet of daisies and roses, your two favorite flowers.

When you doubted your relationship with Luke in the past, when arguments and fights felt like it was all it consisted of, you always found your way back to his letter. He had told you that you were his end game, that there would never be somebody else that was better suited for him. He poured his heart out in that letter, telling you that he was going to marry you one day. One day when he had made it to the NHL and could roll in money, he was going to buy a rock for your finger and a huge house for all of the babies that you talked about.

Rereading the letter normally made you remember the good times, when things were good, but under the circumstances now it made you want to burn it, to watch his words turn to ash, just like the promises he had made to you.

Meaningless. His words were meaningless now.

It wasn’t always his fault, no. There were instances where you said things that you knew hurt him, things that echoed in the back of his head every now and then. Something along the lines of him never being as good as his brothers, that he would always be in their shadow. That Luke Hughes would be known as “just another Hughes brother.”

Some days he felt like that statement couldn’t be more true, that he would never live up to the records that Quinn and Jack seemed to break every time they stepped on the ice. Some days he just couldn’t see it coming together for him.

But other days he knew he was determined to make a name for himself, for Luke. The Hughes name was a force to be reckoned with. Luke wanted to be even better than his last name. Whatever it took, sometimes at the expense of those around him.

You snatched the letter that was stuck in the corner of the mirror that perched on top of your dresser, the sound of the paper crisp beneath your fingertips. As much as you wanted to destroy the letter, you figured it would be better to send it back to Luke. He needed to see all of the promises he broke and hurt he’s caused.

The paper was the last thing in the box, folded neatly on top of everything else.

Closing the box, you carried it to your car, placing it in the backseat behind the driver’s side. If there’s one thing that could be payback to Luke, it was telling his parents. He thrived on his parent’s approval, likely a symptom of being the youngest brother of an extremely successful family.

Ellen and Jim’s faces burned the back of your mind, so many memories that consisted of the two of them. Countless games at Michigan were spent with the two of them, as well as a couple of trips to New Jersey. You had helped Ellen cook supper many times, and watched as Jim coached his sons. Ellen’s pep talks were rarely intended for you, but you always felt like something could be learned from her wisdom.

The drive was silent, muscle memory the only way you could manage to get there in the state you were in. You didn’t know if the lights were green or if you used your blinker, all you could think about was Luke admitting to cheating. All of the shit you had been through with each other, all of the petty fights, had finally come to a head. You may have gone low, below the belt at some point in time, but this? You never could have ruined him like this, no matter how bad you wanted to.

As hurt as you were, you were numb. Tears wouldn’t fall, your body still in shock over the news.

As you drove up the paved driveway to the house that had become your second home, the emotions hit you when you saw Ellen in the flower beds, digging up weeds and planting new flowers.

She had heard a car approaching, causing her to look up and recognize you. Although she loved for you to visit, you normally didn’t come over unless Luke was with you, especially now that him and Jack owned the lake house.

She wiped at the sweat that was beading her forehead, dirt from her work gloves sticking in some of her blonde locks that were glued to her face. She smiled at you, before confusion flashed and she saw that you were carrying a box.

“Hi, Doll! Luke’s not here, but I’m glad you stopped by!” Her warm tone and kind smile didn’t fade, even if she did notice something off about your demeanor.

Her voice broke you. Maybe it wasn’t a good idea to bring her and Jim into this. Maybe you should have just threw everything that connected you to Luke in a garbage can and called it a day.

“Sweetie, what’s wrong?” She walked towards you with her arms open, noticing your quivering lips and teary eyes.

She was drenched in sweat from the summer sun, but you didn’t mind it. Dropping the box on the driveway, you allowed her to wrap her arms around you tightly. Her embrace gave you comfort as sobs racked through your body. How could such a loving mom and dad create such a jack ass? They had done perfect with 2/3 of their sons…what happened with Luke?

“Do you want to go inside? Jim’s working on a sink faucet, but he won’t mind,” She ushered you inside, her hand gently pushing your back.

Nodding, you wiped your nose on your sleeve and allowed her to walk you inside. She quickly washed her hands at the sink Jim was working at, earning a few objections from him, but she hushed him and motioned to you.

His face filled with concern as he noticed something wrong with you. He could fix a lot of things, but girls was something he would leave to his wife.

The leather of the couch soothed the heat that the summer sun had left on your skin. Ellen joined, sitting next to you as she rubbed your back, calming you. She truly was like a second mom.

“Is everything ok?” She held onto your arm, the pressure from her fingers sending tingles to your brain.

“No,” You croaked, the single word rattling your throat as it struggled to exit.

“What happened?” Her voice had dropped below her regular volume, but above a whisper. She cut her eyes at Jim who was attempting to listen from the kitchen.

“He cheated…”

The shock hit his parents as hard as it did you. Quinn would never cheat, Jack? It was questionable sometimes. But they’re baby? The one that had endured the lectures from his parents the longest, the one that had seen his brother’s mistakes and learned from them, the one that seemed so in love with you that nothing could ever separate you both? It seemed nearly impossible. Surely it was a mistake.

“How do you know? The press always lies…” She trailed off, your eyes connecting to hers.

“He told me,” The strength you tried to regain from your prior meltdown was useless as your voice trembled, “…said that he wanted to tell me before somebody else did.”

“Oh, Honey. I’m so sorry,” She pulled you into her arms, watching as Jim rounded the corner to join. You were like the daughter the two of them had always wanted, so seeing you hurt killed them in return. And at the hands of their son? They were immensely disappointed. They didn’t raise him like this.

“I’m so sorry, I didn’t know what to do, and I probably should have left you both out of it,” Your attempts at stopping the free-flowing tears were useless, so you embraced each one as it fell, “…um, I brought his stuff back. I know he’s at the lake house, but I don’t think I can see him right now. I really wish we could have worked. You two will never know how much you and your boys mean to me.”

“Likewise, sweet girl. I wish I could make this all better. You may not feel like it right now, but our family will always hold a spot for you,” Ellen reassured, a hum of agreement resonating within Jim.

“Anytime you want, and I’m serious, our door will always be open for you. No matter the time or circumstance, do you understand?” Jim waited for you to respond, a nod of your head, before embracing you again.

Their words meant so much, but the hurt still ached, seemingly never ending.

You said your goodbyes, taking in the house that you would probably never see again. The walls holding memories that only those in the house would ever understand or appreciate.

Closing the front door felt like closing a chapter on your life. A chapter that felt like it was ending in the middle with no resolve, but it closed.

It needed to.

———

As the New Year approached, your parents reminded you of the plans they had that would draw them away from home. They claimed that they celebrated Christmas with you, but the New Year meant that you were alone in a house that felt big and lonely while they celebrated with their fellow group of middle aged parents.

The months had passed, agonizingly, since Luke’s cheating admittance. The summer turned to fall and fall into winter, getting colder like you were allowing your heart to do.

A few dates here and there did nothing but remind you that the guy wasn’t Luke. They should’ve been better than Luke since they actually treated you with respect and checked every box that a girl had.

But the lack of teasing, of being the biggest pain in your ass and best friend, made the hole in your life bigger. You were sure nothing would help, not even the texts from Ellen and Jim, periodically, made it better.

They all consisted of the same topic: “How are you doing?”

It was the same old same old, until it wasn’t. Until Ellen texted you after Christmas asking you about your plans for New Year’s Eve. The Hughes had always thrown a party for the New Year, packed to the brim with people.

When Ellen asked if you had plans, you had every intention on lying and saying yes. Saying that you had a date and that he was taking you to see the countdown and fireworks that followed, but something told you to tell the truth. So you did.

After you had admitted to her that you, in fact, would be all alone, she reached out and invitation to join them.

The invitation had toggled in your mind for a few days now. On one hand, you wanted to go see how everybody was, talk to his brothers, catch up with his friends. On the other, you wanted to stay home in your pajamas and watch Andy Cohen get shitfaced with Anderson Cooper while wondering if Luke would kiss somebody for the occasion.

The saying “curiosity killed the cat” proved to be true as you had finally decided to go, a sparkly gold dress accentuated your curves, hugging you in all of the right places, the places that Luke had once yearned for. You don’t know how, but your makeup was flawless, your eyeshadow bringing out your eyes in a way that you had never seen, but you loved it. Maybe this was revenge?

Even though you hadn’t made the drive in over 6 months, you still knew it like the back of your hand. Your nerves were working overtime, anxiety squeezing your thoughts the closer you got to the Hughes’ residence.

What if Luke had a new girlfriend? What if his parents were the only ones that wanted you there? Was this actually a good idea?

Too late now.

There was probably 25 or more cars that littered the driveway, most carrying a minimum of 2 people. It was a relief, maybe you could just blend in with the rest of them. A chameleon in the house of your ex lover.

Music blared, drifting from the backyard into the front, making the walk to the door less daunting of a task. There was no use in knocking, the sound of talking and music would most likely just drown it out, so you took a breath as you pushed the door open. It appeared to be the spot for the more mature crowd, Jim spotting you as soon as you walked in.

He was confused as to who you were at first, but as soon as you gave him a shy smile his face lit up with excitement. He had missed you more than he realized.

“Y/N! What a nice surprise! Come in, make yourself at home,” He squeezed you in a tight hug before relinquishing you.

“Y/N! Oh my, I wasn’t expecting you to come, but I’m so glad you did!” Ellen squealed, the clinking of her heels against the hardwood floors becoming faster as she did her best to jog to you, embracing you like her life depended on it. It lasted a few seconds before she held you out at arms length, examining you.

“Gosh, you look absolutely stunning! That dress was made for you!” She gushed.

“Thank you! I just decided to throw something together last minute. I should have let you know I was coming, but I honestly didn’t decide until right before I got dressed,” you chuckled, explaining the lack of communication on your part.

“Honey, you do not have to explain a single thing to me! I’m just so happy you’re here!” She hugged you again, rocking you side to side.

“The kids, sorry, young adults are out back. I do have to warn you…Luke did bring a date,” As she explained the dilemma, you expected yourself to break down. When it didn’t, relief washed over you. It had been almost 7 months, why wouldn’t Luke have moved on? You couldn’t be mad at him for that part, but you still held a grudge against him for allowing you to love him as much as you did and shattering your heart in the end.

There was never another conversation between the two of you. His parents never brought him up, he had never attempted to contact you, so the resolve was the fact that you returned everything. He had nothing left connecting him to you. That was how it was supposed to be, so there was no need to communicate with you. He had gotten the message loud and clear when he had returned home to a box of his things in his old bedroom and an ass-chewing from his parents and brothers. One that he would never wish on his worst enemy.

He learned from his mistake, but felt like the very toxic situation between the two of you was better left where it was: untouched.

He had been trying to move on ever since, sleeping with any girl that reminded him of you, sneaking them out before Jack had noticed, or simply just embracing the newness of being alone. It sucked at first, but he got used to it.

Ellen’s face flushed with concern at the momentary silence that followed her statement, scared that she would scare you off with the news of her son, your ex, having a date that wasn’t you.

“Ellen, it’s ok! I’m a big girl, I can handle it,” Making light of the situation was easier to fake on the outside, but trying to convince yourself was a bit harder.

You talked to Ellen and Jim for a few more minutes, catching them up on the latest details of your life, and then grabbed a Michelob to give you some liquid courage as you walked to the backyard.

There was people dancing, circles of people talking, various games being played, the scene never-ending as your eyes scanned over them. A few people locked eyes with you, recognizing you as the ex, but most everybody just continued to do whatever it was that they were doing. It wasn’t until Quinn’s eyes softened from his party vibes to concerned big brother that you felt nerves wrack your body. He immediately excused himself from the group he was talking to, making his way through the small sea of people to get to you.

For a split second you wanted to run away, but the rational side of you talked you down. It was just Quinn. Quinn had done nothing to you except loved you as if you were his own sister, so why would you run?

“Y/N! I wasn’t expecting you…how are you?” You immediately threw your arms around his torso, him returning the gesture, his hug similar to the way Ellen had hugged you.

“I’m good! I had no other plans and Ellen seemed like she really wanted me here…”

“Yeah, she hasn’t shut up about you,” He laughed, recalling how his mom mentions you anytime a girl was over, even one that Luke brought, and always comparing them to you when they left.

You were the standard that she held possible daughter-in-laws to, but they never lived up to you, she would admit.

“Gotta love her,” You chuckled, a slight awkward tension fell between you, a foreign, icky, awkwardness.

“That you do,” Quinn tried to repair the conversation, but some friends began to pull him away. He had mentioned to not leave before telling him bye, and then left with the group.

“Didn’t think you’d show up here,” The voice turned your blood to ice, freezing up what the beer had tried to let loose prior. No matter how many ways you envisioned this interaction to go down, nothing could have prepared you for hearing his voice after so long. It wasn’t like “nails on a chalkboard” irritating, but more along the lines when you pick a scab and it starts bleeding again.

That’s quite literally what it was. He was an old wound in your life that was becoming irritated because it was being messed with. No matter how much time had passed, it was still sensitive.

“Well, didn’t think I would be here either. It’s just as much a surprise to me as it is to you,” You turned around, met with the beautiful, curly-haired boy that was once your everything and a petit blonde that was his temporary. She was gorgeous, you’d give her that. But it wasn’t real beauty. It was bought. There’s nothing wrong with that, but her bleach blonde hair, fake tan, and push-up bra was irritating like nails on a chalkboard.

“Do you mind going to get us something to drink?” He turned to his date, giving him the empty bottle that his hand wrapped around.

“Is that a Michelob Ultra?” You almost snorted, her question a breath of fresh air in this unfortunate meeting.

“Not her and I, you and I,” Luke quickly cleared up.

She left with a smirk playing at her lips, kissing his cheek and heading inside.

“God, please let’s go somewhere else,” He grabbed your arm, tugging you to a secluded, area beside the shed out back. Your brain told you to rip your arm from his grip and scold him for thinking it was okay to ever touch you again, but your deemed in control and allow his touch to erupt butterflies in your tummy.

“I don’t know what I was thinking bringing her here,” he groaned, realizing he was still holding onto you, quickly letting go.

“She seems more Jack’s type, if you ask me,” You suggested, Luke squinting his eyes at your words.

“Good thing I didn’t ask…” He may have been the reason the relationship ended, but he wasn’t going to put up with any slander that you had for his current life. The life that didn’t include you.

“Whatever, why did you bring me here?” You looked around at the spot. It had definitely been a spot where the two of you had snuck off to make out several times, escaping the teasing of his older brothers.

“To talk…” He shift his weight to his heels, his hands finding warmth in the pockets on his pants.

“Oh! To talk about you being a complete dipshit and cheating on me this past summer? Yes, let’s talk about that!” Sarcasm dripped from your voice like venom from a snake, targeting the next victim: Luke.

“I’m sorry…” Again, the empty apologies were beginning to grind at you now. You didn’t want the apologies or the excuses. You wanted him to shut up for once, hear you out, and then come up with a genuine apology. He had said his piece, now it was time for you to say yours.

“No, Luke. You’re not sorry for cheating, you’re sorry you got caught. Save the apologies for when you actually mean them,” You started, him immediately shutting up and listening.

“We were so fucking toxic. You know it, I know it. The whole world probably knows it by now. But, God, I loved you so much. I would have spent my whole life trying to fight for that stupid relationship and you turned around and threw it all away. And for what? Some temporary pleasure? You couldn’t keep it in your pants long enough to get back to me?” Your words shot through him, like bullets hitting glass, shattering the surrounding areas. He couldn’t argue because everything that you were saying was true, but he’d be damned if he let you find satisfaction in being right.

“You said it yourself, it was toxic! You probably would’ve found a problem with me being there without you, anyway!” He tried to defend himself, but he was fanning a flame that he shouldn’t be messing with right now.

“Don’t you dare try to manipulate me into thinking your cheating was justified! Luke Hughes, I’ve said some fucked up shit throughout the years, but I never have, and never will ruin your trust. That’s the type of shit that lasts a lifetime. I can’t date anybody else because there’s always that ‘what if’ of them cheating!” Tears brimmed your eyes, softening the wall that surrounded Luke’s heart. He was a tough guy, but the sight of you hurting was a soft spot for him, an Achilles heel.

“You promised me a future, and then turned around and burned it to the ground without a second thought once you got a taste of fame,” Your finger poked at his chest hard enough for him to wince, expecting to see bruises the next morning.

“You’re a liar! A fucking liar and cheater!” Your voice broke as the words left your mouth, but Luke took the verbal beating that he deserved.

“Do you think I want to be labeled as a cheater, Y/N?! I’ve prayed for months that I’d just wake up and it not be real, that we’d still be together!”

“Awe, so sad, Luke. Truly heart wrenching!” You grabbed at your heart, feigning compassion as he began to clench his jaw, the muscle flexing as his annoyance rose. It was hot, but not hot enough for you to do anything about it.

“Stop being such a bitch, it may suit you, but it doesn’t mean you have to wear it.” His eyes grew dark, almost challenging you to see who would win in a game of insults.

“Oh, I’m sorry. I forgot I was supposed to act however you deemed fit. Even if you’re a cheater…”

“I cheated, I’m not a cheater,” he tried to correct, a viscous chuckle tumbling from your mouth in response.

“I’m not! That’s the one and only time that it will ever happen, I can promise you that!” His voice rose in volume as he continued to defend himself.

“Oh, one and done Luke! How nice! My trust is fixed, so there’s nothing left to worry about!” The sound of people counting down in the background didn’t distract you.

10…9….8…

“If I’ve had anything in the past months it’s peace in knowing I don’t have to put up with your fucking nagging anymore!”

7…6…5…

“Yeah, and I don’t have to worry about you fucking some rando anymore!”

4…3…2…

“Shut the fuck up and kiss me.”

1…

“HAPPY NEW YEAR!” The voices erupted behind the shed, but the whirlwind of a kiss muffled it all.

Luke eagerly pulled your face toward him, his lips colliding as intensely as a train hitting a car on the tracks. An accident waiting to happen, but there nothing that could be done about it.

It took a second or two, but you kissed back with the same passion as him, him pushing you backwards until your back hit the wall of the shed.

His lips were like home, sweet and comforting. The remnants of his vodka redbull tempting your taste buds to plunge deeper, but you didn’t, you let him set the pace.

One of his hands tilted your chin up, steadying it as the other pulled you closer from the small of your back. Every sense inside of you erupted in fireworks as his tongue tried to gain entrance into your mouth, but you stood your ground, or tried to at least.

The hand that steadied your chin found itself wrapped around your neck, the shock causing you to gasp as he gained entrance.

“Luke! I finally found something to drink, but we missed our-” The voice immediately tore the two of you apart, the fireworks over the lake and store bought pretty interrupting the fireworks that were going off inside of you. Your breathing was a little shallow as you tried to control it again.

“-kiss. What the hell.” She glanced between the two of you before storming off, her stiletto sinking into the grass as she desperately tried to remove it from her foot.

Luke groaned, but the chirping had just begun for you, “One and done, huh?”

“Me and her aren’t even dating!” He squealed.

“We’re talking about this tomorrow, Y/N. Do you understand me?” He pointed at you as he began to smooth over yet another failed attempt at dating, but he wasn’t going to reconcile that one.

“Aye aye, Captain,” You gave him a silly salute, earning an eye roll from him, but as soon as he turned away from you the smile wouldn’t disappear.

Call you crazy, but you hadn’t felt butterflies for a long time, probably since his note to you. What you felt tonight was an army of butterflies being obliterated by fireworks. The feeling of his fingers around your neck, his jaw muscle contracting, everything about him had turned you on.

Did you really fold that easily?

Oh well. The thought of the next day, the possibility of getting him back, along with his family far outweighed your pride.

He could be your Luke once more.

#nhl imagine #nhl fic #jack hughes #nhl fanfiction #quinn hughes #trevor zegras #alex turcotte #cole caufield #jack hughes imagines #nico hischier #luke hughes x you #luke hughes x reader #luke hughes imagine #luke hughes x y/n #my brain is fried from writing this #but I couldn’t stop writing

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jester-lover · 1 year

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Boys Don't Cry

comforting your boy when he needs it the most (part 1)

cw- angst, fluff, hurt/comfort, body insecurities, mortality, discussions of depression, unbearably sweet

Riddle

Riddle tried to wipe his face with the edges of his bedspread, everything was going wrong. Ace and Deuce ruined his tea party, half of his guests didn’t show up, and he spilled tea all over himself.

If his mother was here, she’d mock him for his emotion, his insolence and inability to keep his composure.

His lower lip quivered, and he broke out into sobs again.

The worst part of it all, however, was that you were there. You saw how he lost his temper and yelled at the freshmen, losing all of his gentlemanly composure.

He turned around and faced the long mirror against his dresser, his face was red and swollen with tears, and his nice new shirt was ruined.

He felt like a fool.

Riddle got up out of bed, looking to go speak with Trey about further action, when he saw you standing in the doorway, a soft smile on your face. His tears bubbled up again.

“I’m so so s-sorry I didn’t mean for-”

You leaned in closer and wrapped your arms around his shoulders. His arms found their place against your waist.

“It’s okay, it wasn’t your fault, you have nothing to apologize for.”

His sobs were muffled by the shoulder of your shirt, as you kissed his hairline and rubbed his back.

“Let it all out Riddle, cry as much as you need to, I’ll be here.”

His tears quelled as your hands moved up to brush against his hair. His arms against your waist tightened.

Leona

Leona looked out the big window in his room, he slowly undid the braids in his hair, taking deep unordered breaths.

His brother had sent a letter again, asking for him to return for a visit over summer. Deep down, Leona knew Farena had good intentions, but the idea of returning to the palace made bile rise up his throat.

He reached for the hairbrush on his side, only to realize tears had begun blurring his vision.

Leona couldn’t understand why he hated his brother, who had only been kind with him. Maybe it was the press constantly comparing the two of them, or the sense of inferiority he felt around him. Whatever it was, he didn’t care. He didn't want to see Farena, not when he’s finally beginning to feel content.

The tears began rolling down, and Leona wiped them off furiously. His hands were shaking and he dropped the brush back onto his bed. His shoulders shook too.

“Leona.”

His head snapped toward the door, you stood there, still and frowning. He just stared at you.

“Do you need some help with your hair?”

Leona nodded, his head down, hoping you wouldn't see the tear tracks on his face. You moved to kneel on the bed beside him, breath touching his ear. Slowly, you untangled the knots along his nape, slowly adjusting to move near his forehead, keeping your hand steady,as to not to catch a knot too fast. Leona continued to stare outside, into the falling sun. He was thinking again.

Slowly, after you finished with his hair, you wrapped your arms around his still shoulders. He brought one of his hands to rub your arm, leaning back against your touch.

“You deserve more than this.”

His words have a sense of tiredness to them, like he’s been meaning to say them for a while.

“I’ve got everything I need, everything I could ever want.”

You can see his reflection in the glass, his smile.

Azul

The door of his office slammed shut, Azul looked at himself with disdain, breaking apart all the points of himself he didn’t like.

The silence of his sanctuary helped him think back, to all those moments as a chubby little octopus. His thoughts turned to the stretch marks on his back and hips, and he went to go sit at his desk.

Moments of self hatred had slowly dissipated as his career and reputation grew, but deep inside he knew he’d always be that little boy, crying his inky tears.

He put his head in his hands. No tears came, only thoughts swirled around his head.

“Azul, would you like to help me solve this?”

You stood by the end of his desk, he didn't notice you come in, and he raised his head up to look at you. You held a small wood puzzle in your hand.

His stupid self hatred disappeared, and a feeling of warm fuzziness rose in his chest. His regular charisma returned.

“Of course I would.”

Vil

A crumpled mass of magazines littered the floor of Vil’s room, he was hunched over his vanity in a display that ashamed him.

A new poll was entered into his favorite fashion magazine, pitting him and Neige against each other.

Niege had won by a landslide.

Vil’s mascara ran down his cheeks, he wished you were there to comfort him, but you were busy doing whatever Crowley had planned for you. He was proud of your hard work of course, but as he desperately wiped his makeup away with cleanser, he knew he needed you by his side.

knock knock

“U-um please wait a moment, I need to recuperate myself.”

The last thing he needed was an annoying freshman or nosy sophomore disrupting him.

“Vil, dear it's just me, could you please open the door?”

He rose out of his chair in a hurry, reaching for the door and pulling it open, quickly shutting it after you.

At this point his shoulders were heaving, and his breathing was uneven as his hands curled at his shirt, digging back into his palms.

“Hey, hey Vil, it’s gonna be fine, it’ll all be fine.”

He reached for you quickly, pulling you against his chest, brushing his hands against your head, his other wrapped snugly around your waist. He was silent.

“What happened, Vil?”

He turned his red face towards you, grasping your face in his hands, and pressing your foreheads together until his breathing slowly turned normal again.

“I don’t know, maybe- maybe this was the final straw, I’ve just had a terrible week and now my runway shoot is delayed and I think they might drop me-”

His sobbing started up again, and he went back to hugging you, head pressed firmly into your shoulder.

“I understand, Vil, feeling like the world is turning its back on you.”

Your fingers brushed his back, and his hands loosened.

“Around me, you're free to do whatever you need, I can never see you in a negative light.”

Vil beamed.

Idia

Idia felt himself weasel his head out of the thick bed sheets, his messy hair clearly not cared for. There was knocking on his door, and he quickly looked at the security cameras.

It was you, looking as radiant as the sun. He looked down at his pajamas.

Slowly he opened the door, and you gave him a hug and littered kisses all over his face.

He turned a little red, and looked at the ground. By this point, he would have asked to play a game or watch an anime, but he was silent.

“Hey, Idia, are you okay? Is something wrong?”

He smiled a little at how quickly you could read his mood. Your hand moved up and grasped the side of his jaw.

“Don’t you ever want a more adventurous boyfriend?”

You looked at him with a puzzled look on your face, mouth slowly turning into a frown.

“I much prefer you, Idia.”

His face fell, tears beaded at his eyes as your second hand came up to cup his face.

Idia felt like a tall child.

“You could have anyone.”

His voice was quiet and still.

“But I only want you.”

Idia leaned down and pressed a kiss on your forehead.

Malleus

The cool night air kissed malleus’s skin as he waited for you to come out of Ramshackle. He watched you slip out of the door and come up to him, pressing a kiss against his hand.

The only thing Malleus saw was the large bandage on your cheek. He grazed the spot with the back of his fingers.

“Child of man, what happened here?”

You laughed and grasped his hand.

“I was walking through the forest looking for clean branches for the fireplace, and I tripped over a root.”

Malleus thought for a second, a fall of that nature wouldn't even phase him, he would probably not even fall in the first place with his natural grace.

For you however, such an incident would leave a permanent scar, he wouldn't like to think about what would have happened if you had hit your head, alone in those unforgiving woods.

Flashes of fear ran through his head, regarding your mortality and human clumsiness.

He went quiet, even more than usual, and squeezed your hand.

Malleus knew that one day you’d leave him, grow older and slip through his fingertips like the wind. Normally he ignored such thoughts, choosing to spend every hour cherishing you, but now a sense of dread filled him and he felt weak to the power of natural order. Suddenly he turned around, giving you a firm hug around the shoulders.

“Malleus, what’s up, are you okay?”

He kissed your head, leaning down to look at you.

“Do you ever think of your mortality?”

He could see the wires turn in your head, and you gave him a sweet smile.

“Sometimes, but then I remember how happy I am, spending all of my days with you.”

His eyes closed for a moment, before opening again.

“Your life is fickle, short, and the most valuable thing in my world.”

He parted from your embrace.

“I wish to make your life as enjoyable as possible, especially as you rule by my side.”

Malleus saw tears brimming in your eyes. He smiled.

“Your life will be spent laughing and smiling, but after it ends I will spend forever yearning for you.”

The tears fell as you leaned against him.

“I will love you until my last breath, Malleus.”

“And I will too, Child of Man.”

Sebek

“How annoying can he get?”

“Someone doesn't understand noise control.”

“Stay away from him, he’ll make your ears hurt.”

Sebek had grown used to ignoring the lingering words he heard in the halls, and he held his head up high. No matter how often he felt unimportant in human spaces, he knew he always had a place with you.

“Human! How did your classes go today?”

You smiled at him, grabbing his hand and walking alongside him.

“How can someone like them like someone like him? He’s insufferable.”

Sebek turned his head around, but whoever said it had already disappeared into the crowd of students.

He turned his head back in shame, something about being insulted around you made him feel insecure and upset.

“Whoever said that clearly hasn’t ever been passionate about anything.”

Sebek turned to look at you, he was quiet for once.

“Listen, no matter what anyone says about you, you have joy in your job in a way none of those idiots will ever feel.”

Sebek could feel his smile start to show again.

“Of course you think that! Any human would be glad to spend time with the retainer of the great Malleus Drac-”

AN/my sincere apologies to all the Kalim fans, I seriously couldn’t think of anything for him

2K notes · View notes

deepouterspacecandy · 2 months

Text

Our Sanctuary of Ruin: Part Two

18+ Only. Violence, graphic sexual content, gore, references to death.

The thought of Abby being a mother absolutely melts me. There are tough themes in this one, but there’s a whole lot of fluff and domestic bliss mixed in, too. I’m taking a brief break from writing because my training schedule is intense, but I’ll definitely check back regularly to respond to your comments and asks. Thank you a million. I appreciate you.

The corridors of the stadium are a disorienting maze of shadow and rot.

Dust-covered lenses bleed a florescent glow onto the dusty walls below, emergency bulbs buzzing eerily.

It’s hard to imagine that just a few hours ago, people were rushing to their rooms and plowing through the crowd toward the exit gates. Now, it seems only remnants of them remain to stumble upon.

The wailing sirens persisted until the generators sputtered their final breath, the deafening noise resonating across the city to beckon every infected from miles around.

If, by some stroke of luck, you were able to escape, you would have simply found yourself trapped in the brutal clutch of a slow and agonizing demise.

“Can you hold the baby for a second?” Abby asks.

The unsettling stillness in the air is haunting, and with every clumsy stumble of a reanimated corpse triggering the motion detector, it amplifies the chill seething under your skin.

A cascade of light flickers on just long enough to reveal the macabre sights scattered across the field.

Abby’s heavy hand landing on your shoulder startles you.

“I need you to take the baby, okay? I’ll be right back.”

“No,” you say. “You are not leaving.”

That she would even suggest it, given everything you’ve just experienced together, leaves you stammering. Fear, camouflaged as anger, lingers at the edge of your voice.

“Don’t you dare leave my sight,” you say. “Do you hear me?”

Her arm cradles the bundle of blankets, and you can’t help but marvel at how delicate the infant looks against her broad chest. It’s taken a small miracle to soothe the baby and bring an end to the incessant crying. You’re reluctant to interrupt the peace and risk another wave of violence.

Glass shards crunch beneath her boots while she sways to a lullaby only she can hear.

“I have always come back for you,” she says, gently cupping your jaw, tilting your chin to meet her gaze. “Haven’t I?”

“Abigail, don’t.”

“I can’t leave them like this,” she says.

Murky dread twists at the pit of your stomach as you shift your gaze beyond her and peer into Jordan’s apartment. From floor to ceiling, their windows are a shattered mosaic of broken dreams.

As you reach for the baby, their tiny body wriggles uncomfortably, until you find yourself naturally swaying back and forth, mirroring Abby’s movements.

Small eyelids flutter open, and in the absence of light, a luminous galaxy of guiding stars reveals itself.

“Hi, there,” you say, your voice a strained whisper. “You are so small. How are you this little, huh?”

“I can make this better,” Abby says, leaning in to press her lips to your forehead, snuffling to hold back her tears. “I’m going to make this better, okay?”

Despite the madness of an impossible world, Abby always keeps her promises.

----------------------------------------

The grassy, sweet notes of green tea drift down the hallway from the kitchen, where you can hear Abby humming a familiar tune.

You bury your face into the silk pillow beside you, its shape still molded by her presence. The fabric feels refreshingly cool against your skin, and as you take a deep breath, the subtle muskiness of moss and ferns blends harmoniously with the citrus notes of pine.

A small child clings to you like a little sloth, having snuck in at some point during the night. Despite the ache in your back, there’s a strange relief in already knowing where they are before your feet touch the floor.

“You awake back there, Caelus?” you whisper, your voice carrying a sleepy rasp.

When their only reaction is soft exhale, you allow it to be.

You still have a few precious moments to surrender to sleep, and the drowsiness pulls you back in. The sound of Abby packing up for work is a comforting ruckus, a reminder she will be waiting for you somewhere nearby when you wake up.

With each passing morning, as the sun makes its gradual climb into the sky, you and your child set off on your route to the schoolhouse, delighting in the energy that accompanies your journey.

“What’s this one?” Caelus asks.

In their state of fascination with insects, they eagerly point at a beetle, its iridescent shell catching the light. Abby always stays updated on topics like these, and you hate not knowing, so you make your best effort not to seem ignorant in front of your own child.

“It’s a Doodlebug,” you lie.

“Oh!”

“It’s kind of pretty, isn’t it?” you ask.

Caelus shakes their head and wrinkles their nose, mirroring Abby’s notorious expression of uncertainty.

“His feet are too prickly,” they say.

The child kneels to get a closer look, but when the beetle abruptly flies away, causing them to scream in surprise, it’s confirmation that Caelus dislikes Doodlebugs completely.

Moving through the thoroughfare, the sharp aroma of charred wood fills your nose, while colourful murals bring life to the buildings lining the path.

Scattered throughout the streets, small flower gardens bloom, greeting the season.

While the settlement operates with the guidance of a small committee and the active participation of all its inhabitants, the community holds your family with Abby in high esteem as the town’s original founders.

The diligent work put into making the residents feel safe and cared for is clear in the warm greetings you receive wherever you go.

----------------------------------------

The moment your child catches sight of Abby in the distance, their eyes become saucers. They yank on your arm before jumping up and down, flailing their hands to get her attention.

Piecing together salvaged metal sheets and reclaimed materials, Abby and her crew work together to repair a section of the wall damaged by recent storms. At intervals along the perimeter, guard towers stand tall, manned by residents who are ardent about defending their home.

Under the morning sun, Abby’s powerful body glistens with sweat, showcasing her unwavering dedication to removing the sleeves from all her shirts. The sight of her muscles flexing makes you want to take a pair of scissors to every piece of clothing she owns.

Your little one races towards Abby with great speed, their shoes pounding across the pavement.

Amidst the crowd of early risers, laughter erupts, adding a bright ambiance to the atmosphere as they admire Caelus before going about their daily tasks. The thing that really stands out to you is how thrilled Abby looks when she spots the people she loves approaching.

“Found you, Mama!” Caelus shouts.

Abby skillfully grabs hold of the human cannon hurtling towards her, twirling around until they both become too disoriented to remain on their feet. Joyfully, they roll together to the ground. When your child crashes into Abby once more, she lands flat on her back and bursts into rumbling laughter, summoning you to join in the merriment.

“When did you get so strong?” she asks.

“Today!” your child exclaims, their eyes shining with triumph. “Look at my guns!”

You give Abby a playful scolding, your hands firmly planted on your hips.

“What are you teaching our child?”

“How to be cool and awesome, obviously,” she retorts. With Caelus sprawled across her chest, Abby gently digs her fingers into their tiny ribs, causing their cackles to bubble up like an overflowing brook. “Right, Cae? Or are you just ticklish?”

Your child gasps for air and pins Abby with a serious look when the giggle attack subsides.

“How come you’re not ticklish?” they ask.

“Oh, I am,” Abby says. “But only mommy knows all my secret spots.”

“That’s not fair,” Caelus grumbles.

Manny hobbles over on his crutches, curiosity piqued by the commotion. Despite his arduous path to recovery, he never hesitates to contribute, continuing to be the finest marksman you’ve ever encountered.

Caught up in the moment, your little one forgets about Manny’s injuries and impulsively jumps on him.

In a reflexive action, you shout, propelling yourself forward to intervene and prevent what’s unfolding. Manny’s response is a calm smile and a dismissive shake of his hand, as he brushes off your unease.

“Sorry, Uncle Manny,” Caelus says.

“I am not made of glass,” Manny snorts, tousling the child’s hair. “No worries.”

As you watch them venture along the newly repaired wall, chatting amongst themselves, a wave of guilt washes over you for raising your voice.

With a dirt-streaked forearm shielding her eyes, Abby looks up at you, her gaze a mix of empathy and unmistakable hunger.

“You know this is my favourite outfit, right?” she says.

“I think you’ve mentioned it.”

Lost in thought, you stand there, arms crossed over your chest, gaze fixed unseeingly on your sneakers.

Abby tugs on your shoelace, untying them and compelling you to join her on the soft grass. You take a seat beside her, and as Abby’s crew guides your child through the art of hammering a nail, you’re captivated by their precise instructions and animated gestures.

When Abby strokes your thigh, you’re tethered to the earth, setting free your deepest worries.

“I really suck at this parenting thing.”

“Stop that,” she says. “You’re an incredible mom. Caelus is lucky to have you—we both are.”

“I never want to scare them,” you say.

The weight of Abby’s grief is palpable, mourning a mother she has no memories of.

“You panicked, it happens,” Abby says, planting a kiss on the palm of your hand. “Baby, look at me.”

Abby has a reputation for being blunt, so if she had any issues with your parenting, she wouldn’t hesitate to express it. Sometimes it’s tough to break free from your thoughts, even when you know they’re lying to you.

“Raising a kid with you is the best. I wouldn’t have it any other way,” she says.

Her lips curve into a lopsided grin as her hand sneaks under your shirt, tickling your abdomen.

“Uh oh. What is that look?” you ask.

“I never really thought about it before this—having kids, you know? But watching you with Caelus kind of makes my ovaries hurt,” she says with a chuckle. “You’d look real good with my baby in you.”

“Oh my god,” you blurt. “You better cut it out right now, Anderson.”

You brush away her hand and she’s radiating happiness.

“I’m just saying,” she giggles.

“Well, why is it my center of gravity that has to change—what about you, huh?” you ask.

“What about me?” Abby snorts.

“I think you’d look pretty delicious sporting a baby bump, just saying.”

A blush rises from her chest, painting her entire body a delicate shade of pink. Bathed in the sun’s warm glow, she becomes an ethereal vision of beauty, exuding an aura of calmness and security.

With a cocky brow raised, Abby brushes her fingertips against the exposed skin beneath your shirt.

“You’d miss my abs too much,” she teases.

“I already do,” you groan. “Don’t even get me started.”

Manny limps back to you, leaving your kid to assist with reconstructing the fences. His bond with Caelus goes beyond being Abby’s closest friend - it is reinforced by the fact that he was also Jordan’s friend and comrade.

The night your child was born, Manny was there.

The crisp hiss of beer cans being opened as Manny raised a toast to the birth of a new wolf cub and to Jordan’s brave proposal of marriage sifts to the forefront of your memory.

“He’d be proud,” Manny says with furrowed brows, his fingers absentmindedly picking at a small scab on his elbow. “Jordan couldn’t swing a hammer to save his life.”

The double meaning hits you square in the chest, causing your breath to catch, and you observe Abby being struck by the same brutal force.

You reach out your hand and find she’s already clinging to it.

----------------------------------------

Each week brings fresh growth and expansion to the greenhouses, as they continue to thrive.

This is the first year your town has made substantial trades with other communities, and it has brought about a remarkable transformation.

Unlike Isaac, Abby’s approach involves placing equal weight on both forming treaties and nurturing long-lasting relationships.

Prior to the stadium’s collapse, most had already observed this trait in her, so it came as no surprise when many of the survivors and soldiers distanced themselves from the WLF and instead opted to follow Abby.

In the beginning, the situation was grim, and you were anxious that they might betray her, but their shared difficulties only fueled their determination to remain a cohesive unit.

Humanity continues to surprise you with its remarkable ability to inspire hope.

“Carrots or beets?” you mumble to yourself, perusing the lush aisles.

It is thanks to the bravery and endurance of your people that you have the luxury of thinking about what you will prepare for your family’s dinner.

Abby has a fondness for tomatoes that are crunchy and seasoned with a sprinkle of salt. Once they become squishy in the middle, she doesn’t hesitate to toss them into the pigpen. You pull a few from the vine with a satisfying tug, their deep red skin firm and smooth.

While she’s a total snap pea enthusiast, obsessed with their juicy pods, her favourite pastime has become flicking the peas across the kitchen with her spoon. It creates playful chaos that your child eagerly joins in on, but you’ve caught one in the eye a time or two.

You drop only a few handfuls into your basket, as you prefer to see the nutrients being consumed rather than flung across your linoleum floor.

It’s no great loss as potatoes are Abby’s true obsession, anyway—so much so that she keeps a clandestine garden dedicated solely to their cultivation in the backyard.

Abby’s meticulous care of the vegetable crops, ingeniously built out of rubber tires, keeps you going when you’re drowning in your thoughts by the kitchen sink. Your heart spills over with a bittersweet ache as you witness her skill in teaching valuable lessons to your child, always with a touch of fun.

----------------------------------------

Upon returning home from the greenhouse, the unexpected sight of two leather boots greets you, their muddy soles peeking out from the end of the couch. Inching forward on silent tiptoes, you notice Abby is indulging in a rare afternoon nap.

Her work ethic hasn’t changed in the slightest, her muscular hands calloused from keeping the community in one piece, but she no longer embarks on any overnight journeys—a blessing you value every morning as you wake up beside her.

Leaning against the bench of your breakfast nook, you watch her chest rise and fall with each breath, grateful that she is finding serenity through rest. It has taken years to convince her it’s okay to take a break.

“You’re welcome to join me,” Abby murmurs, voice muffled by the couch cushion. “Whenever you’re done being a creep.”

“Damn it, Abby,” you huff. “How long have you been awake?”

“Since you walked through the door.”

“Great,” you say, bending over to collect a pile of wooden blocks spilling from the back of a toy truck. Before shuffling across the carpet to put them away, you can’t resist tossing a block at Abby’s backside, laughing as she grunts in protest. “I’ll get you one day, mark my words.”

“You almost had me,” she says.

Her drowsy gaze lingers on your body, tracing every curve and contour. While you run your fingers through your hair, suddenly aware of your appearance, she adjusts herself to make space for you.

“How long before our rug rat gets home?” Abby asks.

Your stomach flutters as you hear the subtle shift in her tone.

“Any minute now,” you say.

She nibbles at the dry skin on her finger, deep in thought about her next course of action.

Though you’re always together, it’s challenging to find moments of intimacy with a five-year-old running around wanting to play airplanes with Abby every twenty minutes and crawling into bed between you in the middle of the night.

“If you’re in the mood,” Abby says, moistening her lips with a slow lick. “I think I can get you there in under a minute.”

Her cunning smile stirs up a flash of desire, heat thrumming deep inside you as the temptation draws you to her like a magnet. It’s been such a long time that you suspect her forecast on your ETA is right on the money.

“Here?” you ask.

“Well, I can take you to bed,” she says. “But you won’t be leaving it.”

Sitting up on the couch, she gestures for you to park yourself on her lap.

You rush to close the curtains in the dining room and check that you’ve locked the front door. On your way back to her, your shirt hits the floor, causing her blue eyes to widen, struck by the pleasant view.

“God, you’re beautiful,” Abby murmurs.

“Takes one to know one, my love.”

Without warning, Abby pounces forward, taking your wrist and guiding you to straddle her. Sparks spread for miles in every direction as her calloused hands become reacquainted with your body. She moves slowly, painfully so, stopping to trace the dip and swell of each scar she lands on. Just when you’re certain she’s missed a spot, her fingers flex and the smooth bed of her nails backtrack to cover the ground she neglected.

“I’m so in love with you,” she whispers.

With tenderness, you cup her face in your palms and take a moment to appreciate the new freckles that have surfaced on her cheeks.

“Show me,” you say.

Abby sets a match to every cell in your body as her slick tongue darts out to taste your lips before trailing down the column of your neck to your collarbone. Looking up at you through her long lashes, you see that she’s already panting as you drag your fingers across her sculpted shoulders.

You help her undress, slipping her shirt over her head. She’s breathtaking, every edge of her swollen and defined, but she’s so soft when she looks into your eyes.

“You’re perfect,” you say.

Your arms tingle with goosebumps as she teases the sensitive parts of you that make you writhe, pausing to whimper against the shell of your ear.

“You’re perfect,” she murmurs. “I want to fuck you forever.”

“Can I try it like this?” you ask.

She hisses with anticipation as you gingerly push her knees apart, heat pooling below your navel.

“I’d fucking love that,” she says.

She helps you settle with one leg on either side of her thigh, before sliding her hands to your hips with delicious pressure. The friction from the seam of your pants intensifies as she encourages you to grind against her.

Her lips graze yours with a gentle, electrifying touch, leaving you moaning into her mouth, welcoming the stimulation.

“You’re down bad, baby,” she says.

“Watch it,” you say, relishing how swiftly your warning turns her on. “You’re down just as bad.”

“Fuckin’ rights I am—look at you,” she growls.

Gently unraveling her braid, you marvel at how it has grown in length since you last untangled it. Abby’s hair is incredibly soft, even softer than the fuzz of an orchard peach, and when her fingertips dance up your back, you know she’ll taste sweeter.

“Close your eyes,” Abby whispers.

The wild friction spreads as you grind your hips in rhythm with hers. Each searing kiss across your jaw tightens your spine like a bowstring as your busy mind fades, building a hot coil inside you, matching the increasing greediness of her mouth.

“That’s it,” Abby says. “Take what you need.”

Rocking yourself harder against her, the frenzied motion shoots all the way to your toes. She whines, her breath against your neck making you shiver.

“Please don’t stop,” Abby begs.

When a sudden, jarring knock at the door leaves you both frozen in absolute shock, the feeling of devastation hits you instantly, dousing you in a bucket of icy water.

“Are you kidding me?” you mutter.

Abby lets out a frustrated, breathless laugh before her head falls onto the back of the couch. Unable to resist, you join her, resting your forehead against hers.

“We should do this more often,” you say.

She lifts you up to place a tender kiss on your bare stomach before helping you to your feet.

“You’re hilarious,” she says.

Abby hollers over her shoulder, disappearing down the hall to splash cold water on her face.

“I’m making this happen. I don’t care if we have to climb up to the roof.”

The pounding on the door gets louder, this time coming from four different hands as far as you can tell. You quickly slip your shirt back on, giving it a once-over to ensure it’s not inside out.

“Yes, you do. You’re terrified of heights, remember?” you say.

“I dangled out of a helicopter for you. I think I can figure out how to rock your world ten feet off the ground.”

As soon as the door opens, Manny’s beaming smile suggests he didn’t miss much of your conversation. With a cheerful squeal, your tiny human launches themselves at you, their little arms wrapped around you in a tight hug.

Abby sneaks by to grab a bottle of water from the kitchen, while Manny shoulders his way past you to antagonize her.

“Should we come back later?” Manny razzes. “It looks like you haven’t finished your reps.”

“You’re about a day late and a dollar short, fucker,” Abby groans. “You have the worst timing, ever.”

“Bad word, Mama!”

“Yeah, you better watch your mouth around the little one, Abs,” Manny says. “You need to set a good example.”

Squatting in front of Caelus, she apologizes for her foul language and reaches for the folded piece of paper in their hands. It’s a picture of a helicopter and she’s captivated by it, studying every intricate detail.

“You made this all by yourself?” she asks.

“Miss Dina helped me with the udders,” Caelus says.

“Do you mean the rotors?” Abby asks, her face twisting into the sweetest smile. “That’s what these great big blades are called.”

“That’s what I said, Mama.”

With a smirk on her face, Abby lifts the little one up to the fridge, basking in their excited chatter as they debate the perfect spot to place it.

Your refrigerator is a gallery of imagination. Most of the artwork consists of random doodles and images that Caelus has reconstructed by colouring enthusiastically outside of the lines with thick stripes of crayon.

“Do you two need a little alone time?” Manny asks, giving you a rowdy shoulder check and making you stumble.

You reach into the basket on the counter and toss a pea at his head. Turns out it’s fun.

“That depends,” you say. “Are you offering?”

You watch with delight as Abby and Caelus chase each other around the house.

Abby’s dedication to your family has taken your love for her to an otherworldly level. Her capacity for protecting others knows no bounds, especially with your child. She would move mountains for them, and you’d be right there beside her.

One night without little ears around couldn’t hurt, though.

----------------------------------------

When the raiders come, it’s in the dead of night.

Jolted from your sleep, a bad feeling in your gut unsettles you. The bedroom you share with Abby is calm, save for the long, sheer curtains, which flutter softly in response to the gentle wind slipping through the bedroom window.

With Abby’s arm draped across your stomach, her grasp on you unyielding, you’re loathed to disturb her slumber based on a mere hunch.

You do it anyway because if you’ve learned anything, it’s that your instincts on these matters are rarely mistaken.

“Abby, wake up,” you say.

Pulling you tighter to her body, she nestles into the crook of your neck with a sleepy sigh. The untamed strands of her tussled hair stroke your face, tempting you to succumb to her embrace and drift back to sleep.

You nudge her awake slowly, not wanting to startle her, just in case your worries are unwarranted. Her soft hums vibrate against your throat while her hand glides to the side of your thigh.

“Again?” she chuckles hazily. “I don’t know if I’ve got another one left in me.”

“It’s not that,” you say. “Something feels off.”

Abby’s head tilts upwards, her curious gaze fixated on your face, trying to gauge your expression. After the trauma you’ve all endured, it’s only natural for complicated feelings to come and go from time to time.

“It’s our first night without the kid. It’s okay to be a little on edge,” Abby explains. “Want me to help with that?”

Sated and achingly sweet, Abby lies naked and pliant in your bed after spending hours pleasuring each other. To turn her down, knowing what you’d be missing, seems like a criminal act.

“Can we do a sweep?” you ask. “I know it’s late.”

“Of course,” Abby says.

You understand that’s not what she had in mind, but when your head is swimming with quandaries, it’s hard to let go. Tracing your bottom lip with her thumb, she plants a tender kiss on the tip of your nose before showering your face and chest with a thousand more obnoxiously loud, undeniably passionate ones.

They’re wet and messy, and she persists until you’re giggling like a lunatic.

Hair disheveled, her skin dappled with sweat, she catches her breath.

“I’d follow you anywhere,” you confess.

When a disturbance erupts outside, Abby is on her feet in an instant, rummaging through the closet for her clothes and gear.

“Grab Caelus,” Abby commands. “I need Manny at the wall.”

----------------------------------------

Sometimes, despite a tempestuous start, everything falls into place.

Through her kindness and willingness to forgive, Abby has welcomed several people into the fold you’d otherwise expect her to shoot on sight. Back when she was still donning the WLF patch on her coat, it was highly likely that she would have.

All the weary wanderers have found redemption to be well worth the time and effort so far.

But on occasion, no matter how hard Abby tries, she’s forced to make the bitter decision to eradicate the threat to protect what she has built. You wager it’s one of those times as the distinctive crack-pop of her hunting pistol booms through the forest, and she returns to you spattered in blood.

The townspeople bear no grudge against her for the measures she takes to ensure their safety. While returning to their residences for the night, their gratitude is evident as Abby makes her way home with her head hung low.

You want to ease all her suffering, but the only thing you can do is support her with time and an abundance of love.

Following a scalding hot shower, she requests to face alone—her priority is to make sure you’re both safe before reading her little one a bedtime story.

Caelus fiddles with Abby’s knuckles, bruises already forming on the fragile skin.

“Did you hurt someone, Mama?” they ask.

With a sharp inhale, Abby’s nostrils flare and her eyes glaze over before she continues to turn the page.

Nothing is more devastating than seeing the woman you love overcome with shame.

“Yes, I did,” Abby says.

“It’s bad to hurted people, Mama.”

“You’re right,” she whispers.

Her eyes follow closely as Caelus tugs on her fingers, carefully examining the various scars that adorn them. Every mark on her body represents a chapter of both injury and growth, a living map of her experiences.

“Mommy doesn’t,” Caelus says.

It feels as though they’re verbalizing their thoughts, seeking understanding amid the ever-changing dynamics. Abby could recount dozens of hair-raising stories of similar situations you’ve faced, lives you’ve forever changed, but she simply nods in agreement.

“Why?” they ask.

“Well, you know how Mommy makes the pretty flowers grow and helps the sun make our food, yeah?” Abby says, attempting to make the most complex thing in the world more straightforward. “And how her hands work hard every day to turn the soil into the things we get to eat?”

With a nod, Caelus gazes up at her, their big brown eyes full of wonder.

“And you know how we need to have the scarecrow outside to keep the animals away?”

“Mr. Scarecrow protects the apples!” Caelus says.

Abby’s smile is so incredibly sincere that it tugs at your heartstrings. It brings to mind all the parenting hurdles she faces with her heart on her sleeve.

“Yes, he does,” Abby says as your little one uses their fingertip to trace the cartoon animals in their book. “And if we take Mr. Scarecrow away, the people we love might lose all their apples, and I just can’t stand for that to happen. It would hurt Mama’s heart so badly. Do you understand?”

Nodding, they furrow their brows, grappling with the influx of new information and attempting to make sense of how it relates to their own life.

“Are you Mr. Scarecrow, Mama?”

“Sometimes,” Abby says. “And you and Mommy are my apples. It’s my job to protect you.”

Caelus snaps the book shut in favour of cuddling her.

“Do you get scared?” they ask.

Abby’s gaze shifts to the ceiling, and as she holds your child, you’re reminded of how they still seem so small in her arms.

“All the time,” Abby admits. “Do you?”

“I’m really scared of Doodlebugs!”

“What the heck is a Doodlebug?” she asks.

Perplexed, Abby turns to you for answers.

When you give her a shrug, she knows what you’ve done without saying a word.

#abby the last of us #abby tlou #abby x fem!reader #abby x reader #abby x you #tlou abby #lesbian

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petrichorium · 1 year

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BAM: Empty Beds

in which king gojo satoru returns from a diplomatic mission to find his bed empty, and has qualms with it

gojo satoru x fem!reader

word count: 3k reader: fem (she/her pronouns, fem terms, fem clothing including dresses) tags: kinda hurt/comfort but mostly fluff, royal au, childhood friends to lovers, gojo picks up the reader, the end is a little bit intense emotionally but not super bad the reader just has intimacy issues and gojo confronts her abt it

usurper!gojo tag || masterlist

“embrace me,” he orders, muffled against your throat. it’s sullen, demanding, and you make no move to comply.

your husband whines wordlessly at you—it’s that noise which calms the tumultuous unease within you, an assurance that whatever mood he’d been in is quickly passing (or that your touch is so important he’ll cast aside any other thoughts in favor of pleading with you). he kisses up your throat, along your jaw, only to nose against your cheek like some affectionate cat. when he speaks it’s a beg; beseeching. “embrace me, wife.”

“talk to me, husband,” you retort. “your sulking is bad for my health. i was terrified.”

against your skin, his lips quirk into a teasing smile. “you’re adorable when you’re terrified.”

Someone has slipped into your room.

You’re asleep. You have been for hours, yet Satoru’s borderline paranoid insistence on you learning to defend yourself even while resting have led to a far less deep manner of slumber, and so you’re roused by the simple sound of the door opening and are made aware of this unwelcome visitor the moment they enter.

It’s all you can do to keep still, even out your breath. Your mind conjures thoughts of your guards slaughtered just beyond your door, your maids and your ladies-in-waiting massacred in your vast array of rooms meant to be a sanctuary, your king returning home from his diplomatic trip east to find your own body not even in your shared bed but in the lonely one occupying the queen’s bedchamber, yours in name but so rarely used.

You hear the figure’s footsteps approach you; they sound large, imposing, though you dare not open your eyes until the ornate dagger beneath your pillow is in hand and the possible assassin close enough that it can do you any good.

Your fingers find the heavy hilt, wrap around it securely just as the mattress beneath you dips with the weight of the trespasser. The motions are ingrained in your body from weeks of practice with your husband; you lash out, knife against the intruder’s throat before they can realize you’re not asleep, aiming to slash at the throat—but then you pause, thankful that you’d opened your eyes to see the face of your attacker before you spilled their blood.

“Satoru?”

Hardly an assassin at all, your visitor is your husband, back far earlier than anticipated. He looms over you in silence, one knee braced on your bed against your side, arms hovering where they’d been prepared to embrace you but frozen by the blade you hold against his neck. His damned blindfold remains tied over his eyes preventing you from knowing where they might be focused or what they might reveal of his thoughts.

“Wh—you’re not expected to return until tomorrow evening.” You remove the knife from his neck. Immediately, those hands are on you, tugging your covers away to pull you to him. “You frightened me, I believed you to be an intruder.”

Still no answer. For a moment, you feel him breathe you in, certainly allowing himself to bask in your presence after weeks without. But then, in one swift motion, wielding that stunning strength which has left armies in ruin, he slings you over his shoulder and starts for the door.

“What are you doing?” you shriek, squirming in his grasp. “Put me down!”

It wasn’t as if you thought he’d do it. But you at least expected a response; your king is nothing if not loquacious (and you hardly say so praisingly) yet he remains stubbornly silent even with your struggling form in hand as he passes through your doorway. Your guards stand alert just beyond your door, averting their gaze regretfully as if unwilling to meet your eye. You can hardly blame them, for it isn’t as if one can refuse a king—in fact, considering moments before you’d thought them dead by your assassin, you’re a little relieved to see them alive and well—yet the gesture feels too little too late.

“My king—husband,” you try, breathless, because reminding Satoru that you are bound to him for the rest of your lives never fails to make him preen, “what on earth has gotten into you?”

No avail. Not even so much as an arrogant laugh at stealing his own queen from her bed. You’re insulted at first; even your desperate attempts to free yourself don’t spark any form of response beyond a tightening of his arm around your waist. Insult gives way to concern the longer it goes, as he leaves your bedchamber and all but sprints through the intricate series of rooms which make up the queen’s chambers. The first time he passes by a room you know to be occupied by one of your ladies-in-waiting you decide that your valiant struggles aren’t worth rousing every maid and courtier you’ve allowed to take up residence with you. You’d rather they not see your husband’s indecent displays. This, at least, has occurred so late in the night that even if one were to open their door they’d likely be too groggy to understand what they might witness, and there is so little in the way of light that they might not even be able to see a thing.

At least your newfound resignation allows you to appreciate certain things your previous efforts had made you miss—you’re so enamored by his strength, his agility, and it’s admittedly thrilling that he’s so capable of manipulating your form with such ease. An inappropriate appreciation, certainly, but you’re coming to terms with how inappropriate everything about him is. And if you cannot allow yourself to enjoy how your usurper husband can steal you from your bed then you’re not altogether certain what the point of marrying him would have been.

He turns down the corridor leading to the door that connects to the king’s chambers and it suddenly seems to make sense: he’s bringing you back to his room, to his bed, where he’s insisted upon you spending your nights despite the absurdity of such a thing (not that you mind entirely, not that you aren’t flattered by his unabashed infatuation with you even all these months after you’ve wed). The room in which you’d slept during his absence had been used as more of a dressing room than one for rest, yet it had felt too odd to be sleeping in your king’s room without him present and had moved there after the first night. And you’d expected to be awake for his return, not for him to show up nearly a day early long before sunrise.

The mirrored halls, labyrinthine as your own, are empty; he hasn’t filled them as you have, not yet, though at times he receives visitors you recognize as his fellow conspirators from his coup. To an extent you appreciate the privacy it allows, and he remains so confident in his own abilities that he doesn’t bother excessively with guards. It’s hardly an undeserved confidence, either. His height is so towering that he’s forced to duck beneath the doorframe to his bedroom in order to ensure you don’t hit your head on the top. Once the threshold is crossed it’s as if his whole body breathes a sigh of relief; tense muscles relaxing, grip on you becoming less fervent and more adoring.

Satoru throws you to the bed with little ceremony. He spares a single moment to rip the blindfold from his face and toss it into some unknown corner of the room and then joins you hastily, hands upon you again in an instant, throwing the covers over the pair of you as he tangles his legs with yours, buries his face into your shoulder, and lets out the first noise you’ve heard from him in weeks—a sigh, sweet and self-satisfied, which rumbles in his chest and somehow reassures you.

The way he cradles you is halfway to suffocating, as if he were attempting to burrow into you simply to be closer, and between the silence and the manhandling you think you might have been terrified if not for how gently he carried you. It’s contradictory, certainly, yet despite snatching you from your bed with little regard for your wishes his hands had been so tender with you, as if you were some delicate thing to be handled with care. Even now you can feel he’s being cautious, deliberate with how much of his weight he puts on you and careful not to give you too much. You find yourself endeared by that, almost compelled to melt into him with the upwell of fondness that rushes through you and dizzies your mind.

Except that you’re still not willing to give him what he wants, not if he’s continuing to be so obstinate. You can’t find a reason for his stalwart lack of speech other than pettiness; it’s normally a trial of perseverance to get the man to silence himself. So you remain still beneath him, denying him his desires and refusing to return the embrace, rather choosing to lie limp as he holds you.

He groans in annoyance, lifting himself up to stare down at you yet still not verbalizing anything. His hair is long enough that it brushes against your face like this, mere inches away, and even in the imposing inky black of the enormous bedchamber beyond his eyes seem to catch on the most fleeting light and almost gleam from within.

One of his hands removes itself from where it was shoved beneath your back to find your wrist and drop your own on the back of his head. You let it fall, raising one eyebrow in simultaneous question and challenge that you can only hope he can see as clearly as you can see the exasperation in his eye—along with something else, something notably more desperate. Feral.

You don’t censor yourself despite that, pushing forward to explain yourself. “You’re grown, my king. You can speak rather than silently demanding things of me.”

Satoru’s eyes are drawn to your moving lips, the ice within them thawing and giving way to easy veneration. His lower lip pouts. His head falls back down and he nuzzles into you as his hold on you tightens.

“Embrace me,” he orders, muffled against your throat. It’s sullen, demanding, and you make no move to comply.

Your husband whines wordlessly at you—it’s that noise which calms the tumultuous unease within you, an assurance that whatever mood he’d been in is quickly passing (or that your touch is so important he’ll cast aside any other thoughts in favor of pleading with you). He kisses up your throat, along your jaw, only to nose against your cheek like some affectionate cat. When he speaks it’s a beg; beseeching. “Embrace me, wife.”

“Talk to me, husband,” you retort. “Your sulking is bad for my health. I was terrified.”

Against your skin, his lips quirk into a teasing smile. “You’re adorable when you’re terrified.”

“I nearly slit your throat.”

“With the knife I gifted you.” The words are crooned, a bit covetous; you wonder sometimes, when he says such things in such ways, about his sanity. You don’t think the phrase madly in love has applied to anyone more than him, though you might be just as deranged as he for how you adore it. “I wouldn't have let you, though. It’s sweet of you to worry,” his hands tighten swiftly where they rest against your skin, pinching hard enough to make you jump before releasing, “but you’re still no match for me.”

“No?”

“No.” He kisses you without pulling away, lips brushing past your cheek to press passionately against yours. “Though I’d very much like to see you try.”

You speak your response into his mouth, refusing his silent attempts to deepen the kiss. “You haven’t yet apologized for frightening me.”

Huffing at you, he removes his arms from your body and pushes himself up to hover over you again. He stays like that, staring intently as if simply watching you will suffice for what you’re demanding. You let him at first—then as the seconds pass grow tired of waiting, and open your mouth to pester him again only to be silenced by his own.

It’s fast, there and then gone, too quick for you to respond. He so likes those kisses, a perfect way to keep you quiet, but tonight he isn’t satisfied with it; he does it again when you inhale, then once more afterwards though you haven’t even indicated any further intent to speak. And then he moves on, pressing lips to your nose and your cheekbones and your forehead, dotting them across the bridge of your nose and along your jaw, featherlight and relentless.

He refuses to let up, covering your face with kisses as if to make up for each one he’d have given you if he’d been here. You attempt to dodge, out of sheer obstinacy, but he doesn’t allow you to. So you change course, lift your hands to embrace him as he’d begged you before—yet he catches you, using a single grip to pin both above you as his ministrations expand and he presses kisses to your neck, down your throat, along your collarbone.

“Imagine you’re me, hmm?” he murmurs, words barely comprehensible through his affections. “Lamenting after weeks without your company, rushing home faster than my party simply to see you sooner, arriving to my chambers expecting to find my darling wife awaiting my return”—he pulls up suddenly, heedless to your discontented whimper at the loss of his touch which peeters off the moment you see the way he’s looking at you; that feral tinge has returned to his eye, infused into the soft devotion he always regards you with—”only to find my bed empty, my exquisite queen missing. How might you feel, do you suppose?”

He's always been loose with his compliments but something about the way he says them now, so matter-of-factly and laced with a seriousness so uncharacteristic of him rather than a teasing tone, makes your face burn. Still you respond, unwilling to let the question stand unanswered. “Ah… concerned, I’d imagine.”

“Concerned?”

“Distressed. Fearful of misdeed.”

“You frightened me, too, then, did you not?”

“I apologize. You weren’t supposed to be back tonight, I hadn't thought there was any harm in it. But I'm safe, and I'm here with you now.”

He blinks. For a moment you wonder if he’ll really apologize now—a foolish thought, you know your king better than that. Instead he pushes on. “Now consider that you leave your chambers, and you demand to know where she is, only to be told that she has refused to sleep in your bed and has instead insisted upon taking residence in an entirely different room. What then? Tell me, my love, what is so wrong with this bed?”

You swallow thickly, watch his eyes dart down to the bob of your throat before returning. He lifts an eyebrow in expectation, but your mouth is so dry you can’t find it within you to say what he wants to hear. Both wrists still held in his grip, he rubs his thumb against one, quietly contemplative as he scans your face—and this, you decide, is too much. You turn away, hiding your face, unable to take the way he peers at you.

“Why do you still pull away?” It’s barely audible. In fact you wonder if the question is meant for you at all, or if it had been entirely for him. His free hand comes to your face, gentle as it cradles your cheek and turns you towards him, forcing you to meet his stare. This time his words are undoubtedly for you. “Have I… misinterpreted? Is this truly too much? You say it is, call me too bold, but you never insist upon it. You seem happy and yet the moment you have time away from me you run, behind my back. You know I would do anything for you, yes? Even… let you go? If that is what you want.”

You can’t find the words to reply right away, can’t parse it all out within you fast enough. You realize quite suddenly that you’ve been unfair—selfish, even—in your passing acceptance of his pursuits. Simply because that has been easy, simply because it would be difficult to be even a fraction as bold as he. Simply because you do like his boldness, and you do like the way he chases you, and he does it so relentlessly that you’ve never found it necessary for you to return it. You’d have to retrain yourself to speak candidly, to reach out for his touch, and even behind closed doors such things are arduous. Yet now you see it—now he lets you see it, the chip in his armor, the one you’ve caused with your avoidance, the one you have the ability to mend. And you decide that you will.

The time that it takes to think all of that through, however, is too much. Satoru pulls back; his hand releases yours, his head turns away, his eyes no longer visible. It’s panic that makes you move, panic caused by the way his body turns to remove itself from you. In all the time you’ve spent with him since the coup he’s never pulled away like this.

You hook your leg over him, yanking him back down and clumsily swapping your positions. He lays in bed now, eyes wide with surprise as he stares up at you, and you straddle him with hands bracing yourself on his chest. The kiss you give him is an attempt to find peace of mind but it hardly works—too desperate to prove him wrong with your actions, too caught up in the sensations, your mind fogs. At least he kisses back, hands finding home on your thighs and pulling you close as he melts, though that’s perhaps part of the problem.

The words still don’t come when you pull away, and the way he regards you now is even worse than before, pure exaltation in his eyes as he looks up at you. On impulse you lean in again, brushing lips to that white scar bisecting his brow, and though his eyes flutter closed with the motion it doesn’t help the way you’re feeling in the slightest—a little restless, a little undone, far too seen for comfort. You bury your head into his shoulder in an attempt to quell it, feel the rise and fall of his chest beneath yours as he turns his face into you and breathes you in.

“It was too large,” you manage to say, small and quiet.

“Hm?”

“The bed. It’s too large when you’re not here. Cold. Empty.” You squeeze your eyes shut tight. His hand comes up to your head, stroking softly there, and of everything that seems to finally help. shoving your head even further into his neck, you say even quieter, “I miss you, husband, when you’re gone. I miss you so terribly it becomes difficult to bear.”

His laugh rumbles through you. It’s assured, arrogant, just like always—it melts away the lingering remains of that unease you’re still sifting through and allows you to finally relax on top of him, easing your legs down to lay tucked into the crook of his arm while he presses a kiss to the crown of your head.

“Then I’ll just have to remain here for your sake, wife.”

#gojo x reader #gojo x you #gojo x y/n #jjk x reader #jjk x you #jjk x y/n #gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru x you #gojo satoru x y/n #mine.🌧#char.🌧 gojo #usurper!gojo

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itsphoenix0724 · 4 months

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Meet Me On The Ice (Azriel x Reader)~ Chapter 3

Warnings: None!

Word Count: 1.9k

MMOTI masterlist

A/N: It's been a while and I'm sorry but I hope you guys enjoy it <3

Disclaimer: DISCLAIMER: I am not a figure skater or a hockey player, so while I'm trying to be as accurate as possible, it's likely some things may not be correct and/or are bent a little to fit the plot!

“He’s just so infuriating!” You fall back onto the plush couch in the Vanserra pool house, stuffing a mouthful of popcorn. The underused pool house had been You and Lucien’s sanctuary since you were small, his rowdy brothers not really caring to venture here, much preferring the amenities the woodland mansion had to offer.

Well except for one.

Eris Vanserra’s favorite hobby seemed to be annoying you whenever you were over. It seemed like no matter what he found some way to weasel into your business, and now as he settles into the couch between you and Lucien–shoveling a handful of your popcorn into his mouth, it seems he’s wormed his way into your venting session.

“Trouble in paradise?” He raises an auburn brow and you can practically feel Lucien rolling his eyes. You can’t believe you ever thought he was the most tolerable of Lucien’s brothers. “I’ve seen that broody one you’re trying to replace LuLu with, he doesn’t seem like your type.” It’s probably true, most of the Vanserra brood played for the Autumn University Smokehounds except for Lucien, the Velaris Comet’s biggest rivals on and off the ice.

“Like you know anything about my type Eris,” You snarl and he does nothing but laugh, even as Lucien looks like he wants to sink back into the couch cushions.

“Go away Er, find someone else to bother.” Lucien supplies, removing the bowl of popcorn from his brother's lap, passing it back to you, fixing his heated gaze on Eris, and then pointedly looking at the door. Eris gets the hint, seeming amused by the level of aggravation he’s caused for the day and stands to leave.

“Alright, but I’m hurt you didn’t ask me, Little Minx,” Eris’s heated gaze fixed on you as he reaches down and grabs one last piece of popcorn from your lap, crowding your space with eyes locked together with brutal efficiency. “I think we would’ve danced very well together.” He leaves without another word.

“It’s like I’m not safe from assholes anywhere,” You scoff, collapsing back into Lucien’s lap. He looks at you apologetically, running a soothing hand through your hair. You relish in the simple affection of the balm that is Lucien’s presence.

“I’m sorry about him,” He supplies, twisting a lock of hair through your fingers.

“I know how to handle Eris, it’s the other one I’m more nervous about.” Your eyes slip shut, taking calming breaths.

“What about Az gets you so worked up?” He asks readjusting his casted foot to be propped higher on the pillow.

“I don’t even know, my whole life he’s just hated me. I get that I was an annoying little kid who always wanted to hang out with them, but we’re adults now and he should fucking get over it.” You can feel the annoyance start to creep back into your body, your temper already rising at the thought of the practice you have to attend later.

“You’ll survive Dove, don’t let this ruin your last season. At least one of us needs a good one.” You glance up at Lucien who’s glaring at his leg like that could make it magically heal.

“I know I’m sorry. I just wish we could do it together.” You say, and he smiles down at you mournfully, rubbing out the crease between your eyebrows as you try to relax. “I’ll try to keep my head up.”

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Your head slams down hard against the practice floor as you’re dropped for the third time tonight.

“Alright!” Alis yells, her forehead wrinkled with irritation as she stops the music. You glare hard at Azriel whose chest is heaving up and down, an equally intense glare fixed on you. “You two clearly haven’t taken my advice, and it’s showing in your work.” She calls your name and you sit up, rubbing the sore spot from where your head hit the floor. “What did you and Lucien do when you first started skating together?”

“We used to get pizza and go the arcade once a week.” You supply and you and Az share a mutual look of distaste. “But that was when we were eleven and Azriel and I are very much not eleven.” Alis shakes her head again.

“Well, I don’t care. If you want any chance of even stepping on ice this season, you’ll bond. If you can’t get this on the practice floor, I’ll be damned before I let either of you on skates.”

“I don’t have time for that.” Azriel’s voice rumbles through the room, and Alis shoots him an incredulous look.

“Well young man, let me make some time for you now. Practice is dismissed early, and the two of you are going to get pizza and go to the arcade. In fact, I’m giving you homework, you two have to hang out once a week.” Her tone is final despite the mutual protests of you and Azriel. So with the grumbling, you’re reluctantly climbing into the passenger seat of Az’s beat-up jeep as he’s plugging in the directions to the old Funland Arcade. He sets his arm on the back of your headrest as he looks over his shoulder to back out of the parking lot and set out on the road.

It's most likely the most awkward car ride you’ve ever been on.

The radio is playing on low with some old rock band Azriel must be fond of and the monotone voice of his phone’s GPS is the only noise in the car. Even the sound of your breath seems to blare throughout the vehicle's cab. Luckily for you, the drive to the old arcade is short. He parks the car and the two of you make your way inside, when you get in line behind him for game tokens he raises his eyebrows at you pinning you with a silent question in his hazel gaze.

“What? I don’t expect you to pay for me, it’s not like we’re on a date.” You give him a noncommittal nod and he shrugs in response before feeding money into the machine that spits out the tokens. You repeat his actions filling your bucket as you set out upon the battlefield of neon lights and arcade consoles.

It takes all of about 30 seconds for another argument to ensue.

It's stupid really. You want to play the old Dance Dance Revolution machine in the back and Azriel wants to play some zombie shooter with grotesque graphics and obnoxiously loud gun noises.

“Well, then we can just each play our own game and meet up when we’re done.” He huffs and starts to walk over to his choice, but you grab his arm.

“The entire point of being here is so that we spend time together. Alis said we’re supposed to do things together as a team.” You drop his arm, glaring at him as he scoffs and shoves his hands in his hoodie pocket.

“She’ll never even find out if we don’t” He tries to walk away again fully turning his back to you but you grab his hood and yank him back again. He lets out a choking sound before whipping around to you absolutely furious. “What the actual fuck was that for?” Azriel questions, yanking his collar back down.

“Listen to me, Azriel. I get that this isn’t important to you but it’s important to me. This is my only chance to skate, so I don’t care what I have to stoop to.” You pinch the crease between your brows and try to offer an olive branch. “So can we at least compromise okay? I’ll play your shooting game first if you play my game after, and then how about we try to pick a game together.” Az finally relents, nodding his agreement. So the two of you walk over to his game, eloquently titled Undead Massacre III, and pick up the red plastic gun assigned to player two.

You were officially complete dog shit.

You had wasted a good chunk of your tokens because you kept dying and Azriel was too far ahead or too focused to revive you, and you could tell that he was annoyed at having to start over. You wanted to quit, not understanding the gun upgrades or reloading mechanism, insisting that you played enough and it was your turn. Az insisted that you had to win at least the easiest round before you could move on. After you died for the fifth time and the game over screen flashes bright and angry as Azriel comes behind you.

“You can’t reload or switch guns fast enough because you’re holding it wrong.” He rumbles the warmth from his chest seeping into your back as he repositions your hands around the plastic. “And you can’t aim because you’re holding the gun too low and it’s not registering with the sensor,” He pulls your arm up so that the gun is now level with your collarbones. “There, see how that feels?” You shudder as his breath hits your neck, rolling your shoulders to fight off the rising goosebumps from his proximity and pray that he can’t see the heat creeping up your cheeks in the dim light. He inserts the tokens for both of you and starts the game again. You actually manage to beat the easiest level and let out a shout that makes a few mothers shoot you angry glares, turning to Azriel eyes blazing with victory. He smiles, actually smiles at you, and you start toward him before awkwardly pausing. If it was Lucien, Rhys, or hell even Cassian you would’ve thrown your arms around them to celebrate. But it was Azriel, so you settle for an awkward smile and offer your hand up for a high-five. He returns it and reluctantly follows you over to DDR, which he does surprisingly well at.

You should’ve known apparently he’s good at everything. You shoot him a questioning gaze and he gives a nonchalant shrug, but there’s amusement in his eyes that makes a laugh bubble out of your chest.

The both of you settle on ski ball and a couple other arcade games that leave you both with a massive pile of tickets that you have to spend at the counter. You end up combing your tickets for the free pizza coupon so you settle into the booths and wait for it to be delivered to your table. This time the silence isn’t terribly awkward, you’re surrounded by kids laughing, terribly censored pop radio, and the smell of mediocre arcade pizza. You flick through social media on your phone and answer a couple texts before the waitress brings you a pitcher of lemonade and a large cheese pizza. You take two slices and Azriel piles 4 onto his plate, raising a brow at you as he shoves his face.

“You don’t have to eat it like it’s about to run away from you.” You giggle out around a sip of your lemonade and Azriel thankfully takes the comment as the joke it is instead of an insult and laughs.

“I’m a growing boy sweetheart, gotta eat.” He shoves almost half a piece of pizza in his mouth and pats his stomach for effect. The blush is back and Az watches it darken your cheeks with amusement dancing in his eyes. Thoroughly stuffed and satisfied you climb back into Azriel’s car as he drives you back to the rink, looking out the window as stars twinkle in the night sky.

“I had fun tonight,” you mutter as he drops you off at your car. “I’ll see you tomorrow for practice.” Azriel nods at you from his rolled-down window and waits until you’re in your car and pulling out of the parking lot before he starts his drive home.

Taglist: @sidthedollface2, @bionic-donut @lyinginameadow @feyretopia @natashachelsea @going-through-shit @mika-no-sekai-blog @hijabi-desi-bookworm @brandywineeeee @littlelunatica @gorlillaglue25

#acotar #acomaf #acowar #acosf fanfiction #acotar imagine #azriel acotar #azriel x reader #azriel #azriel imagine #Meet Me On The Ice #azriel shadowsinger #acotar au #azriel au #azriel spymaster

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amazinglyegg · 4 months

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JAY! JAY! JAY! JAY!

The most basic survivor with the most basic story! Very long ramble about him below the cut (sorry)

Physical appearance

Short, skinny, pale (malnourished vibes)

Part way through his story he loses his eyes from a grenade and gets synth eyes as prosthetics

Has scars all over his body from that incident, as well as the average amount of scars for a wastelander

Always wears long sleeves, usually a white tshirt

Jean jacket over top with some silly little patches!!!

I am terrible at clothes so idk what pants he wears. Vaguely grey probably

Other outfits you'll see him in are any random clothes he needs when going undercover in the railroad (he keeps an outfit in his bag for synths still in their old uniform!) and rarely the Brotherhood flight suit when it's laundry day

Backpack

Big ol' hiking backpack he scavenged in sanctuary, also ties his sleeping bag on the bottom

Food, water, and caps are necessary

Sketchbook and pencil to keep him busy while having to sit around and wait, loves sketching and journalling

Teddy bear! Lovingly named Mr. Cuddlesworth, keeps him tucked away so nothing bad happens to him

Fancy Lads for any synths he comes across, also (not in the picture) a blank box filled with chems for bribing his way out of problems with raiders and the like

Uses his baseball bat, especially before he got comfortable with guns, but occasionally uses Rightous Authority and a combat shotgun

Keeps an extra knife on hand as well as pepper spray and a rape whistle, both of which he kept on his body since pre-war

Stats!

Physically weak but very perceptive - not very high charisma but his perception usually helps him along

High perception means he has very sensetive ears, which can both be useful and a problem (prone to sensory overload!)

His perks aren't based on his SPECIAL at all

Medic - he was trained as a scribe in the Brotherhood of Steel, much more comfortable healing than fighting

Vans - He's practically reliant on his pipboy to keep track of all his quests! It has a detailed map and GPS that can even give directions out loud

Rooted - He's a freeze response type of guy. 100% deer in the headlight vibes

Personality

He's a big ol' scaredy cat!

Trauma from the vault has left him absolutely terrified of enclosed spaces, the dark, and radroaches. Also dislikes loud sounds, the cold, alcohol, and chems

He likes touch and always gives out hugs and handshakes! He also likes the sun (and light), nature, sweets, sleeping, being non-violent, and brahmin

He's a crybaby and will cry at every little thing. Just give him 15 minutes and he'll be fine

He's very naive and trusting, especially starting out. He just blindly goes along with what anyone says, and that becomes an extreme as he tries to cope with how much the world changed

Everything's in ruins now? Okay. There's cows with two heads? Okay. You're going to rob me and steal all my money? Okay... wait.

Always tries to see the best in people and things, and will much rather get shot than risk shooting someone who may not be a danger to him (hey, maybe they're only aiming a gun at him because they misunderstand! We can talk things out!)

Very rarely gets angry or loses his cool - tends to just cry instead. Not too great in the wasteland!

He doesn't like kids (and didn't like Shaun, which he feels guilty about...) despite being so childish and friendly. He gets along with them great! He just... doesn't like them...

Story

Jay has two storylines of sorts, one of my first playthrough and one of my second playthrough that diverges a bit

My first playthrough is a Railroad playthrough

Jay is Shaun's older brother. Their father was a veteran and Sanctuary was a small neighborhood specifically advertised as PTSD/veteran friendly (AKA HOA had a field day with banning fireworks and loud parties, and didn't bother with much else...) - Codsworth was also part of a pack for veterans!

Jay gets some basic survival skills from Preston and the group (after becoming severely ill due to a 200yr old immune system, but whatever) and leaves with Codsworth to Diamond City

He meets Nick and joins the Railroad quickly after! However Codsworth gets pretty beaten up in Vault 114 and after staying with Arturo for a while Jay convinces him to go to Sanctuary where it's safe

At some point Jay runs off on his own to try and collect the last few of Winter's holotapes, which is where he gets cornered by gunners in Quincy and throws a grenade which bounces off the wall and back near his own feet

He was mostly blind and severely injured, and staggers his way back to Railroad HQ (thanks to his high perception + VANS to guide him) where he gets taken to Doctor Amari and gets his synth eyes

He infiltrates the Institute and befriends X6, and also finds out he's a synth after reading a terminal he was told very sternly not to look into

In the same way Shaun is sort of a test for child synths, Jay is a test for teenage synths, as well as to study personality and emotions, and how a synth would grow if they believed to be human

Barely anyone knows this, save for Father and maybe a few other scientists, so Jay keeps it a secret until the Railroad is attacking the place, where he tells Father on his deathbed that he knows the truth

Father tells him that they're not real brothers and he feels nothing for him, and Jay responds by telling Father that he loves him and that their parents would be proud of him before mercy shooting him in the head

He adopts synth Shaun and gets adopted by Nick, making a family of entirely robots (including Codsworth!)

Far Harbor comes after this and stuff happens idk this is getting very long, but DiMA is his uncle!!

The second playthrough, which is forever unfinished, is a Brotherhood playthrough, follows all the main plotpoints above with a few changed details

Instead of immediately leaving to Diamond City after Call to Arms, he and Codsworth stay with Danse and his group with the promise of food, shelter, and in-depth survival and weapon training (he's still relying on his baseball bat at this point despite his horrible strength stat)

Codsworth eventually goes back to Sanctuary (all this fighting stresses him out) and Jay does still find the Railroad and go along with them, but he spends a majority of his time on the Prydwen learning everything he needs to know

Jay's still supportive of synths but is less active in the Railroad, and he finds out he's a synth around a week or two before the events of Blind Betrayal

After Blind Betrayal Jay leaves the Brotherhood and goes for a Minutemen and Railroad ending, where the two factions sort of combine, and a lot of settlers are either rescued synths or helping the Railroad in some way

Danse is also in the Minutemen! Although he's mostly unaware of how involved in the Railroad they are - Jay is trying to ease him into it slowly but it's taking a WHILE to unlearn all that Brotherhood propaganda!

Jay isn't as active in the Railroad in this playthrough, and he's more critical of their ways of doing things. He's a bit more distant with Nick (as Danse sort of takes the roll of surrogate father) but generally the vibes are the same

These two stories somehow both exist equally in my head, so I guess they're both "canon"!

Fun facts!

Jay is a genre of person. Whenever there's an RPG and I can't tell if I should make an OC or pretend to be myself, I make Jay! He also exists in Stardew Valley!

Jay is my middle name, but not on purpose. While getting my name changed my mom offered to include Jay as a middle name (unrelated to my OCs) and I went along with it. Jay had already existed for a while before this!

Jay's original design included a hard hat. I decided it wasn't for him.

Jay disliked Codsworth and Shaun before the war. He was going through an angsty phase and was a bit jealous of not being the only child anymore. He feels very guilty about it now

He can't bring himself to go back to Sanctuary anymore so most of the Minutemen's work is done at the Castle

During The Lost Patrol he finds himself alone at the Revere Satellite Array and trades a bunch of food, water, and caps with the Super Mutants in exchange for Scribe Faris' holotags (and his life). Danse is not happy about this

Despite the fact I never travelled with Curie or Strong in my playthroughs, he's friends with them! He thinks they're pretty chill

The first person he tells about being a Synth is X6, and he asks whether he knew. X6 had no idea.

He doesn't tell Nick for a looong time because of his reaction when DiMA asks if he's a synth. He asks DiMA for advice after the events of Far Harbor before he tells Nick.

[TRIGGER WARNING beyond this point for claustrophobia, suffocation, roaches, PTSD, and suicide] He spent several hours stuck inside the vault, barely able to move or breathe due to having to dethaw in an already cold room. His cryopod couldn't open from the inside and he was slowly suffocating as the seals were air-tight. He had to claw his way through the cushioning to get to some wires that, when broken, finally released the doors.

He was still too weak and pained to move, and the radroaches started swarming him once they sensed fresh meat. They didn't do much damage to him but it was still very traumatizing

The first thing he did as soon as he got out of that room was try and shoot himself with the 10mm. The safety was on and he didn't know how to switch it off, so he gave up

Attempted suicide again a few days later after the power armor from the Museum of Freedom reminded him of the cryo pod and triggered a nasty flashback (plus the general stress of everything), but gets stopped by Codsworth. After retelling this to Captain Cade he finds out that it's not a "normal panic attack" and that he does in fact have PTSD, and that he's not allowed in power armor until he gets his symptoms under control.

#You WILL learn everything about my sole survivor and you WILL enjoy it #i'm writing this at midnight so theres probably so many spelling errors im sorry #this is my attempts at organizing him and his story at least a tiny bit #his story is very malleable and I keep switching it up whenever i get a new plot idea!#anyway ask me questions about him if youd like. i will attempt to answer them...... or make up the answer on the fly idk #fallout 4 #sole survivor oc #my art #oc art #oc jay

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mochiwrites · 1 year

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last life au

in light of third life turning two years old today, I offer a wip I've had sitting in my google drive since february! if any of you remember this post I made a while back, all you need to know is that third life!grian has swapped places with last life!grian somehow. without further ado, here's my very unfinished and very rough last life au wip (pls don't judge it too harshly LOL)

happy two years to the series that changed me as a person! :D (edit: now posted on ao3! read here)

if you enjoyed, please reblog! reblogs do more than likes <3

To Grian, the desert was once a home.

It wasn’t perfect, not really. Perfection is nearly impossible in a game of death, but what he and Scar had came close. The desert was the farthest thing from a good location, all things considered. The days were hot, far too hot, and the nights were so cold that it left Scar and Grian curling up close for warmth. There was nothing but sand for miles, which made gathering materials a constant challenge.

But they had their home. Their tower, their place of respite. Dogwarts was a constant threat barreling down their door, but together they made it work. Their home was far from perfect, but it was theirs and that’s what Grian came to love about it.

Except now, as he stands in a ring of cacti, he has destroyed his home.

His home is filled with lava and craters, a reminder of what they did to survive. Their desert was ruined days ago in what they had hoped to be the final showdown with Dogwarts and The Red King. They blew up their desert for a win they never achieved.

Maybe that was the first sign that things were going wrong. Their desert, their home, their small temporary sanctuary in this hellish game was blown apart.

Ends justifies the means, no?

After all, to Grian, their home was more than just the desert. Their home was with each other. The desert never mattered much to him, not when he had Scar, and vice versa. The desert was a symbol, more than anything. Of Grian’s debt, his guilt. He’ll never admit it, but it felt a bit liberating to destroy it.

And maybe that’s why things went oh so horribly wrong.

Maybe that is why his fists are shaking, knuckles raw and covered in blood. Maybe that is why he stares down at the bloodied corpse of what was once his partner, his other half. His insides twist and turn, creating a mangled mess of emotions within him. The sun beats down on him, sweat and blood mixing together as one. His hair is in his eyes, but he doesn’t care much. His tank top feels like too much but also too little all at once.

His knuckles ache, his body is sore. He’s hardly covered in bruises and scratches, and yet he still feels like he’s just been beaten half to death anyways.

He can’t bear to look at Scar, to meet his gaze and see his own brightly shining eyes reflected in lifeless, empty ones.

“For everything you’ve done to keep me alive this long, you may slay me and take the enchanter.”

Scar’s words ring in his head, accompanied by his laughter. Grian puts a bloodied hand up to his mouth as a wave of nausea rolls over him. He doesn’t pay any mind to the copper twinge that fills his mouth. He tears his gaze away from anywhere remotely near Scar, instead turning and looking over the mountain.

Their home is in ruins. Their home is gone. The last of their home has been destroyed by his own two hands, killed for the sake of winning some pointless game.

His victory feels hollow. Empty.

He had wanted to win together. Winning without Scar felt… wrong. It feels wrong. After all they’ve been through, after establishing something between them, winning alone just… didn’t look as appealing anymore.

“I’m getting you! I’m getting you good!” “I don’t think you are!”

His hands ache. His chest feels tight, as if his ribs have been coiled tightly around his lungs to constrict his air flow. He takes a slow step back, as if trying to escape the scene of the crime. His legs shake from the weight of both his body and his actions. Grian takes a shaky breath.

“Can we win together?”

He stumbles as he walks backwards, his world dipping and tilting.

Grian won alone.

He doesn’t feel like a winner.

He doesn’t even want that title.

The guilt is eating at him. Why? Why is he the one that survived? The point of all of this was so that Scar could win! That’s why Grian stayed with him!

(He won’t admit to himself that there’s more to it than that. He won’t admit to himself that somewhere along the way his feelings changed. No longer was he staying by Scar’s side out of guilt or obligation. Without Grian even noticing, Scar grew on him. Scar broke through his walls with his ridiculous yet charming nature, and Grian found himself wanting to stay with Scar because he wanted to see him win. Because somehow, somewhere, Grian’s heart had been swayed and stolen. Somewhere, he had fallen in love.)

For a moment, he’s angry. He’s angry at the blood lusting ghosts for demanding a final fight. He’s angry at Scar for letting him win, for making him win. Frustrated, bitter words lay on his tongue as he turns around to admonish the man, emotions getting the better of him.

Only to turn and be met with his corpse. Blood pools around Scar’s body, bruises littering his face and chest. Grian had been throwing punches wildly.

His stomach lurches, and he covers his mouth again. Copper fills his nostrils, heavy and thick. “Oh… I don’t feel good,” he mumbles, but there’s no one around to hear him.

He tears his gaze away, instead surveying the desert around him. His blood is rushing in his ears, making it hard to hear. His head swims as he stands still, looking over at the rivers of lava throughout the desert.

Grian’s eyes settle on the cliff face.

This desert isn’t a home anymore. It’s vacant, empty. Pointless. His home doesn’t exist, not without Scar.

He walks toward the cliff.

“Scar, I’m so sorry!”

“I’m sorry too!”

The desert is unfamiliar, morphing and twisting into something dark and unwelcoming. It has become a monster of Grian’s own creation. It has become something that Grian has ripped apart with his own two hands. Something that once brought him warmth is now cold and barren. The desert is a shadow, a weak imitation of what it once was.

He stands on the ledge.

He wonders what was going through Scar’s mind during all of this. What was he thinking? Does he hate Grian for being the one to survive? Is he at peace, having been the one to die? Does he hate Grian for killing him? Does he hate Grian for ruining their home? Or is he happy with the way that things have gone? Grian supposes he’ll never get to know.

He shuts his eyes and jumps.

-----------------

Muffled noises surround him.

He can’t quite make out what the noises are, not when it feels like his head has been submerged under water. One by one, his senses return to him and huh, that’s weird. He’s dead, yet he can feel his body? That… shouldn’t be normal. Granted, Grian has never been permanently dead before. Do most dead people still feel their body? Is that even possible?

The next thing he feels is something soft underneath him. Now Grian knows that isn’t right. The last thing he remembers feeling is his body slamming into the hard ground below, shattering his bones. The pain had only lasted a few seconds before Grian fell unconscious, but it had been excruciating while he could still feel. Darkness had come to claim him quite swiftly.

But whatever he’s laying on… it feels nothing like the harsh sand. It’s softer, almost silky. Plush. It only serves to confuse Grian more, seeing as once more, he isn’t sure if feeling things still is normal for a dead person.

Ever so slowly, Grian slowly opens his eyes. His eyes are met with a stone ceiling, which… is that supposed to be there?

Grian had a few ideas of what the afterlife would be like – if he even has one. An empty void, or maybe the End. Perhaps he’d return to the wasteland that was once his home and haunt it as a ghost. (A kinder part of him had hoped that he’d reunite with his friends, and they could all cry and hug one another. And maybe he could see Scar again, and shake him around for making Grian kill him, and then hold onto the man so that he’d never lose him again.)

Experimentally, he wiggles a finger or two. Yup, there’s still a body attached to him. Alright. Though to his surprise, he isn’t in any sort of pain. Maybe that shouldn’t be surprising, all things considered.

Something wet touches his hand then, and Grian leaps up with a shriek. He pulls his hand back and looks at whatever touched him, finding a dog sitting on the ground. “Huh?” He looks at the dog, seeing a red collar around its neck. “Why is there a dog here?” The animal simply tilts its head to the side in response.

It’s then that Grian actually takes the time to look around at where he is, and he pauses. The first thing he notices is that he’s laying in a white bed. There’s a chest and a crafting table in front of the bed, and there are dogs just about everywhere. Ah, so that’s what all the noise was. A furnace is set on the floor against the wall, and Grian finds himself feeling very confused.

This is… definitely not the afterlife, that’s for sure.

Did someone rescue him? How? Grian was the only one left on Third Life, everyone else was…

Lips curling in a frown, he moves to slide off of the bed. Just as his foot touches the ground, he pauses, recognizing the extra weight on his body. Looking down at himself, Grian finds iron armor on him, which only worsens his confusion. Why is he in armor?

Standing from the bed, he looks around at the room. He’s certain that he’s underground, if the walls of stone and dirt are anything to go by. He watches as one of the dogs (a pup) clambers onto the bed and circles the pillow before curling up and laying down.

It leaves him feeling very confused.

He casts a glance around at the stone box he’s in, looking at each of the dogs. Some of them don’t pay him any mind, and others are staring right at him. Who’s dogs are these? And why are they here, wherever here is. They seem friendly with him at least, but Grian doesn’t know if that makes him relaxed or more nervous. He remembers Joel’s pack of wolves.

While looking around, he spots a ladder tucked against the wall leading down. He doesn’t go toward it, in case it’s trapped. Instead, he looks at the pickaxe he has on him and uses that to cautiously dig a little staircase up.

It takes him a few minutes to get to the surface, considering he’s trying to dig out and also listen to his surroundings. When he finally pops his head out from the dirt, he does so carefully, peeking out to look around him. There’s no one around him besides trees and mountains. He sighs softly in relief. Though he still has to remain vigilant.

Climbing out of the hole, he covers it back up with dirt (just in case if he was saved by someone, they won’t immediately notice he’s gone). Standing at full height, Grian takes a look around. The first thing he notices is how the landscape is completely different to Third Life. What is this place, he wonders. The terrain all looks different.

Lips dipping in a frown, he sets his hands on his hips, “Definitely not in Kansas anymore…” he mumbles to himself. If this is the afterlife, it’s quite odd, that’s for sure.

While looking around, he catches sight of something in the distance. It looks like some kind of cobblestone building with roofs of dark oak. From where he is, he can spot four of them. One is at the very top of a mountain, being the most visible.

The idea of approaching it leaves Grian hesitant, but maybe a little investigation wouldn’t hurt. He’s going to have to check it out if he wants any answers as to what this place is. So he makes a journey toward the direction of the towers. Trekking through the trees, he uses the branches for coverage.

And when he gets to the big entrance of the four towers, he pauses.

Grian stares at the front entrance, watching as pistons move up and down in front of him. Watching it, his eyes follow the movements curiously. Surrounding the entrance are walls of dark oak and cobble, wrapping around the base completely. He considers walking inside, maybe exploring whatever this new structure is. There was nothing inside the chest within the bunker for him.

His inventory is an assortment of different items, none of which Grian knows what’s important and what isn’t. By now he’s ascertained that he’s in fact not dead. Which is… confusing. How is he alive? And where is he?

“Oh, Grian!” Someone’s calling his name, and the sound of someone else’s voice makes him jump. He looks up, seeing a familiar blue and red jump suit and dirty blond hair.

Grian’s eyes widen, “Tim..?” The name escapes him with a sharp breath. No longer does his skin look sickly and gray, instead healthy and free of blood. His hair is vibrant, as are his brown eyes. A diamond chest plate sits over his upper body, iron leggings and boots. Grian almost feels like he’s seeing a ghost. The last time he saw Jimmy, it had been in the desert. Right before he died.

It feels weird to see him again, considering he wasn’t meant to die in that fight. He was meant to stay safe. With Scar.

Grief and regret crashes into him at once, nearly knocking him over. Images of that battle flicker in his mind, as well as the aftermath. They hadn’t spent long at Jimmy’s grave.

(Grian paid Jimmy’s grave a visit late that night. He had been fully aware of the risks, knowing that anyone from Dogwarts could attack him. But Grian could bet with certainty they were too busy enjoying a perceived victory against the Desert.

Jimmy’s grave was nothing fancy. Extravagance was a privilege they didn’t have there. Simple cobblestone walls and a poppy planted in the ground was all Scott could give him.

Grian sat down, and apologized. He hadn’t even been there for Jimmy’s death. Jimmy wasn’t supposed to die. And Grian hadn’t even been there to help him. He apologized for that. He promised revenge. His death would not be in vain.

At some point, someone had joined him. A warmth slotted against his side, and the smell of sweat, burnt sand, and summer heat filled his senses. He relaxed.

Neither of them spoke for a while. Grian leaned against Scar, letting his thoughts wander.

“I’m sorry the trap got messed up.” Scar apologized with a low mutter.

Grian huffed quietly, gently knocking his head against his arm,“I don’t care about that. I mean, I do since the only one it got was me, but — I’m more thankful you survived.”

“…I’m sorry you died,” was Scar’s response, “But on the bright side, your debt’s been repaid! You’re a free man!” Grian knew Scar well enough by then to know when he was forcing himself to act cheerful. He could hear the underlying sadness in his voice, the way he was holding something back. But most of all he could hear the fear.

To that, Grian only pressed himself more firmly against him. “Then my first act as a free man is to see this through with you until the end.”

He heard Scar take a breath; shaky and rough. An arm wrapped around him, and he heard a murmured, “Thank you.”)

Jimmy looks a little nervous as he stands on the other side of the pistons, “What’re you doing all the way over there for? Get in ‘ere already!” he exclaims, gesturing for him to come in. “Mumbo disabled the trap!”

His body moves as if it’s on autopilot, legs carrying him toward the gate. He clumsily hops over the pistons and line of stone bricks, landing on the other side. His footing is a bit clumsy as he hits the ground, wobbling slightly. Jimmy laughs at him, and Grian tries to process the sound.

Jimmy isn’t dead. He’s alive.

What in the world is going on?

Grian goes over to him, staring at him with something akin to marvel. Jimmy turns to him, still looking nervous. “So uh… I’m not going to be kicked out, right? I know we had the vote and all yesterday but just wanted to triple check you didn’t change your mind overnight,” he rambles to Grian, shifting back and forth on his feet.

“What?” Blinking in confusion, Grian looks at him. “Why would I be—”

“Oi, Tim! Give the man some space to breathe, would ya?” Another voice joins them, and Grian tenses at the familiarity. “He only just got back last night. At least wait an extra five minutes before you start pestering ‘im.”

Glancing to his side, he spots The Red King’s right hand man approaching them. He’s dressed in iron, a shield attached to his arm. The familiar black bandana peeks out from underneath his hair and his blue eyes are creased with amusement as he looks at the pair. “Martyn?!” The exclamation escapes him before he can stop it. He takes a small step in front of Jimmy, knowing that Scott would be crushed if he lost him a second time (The memory of Scott in his mind would be, anyways). He keeps himself on guard.

Martyn smiles at the pair, “Good morning to you too, fellow Southlander!” He grins. “How’s it feel to be yellow again, eh Grian?” he questions, which makes Grian bristle slightly. He remembers Martyn taking his first life very clearly.

“I’m–”

“Watch out!” A voice calls out, followed by the sounds of feet hitting the ground. Grian jumps as someone barrels past himself and Martyn, cutting right through them in a blur of black. “Hot lava bucket in my hands!”

“I told you to wear gloves!” A second voice follows, and Grian catches a glimpse of yellow and black. He turns his head in the direction the two voices went, seeing them both by the entrance of the fort. Almost instantly, Grian recognizes Impulse from behind. But the one next to him…

Grian feels his entire body freeze. His breath is punched out of him, eyes widening.

The man next to Impulse is setting the bucket of lava down with a large sigh, shoulders sagging in relief. He straightens up, taking a moment to glance around. His eyes lock with Grian’s, and Grian feels rooted to his spot. His throat feels dry, as if he hasn’t drank anything in weeks. He swallows, but it does little to rid the feeling.

Oblivious to Grian’s freezing, the man smiles wide at him, hurrying over. “Grian!” he exclaims, “Glad you got here before I reset the trap, mate, “ he greets cheerfully, but Grian feels too stunned to speak.

Why is Mumbo here? Why?

A multitude of emotions crash into Grian’s chest at the sight of his best friend. Relief, horror, guilt. They each roll over him, loud and vicious as they threaten to overwhelm him. He can’t look away from the man, the feeling of confusion holding his head above water.

(“Do you think Mumbo would be proud?” The question had been half nonchalant as the pair ran through the desert, digging deep underground. The true meaning of the question was a secret, one between only himself and Scar.

Scar paused to consider it. He had lifted a finger to his chin as he thought, “Oh! Mumbo would be crying from happiness!”

“Be honest with me.” Grian had said.

Scar hadn’t been.)

Standing in front of the man, Grian does not share the thought. Not after the blood staining his hands. And isn’t that ironic? In a game where your aim is to kill and survive, he feels guilty over killing. But maybe that’s because of who his final kill was. Because of how it all ended. Grian had hoped he’d never have to face Mumbo after that, but apparently fate had other plans.

“Speaking of getting here early,” Martyn’s voice cuts through the fog of confusion settling over Grian’s mind, causing him to look over at the other. Grian forces his gaze away from Mumbo with a painful pang, meeting Martyn’s eyes, “I see you’ve gone and scored another life on your way back from Scar’s.” He wiggles his brows.

Just hearing Scar’s name causes Grian’s stomach to curl with grief, “W-What?” he asks, the shock of Martyn’s statement sending him back a small step.

“Don’t you try and fool me, G, the last time we saw you you were on yellow life. And now you’re green!” Martyn points at his wrist, and naturally, Grian’s gaze follows.

His heart squeezes uncomfortably tight as he sees the familiar line of hearts down his wrist. There’s three hearts on his wrist, green, yellow, and red. Nausea rolls over him like a blanket, wrapping around him and tightening around his neck. He feels sick. Why? Why?! He thought he was done with all of this! Was killing Scar not enough? Was winning an empty, meaningless victory not enough?!

Is this his punishment? Or some sick kind of joke?!

He clenches his fists, watching the way they shake from how tightly he clenches them. Burning hot anger runs through him like lava, melting his insides. The warmth goes from top to bottom, engulfing him in an angry, vicious flame. He feels too much, yet too little all at once. He wants to scream. To cry. Maybe break something, or blow something up. Blood is pumping in his ears; his heart feels like it’s going to burst.

This isn’t the afterlife. This is hell.

“Grian?” Mumbo’s gentle, concerned voice breaks through the anger threatening to overtake him like a light. The sound of his voice snaps him from his spiraling thoughts, and he notices how his fingers dig uncomfortably into his skin. As if his nails can break the hearts on his wrist, shatter them. He lets go instantly, seeing angry red lines left behind.

Lifting his gaze, Grian sees four pairs of eyes watching him. Yet the only eyes he focuses on are Mumbo’s, it’s been so long since he’s seen the man. His presence is normally a comfort for Grian, something grounding. But right now, all Grian feels is conflict. His grief and guilt is suffocating, and Mumbo’s presence does little to help that feeling. Mumbo looks at him with nothing but concern and kindness, with the way his eyebrows dip and lower, a worried frown marring his face.

Mumbo takes a step closer, hand reaching out to him, “You alright, mate?” Looking down, Grian sees the man’s wrist. Four hearts go down his wrist in a line. Two of them are already gone, looking faded and cracked. The sight of the hearts on his wrist sends his stomach dropping, heart lodging in his throat.

Grian recoils from his outstretched hand as if it were a weapon, and Mumbo freezes in place. He pulls his hand back. His face falls, and Grian pretends he doesn’t see.

“I’m fine.” Grian hastily replies, ignoring the burst of pain in his chest. He scans the people around him. Mumbo, Impulse, Jimmy, and… Martyn. He takes a breath. So he’s stuck in another life game. Great. And it looks like these four are his… alliance.

A sudden thought strikes him. If those four are here then… who else is here?

His communicator pings, and he pulls it up, heart still firmly lodged in his throat.

<GoodTimeWithScar> oh team BEST~

<GoodTimeWithScar> A wizard *never* forgets his promise.

If seeing Mumbo made him sick, then seeing Scar’s message in chat plunges him into freezing cold water. Scar’s name is red (of course it is), and it sends nostalgia and grief tearing through him all at once. Everything suddenly feels like it’s too much, his head swimming. He stumbles slightly, nearly falling if it hadn’t been for Jimmy taking hold of him. “Seriously, you alright?” Jimmy questions, and Grian… Grian doesn’t know.

All he can think about is his final moments with Scar leading up to that stupid duel. The splashing of water below him as he jumped down to meet him in that shallow pond.

“Betrayer!” he had screamed.

Well look who’s laughing now.

Grian had thought about it very briefly, in his final moments, what it’d be like if he ever met Scar again. He had wondered if Scar would scorn him, or if Scar would pull him into his arms and congratulate him on a battle well fought. He had also considered keeping his distance, as far away as possible, as to never hurt Scar again.

And yet, just as usual, his heart never listens to his brain.

Because as he looks at his communicator, watching the others reply in chat, his eyes only focus on Scar’s name. There’s a part of him, a very deep part within, that cries out for him. It sees Scar’s name, and it reaches. It reaches far and wide, and it doesn’t concern itself with the logical side of Grian’s brain. No, it simply sees the fact that Scar is clearly alive and well and it wants to run right toward him.

Seeing Scar’s name makes Grian’s chest ache with a deep yearning that he knows can never be satisfied. There is an ache in him that he knows will only continue to eat away at himself, until he is rotting and reaching. His soul is crying, begging for Scar at his side, and though Grian knows that he will only be the catalyst to Scar’s ultimate demise, he is weak to the pull of his emotions.

Grian’s other half is alive! He is alive and that part of Grian feels incomplete without him. Empty. His heart aches at the thought of being with Scar again, of being able to give him the apology he deserves. Just the thought of being able to apologize to him is enough to break Grian down.

“S-Scar,” he stammers, completely forgetting that Jimmy even asked him a question. “He’s – I have to get to him,” he says, turning to the others.

He’s met with varying expressions of confusion, though it’s Impulse who says something, “Didn’t you already bring him his stuff after he died?” he questions, and Grian quickly shakes his head.

“No I just – where is he? I-I need to see him, I–” he stammers, thoughts running far too quickly for him to actually think coherently.

“Up north dude, where he always is.” Martyn replies, though he’s looking at Grian with… something. If he weren’t so distracted by the thought of Scar, he’d probably look closer into that. However, distraction is the card he’s been dealt, and he lets it play. He spins on his heel for the exit, walking briskly with purpose. “Make sure he doesn’t kill you!” Martyn calls after him, “Remember the guy’s on red!"

Grian knows he won’t.

-----------------

If Grian is being honest with himself, he probably should have put more thought into this. He didn’t even come here with a plan! He had just heard that Scar was north, so north is where he went. He was moving too fast for his brain to actually catch up.

It was a bit of a journey, getting from the cobbled towers (the Southlanders, his mind supplies) to the big mountain in the north. But the second he saw the hut on top of the mountain, he knew exactly who lived there.

Maybe what made the journey so difficult was the thoughts that accompanied him.

Grian won’t say that he ran to Scar’s — because he didn’t. Not really. He had walked. And his thoughts consumed him with every step.

He’s stuck in another life game. Scar is here. Mumbo is here. He doesn’t know what it means. This game isn’t Third Life, he knows that much. His mind is scrambling, trying to come up with some kind of plan. A strategy. He’s trying to lay out a safety net for himself but he should’ve known from the start it’d be pointless.

There are no safety nets in a game of death. There are no “plans”, despite how badly Grian may want to use one. He learned in Third Life that plans don’t work, even the most carefully planned strategy blows up in his face. It won’t stop him though. A plan gives him something to fall back on, a faux comfort.

A plan keeps him from running headfirst into danger, a plan keeps him alive.

Which is why he probably should’ve come up with a plan before going to Scar. He doesn’t know what kind of state the man will be in. He isn’t sure how to even approach a reunion with him. It’s obvious that he’s in some kind of… who even knows where. Obviously his friends all know him here, but he isn’t sure if they remember him. Who he is. What he’s done. What they’ve all done.

It doesn’t help that he’s apparently been dropped right in the middle of this new game.

He doesn’t know how to handle an approach to Scar. Hug him? Smack him? Ask him if he knows who he is? A no on that last one, Jimmy and the others have already answered that. Besides, Grian isn’t sure if he could handle Scar looking at him like Grian was a stranger in every sense of the word except the literal one.

He settles on just seeing what happens. Sometimes no plan is the best plan!

But just — not in a death game.

His thoughts trail off as he approaches the bottom of the mountain, and he looks up. He grimaces as he gets a clearer view of the hut up top, sighing. “Of course Scar had to put his base in the most precarious spot ever,” he grumbles before beginning to make his way up the mountain. He makes sure to be careful with each step, keeping himself aware of where he’s stepping.

When he makes it to the top of the mountain, he’s rather out of breath, chest heaving from exertion. This mountain is a lot bigger than the one back in the desert. But he reaches the top, and is face to face with a hut made of wood and dark stone. The roof on top looks like a wizard’s hat, and Grian can’t help his fond huff.

He focuses his gaze on the entryway, finding it wide open. This is it. Scar is beyond that doorway. Grian’s hands shake just at the thought of seeing him again. Anxiety runs through his blood like water, filling him completely. His heart picks up, beating against his ribcage. He swallows thickly.

A small part of him wants to run away. A small part of him wants to turn around and head right back down the mountain and forget that he even came here. A small part of him is afraid to look Scar in the eyes. It makes him feel like a coward.

And yet despite that small part of him, Grian walks forward.

He walks right into the hut, and promptly stops. Right in front of him is none other than Scar. He’s digging around in a barrel, humming to himself. Grian isn’t sure what the tune is, or where it’s from, but the scene feels familiar. His chest aches.

“Scar?” he says, causing the man to yell out.

He jumps up in surprise, letting out the typical fearful scream he does whenever he’s snuck up on. It makes Grian smile softly, and god he misses this man. Scar spins around on his heels, turning to look at Grian. Grian gets a good look at his eyes, and he sees a dark red haze swirling in them. There is not a hint of warmth in his eyes, no kind of recollection or even joy at seeing him. Grian isn’t sure what he sees in Scar’s eyes, but he knows that there is anger in them. Bloodlust.

(He thinks he might see hatred. And that is a thought that shakes him right to his core. He does not want to live in a world where Scar hates him, even if it is justified. Does that make him selfish?)

“Oh, Grian,” Scar eventually says, and his voice is cold. Empty. He takes a step forward, something whimsical about his footing. Scar is dressed in dark robes, stark white hair peeking out from underneath. “If you’re here to nab another life from me, Grian, I’m afraid you’re out of luck,” he says, his voice low and dangerous. There is a promise of a threat in his voice.

Grian frowns at that, chest panging. “I’m not interested in your life, Scar,” he says matter of factly. He’s already taken one (two, if his guilt counts the creeper), he doesn’t want another one.

A laugh spills from Scar, something lacking any real humor. “Oh, don’t you play with me!” he exclaims, voice sharp and angular. The sound of it causes Grian to jolt in surprise. “You can fool me once or twice! Or…” he trails off, thinking. “Three times, whatever, it doesn’t matter!”

“Scar…” Grian says, and he quickly realizes that he probably should’ve prepared himself a bit more. He lets the other approach him. There’s something different about him compared to Third Life. Something bitter, cynical. Grian isn’t sure if it’s because of the nature of this new game, or if it’s simply because Scar is on red.

“No, Grian!” Scar exclaims, reaching for his diamond sword. “You know, I was planning on hitting Team BEST first, give ‘em a real good thrashing. Send a message and all that! Can’t mess with ol’ Scar! Not anymore, no sir!” He takes another step toward Grian.

It’s the instinct of green life, Grian knows, that has him backing away slowly. He takes a few tiny steps backwards.

Scar looks at him, something angry and hurt in his gaze, “But I think you’ll make a good first message to the masses. You were the first to take advantage of me, after all.”

Grian’s back slams into the wall behind him, crushing his wings. He cringes at the feeling, but he doesn’t move. Scar is cornering him, holding the blade to his throat. He easily towers over Grian, putting just enough pressure on his sword to spill a bit of blood.

Looking at him, Grian doesn’t see a hint of the Scar he once knew. He isn’t quite sure what’s going on here, what the Grian of this game has done to wrong Scar, but what he does know is this.

He killed Scar.

And the hatred in Scar’s eyes isn’t misplaced or even misdirected.

He doesn’t fight back against the blade on his throat, the blade that is spilling his blood. He simply stands there and meets Scar’s hazy red eyes. To Grian, he thinks this is good retribution for the cactus ring. He sees no point in fighting against Scar when this is something he believes he deserves.

Yet Scar thinks otherwise.

See, he had expected a lot out of today. He’s on red now, and he had a goal in mind. He was going to make everyone on this forsaken server regret thinking they could just use Scar as they please. He was going to start with BEST, and then work his way to the others. But then Grian just came waltzing in like they were old buddies and Scar wasn’t going to let a golden opportunity slip past him.

He has a whole separate issue with Grian, after all.

But as he stares into Grian’s eyes, he sees something odd. Firstly he stares up at Scar with blatant confusion and hurt. It makes him want to laugh. What does Grian possibly have to be hurt over?

Though that isn’t what makes him pause. No, what makes him truly falter is the guilt he sees in Grian’s eyes.

He observes the green life in front of him (Wasn’t Grian yellow? Did he swindle someone else out of a life?) and notices that there’s no fight. Grian isn’t pushing back against him. He’s not arguing or drawing his own weapon. Not even as Scar draws blood and pushes the blade harder.

Suddenly the appeal of killing Grian leaves him. What fun is a kill that rolls over and exposes their weak point?

Scar scoffs at him before making up his mind and taking a step back. So much for that perfect message in chat. Looks like Team BEST is back as his number one target. He lowers his sword completely.

Grian watches him with confusion, “Scar?”

The red life meets his gaze, a deep frown settling on his lips. “Who are you?”

#scarian #trafficshipping #third life smp #last life smp #last life au #mochi writes #I really want to get back to writing this one omg #once I'm on summer break.....#anyways! third life my beloved #cannot believe it's two years old #I wasn't around at the start but I'm here now and AUGH

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starry-nights12 · 6 months

Note

Despair

One Word Prompt (Jinx's Diary Entry)

CW:Brief mention of torture

══════════════════

My Ekko is an actor.

He loves to perform every day.

He pretends that he's fine to his community and presents them with a dazzling smile.

Everyone sat in box seats while I had front-row seats to everything he was going through.

They begrudgingly agreed to let me stay before I came here. That's how good of a leader he is.

Get their hated enemy to stay in their sanctuary all because he was in love with me to give me a second chance.

He didn't tell them that. I figured that was his other reason for having me after we started dating.

I didn't come here for their forgiveness nor expect them to even if I did care.

The crazy, sadistic, psycho they resented was the one to comfort him during his time of need.

When he was on the brink of despair I was the one that had to pull him out before he drowned in it.

Their cheerful leader told me about violent ways he wanted to kill the chembarons and the enforcers.

I told him about Singed gleefuly operated on me when I woke up in the middle of the surgery. He wanted to join me in finding him and torturing him.

I know it's because he loves me. I also know he wants revenge on the man for creating the drug that ravaged our town.

Even though he loved his people and the secret community he created-he sometimes felt lonely. He missed all of us and wished they were here.

All these people do is take and take AND TAKE.

Never ONCE stopping to think that their beloved, respected leader needed help like they do.

The only worthwhile person here is Scar. We hated each other but eventually, he became our mutual friend.

I hate Heimerdinger the most. I'll never understand him letting a Piltie here.

Ekko has too much of a big heart. It's what I admired about him but also found frustrating.

I tucked him in and kissed his forehead. He's sleeping next to me right now.

Sometimes we both have restless nights. Our nightmares terrorize us and the only safe place was to stay awake.

He hadn't tossed and turned, his face didn't scrunch up, and he wasn't crying yet. I hope he sleeps peacefully throughout the night.

He just finished crying over Benzo and wanted me to comfort him. He hates Silco but lets me cry to him about it.

Uncle Benzo was his father and we both loved him. If I never grabbed those crystals I would have never met Silco.

We still would have had our Dads.

He doesn't blame me because we didn't know the fallout would happen.

He blames himself for even telling Vi. He feels like he ruined everything in our lives.

My poor, sweet angel.

It is my fault.

I'm sorry, Ekko.

I ruin everything I touch yet haven't managed to keep you so far.

That's what angels do. They're able to perform miracles.

He's my world.

He's the air that I breath

He's my everything.

If Ekko gets killed because of me then I might as well die too.

I'll only seal your death if I say it aloud but I love you.

I love you SO much that despite Silco scolding me, I let myself become weak around you.

You ARE my weakness.

He hates you for it.

You're my baby.

I love you unconditionally and want to take care of you. You're precious to me and I savour the time we spend together.

I love you, Little Man.♡

I love you.♡

I'll always be your girl just like you promised.♡

I'm yours just as much as you are mine.♡

Forever and always.♡

#timebomb #ekkojinx #ekko arcane #jinx arcane #arcane #my post #my writing #ask #anon #writing requests #THANKS ANON!!

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whalesandstars · 1 year

Text

Pyrophobia

Wanderer & Nahida, Platonic [Hurt/Comfort, Pyrophobia]

Summary:

Fire. It was the vicious monster that nearly burned him to death at the Mikage Furnace. Fire. It was the name of the one that ate Niwa and the young boy’s body until only ashes remained. Fire. It was the element that Dotorre mercilessly used in his experiments. Fire. It was the one that had ruined his daily walk with Nahida, the one that was currently spiraling his thoughts down to the abyss.

He was drowning…drowning in a sea of fire, But thankfully, a little hand reached out to him, And saved him from the fire and his own mind.

“You want me to play the role of a bodyguard while you roam on the streets, is that it?” Wanderer crossed his arms on his chest.

The light on the Sanctuary of Surasthana gave the dendro archon’s eyes a cheerful glow, “You can think of it that way. But personally, I prefer to call it as a stroll with a friend.”

Friend, huh.

Ridiculous. He had tried to replace her as Sumeru’s deity, spat slanderous words to her face, and attempted to kill her and the traveler 168 times. She should resent him. She should have banished him and left him to rot somewhere. Her eyes should hold contempt as it stared at him, but no, it was filled with tenderness. She should have abandoned him, the one who had nearly thrown her beloved nation in chaos, and yet here she was in front of him, her lips not speaking scorn but was instead calling him a friend.

Ridiculous.

“You are too kind for your own good.” He huffed, “While it’s true that you are clever, one day, that kindness of yours will put you at great risk.”

“Well, I do have you to watch my back. So that puts my mind at ease.”

Wanderer chuckled, “So you are indeed appointing me as your bodyguard. Or rather, as your babysitter. Regardless, I do owe you something and if me keeping you company on your frivolous strolls and keeping enemies from stabbing you in the back proves useful to you, I’ll do it.”

Nahida who was getting used to reading his words between the lines, translated the statement as an agreement to her proposal, “Thank you. Though I want to make it clear that I am only asking you to join me and not demanding it. You have a choice. You always have. You are not bound with the obligation to accompany me with the idea of ‘balancing the books’”.

A pause. The Wanderer’s mind pondered on her words.

“I understand.” He replied, “I will not be able to sleep at night if something happened to you anyway.”

Nahida’s eyes widened a little.

Wanderer immediately corrected himself upon seeing the look in her face, “Don’t get me wrong. It just wouldn’t sit well with me if you die without me paying off my debts to you.”

He dropped his arms to his side and continued before the archon could utter a word, “Enough chit chat. Let’s stop wasting time here.” His feet made soft taps on the ground as he started walking towards the door, “There’s usually a lot who line up in your favorite candy shop so if you want to get some before it runs out, we better get going.”

A warm smile bloomed on her face while she jogged to his side.

Wanderer tried to distract himself with the candy in his mouth, which was too sweet for his liking. He rolled it to the other side of his mouth with a scowl, causing the glances of people to retract from the stranger in their city…who was walking with the archon, their hands clasped together.

Earlier, when the crowd in the market was thicker than they expected that day, Lesser Lord Kusanali--Nahida, he corrected upon recalling the little god’s insistence--suggested for them to hold hands in order to avoid being separated from each other. Of course she would come up with such an absurd idea, being the child she was. He growled at her suggestion. However, seeing her big round eyes looking like a puppy seeing the eyes of some people on him, he did not want to cause a scene so he agreed.

Thus here they were, walking in Sumeru City looking like a pair of loving siblings eating candies.

Like a family.

He gulped down the lump in his throat, letting the tooth-rotting sweetness wash away a thought.

The idea of family made him feel warm but the coldness of his memories extinguished it. He remembered the frigidity in the air when his mother abandoned him in a desolate pavilion, in the withered heart of Niwa on his palm, and in the lifeless corpse of a young boy. They were all cold.

His family. Cold and dead.

Cold as the make believe family he had in Snezhnaya.

Cold like the hollowness in his chest.

He exhaled.

Maybe one day…

One day he would be able to keep the warmth of having a family without fear and without regret.

It may not be tomorrow or the next day, next month, or next year.

But someday.

For now, he would settle on the feeling of Nahida‘s warm hand on his, the mellow light from the sun encasing his whole body now that he was not wearing his hat. Now that he thought of it, a long time had passed since he felt like this; to see the world without the shadow of his hat. For years, he would hide under it, limiting his view and blocking out the people he crossed paths with; his vision faced ahead, to the mission he was tasked with and to the road paved by the unquenchable fury inside him. He would hide his face, his emotions, his vulnerabilities–all of him–under his hat; his walls raised so that no one would be able to hurt him again.

Today though, Nahida suggested that he keep his hat hidden to avoid it bumping people along the way. Without it, he felt a little naked, a small patch of fear lingering in a dark corner within him. But…it was nice. This was nicer than he thought. It was like a veil had been lifted from his eyes, allowing him to see the vibrant colors around him. He was no longer seeing a straight and narrow path but the whole area, the colorful silk fabrics on the stalls, the redness of apples in baskets, the greenery decorating the streets, and even the blueness of the sky above him. Without the obstruction, he was no longer seeing feet at the corner of his eyes, but the arms of people as they gestured, and their faces, including their expressions and emotions.

Maybe taking walks like this was not too bad.

Yeah, it was not too bad.

Especially with the reassuring warmth by his side.

It was now Friday and the rest of the morning was spent in idle leisure as always. They had picked fabrics that Nahida could use to make new clothes for him. They had tried some food he had not tried before with the archon countering his argument of not having a need to eat using ‘it’s all about the flavor and the experience’ . They also came across a peculiar dusk bird that could sing. However, he could not share the archon’s enthusiasm for it, not when it was too loud and annoying, not after it had insulted him by perching on his head and making his hair some sort of nest. The audacity. If not for Nahida trying to pacify his anger, he would have sent it straight to the desert in a blast of anemo.

As the day dragged on, the archon pulled him to different places as if they were birds jumping from one branch to another. Or perhaps the better wording was that she was teaching a bird who had fallen from the sky and had broken a wing how to fly again little by little. She would help him stabilize in the air whenever his thoughts stumbled and spiraled to the ground. She would stay by his side whenever he tried to fold his wings around himself, until he felt safe and comfortable enough to unfurl them and take flight with her again. She was the wind beneath his wings. She would guide him, support him, until he found his way out of the dark forest that kept him prisoner and into the clear blue sky where he could be free.

He was doing better than he ever did for the past 400 years thanks to Nahida’s company and wisdom.

He was recovering.

But when you were on the road to recovery,

Sometimes,

The path you were walking on could suddenly collapse.

Today was one of those.

It was supposed to be a simple stroll to the market for supplies. It was the same song and dance they had done countless times before.

He could remember the smile on Nahida’s face as she held out a bouquet of flowers given to her, the way her eyes shone as she offered him a rare blue Sumeru rose, and the mocking tone in his voice when he said that he could find a much more astonishing flower than that one. He could recall her inviting him to a performance happening in the Grand Bazaar next week.

He remembered her small hand tugging on his sleeve.

Then nothing.

Only the fire.

The flames that erupted from a nearby stall.

Close.

Too close.

It was staring at him,

About to devour him.

Nahida was speaking to him, but he could not understand it.

His body trembled.

His hands clenched into fists.

His teeth gnashed together.

Hot.

Too hot.

Its hands were reaching towards him.

It burns,

The flame warped its hands around his throat.

He gasped.

He could not breathe.

Fire. Fire Fire.

It was inches away from his face.

Burns. Burns. Burns.

It was choking him.

He took a step back.

He could not breathe.

Another step back.

It hurts.

Another.

His skin was on fire, peeling it, turning them to ash.

Another step back,

Until he was running.

Away. Away. Away.

Away from the fire, away from everything.

He did not know where he was going. The surroundings were all a blur and everything was spinning. His thoughts were a pile of ashes blown away by the wind.

He ran away.

He ran away from the Mikage Furnace but the flames, but the pain still followed and scorched him. His skin was on fire. He was on fire. Every inch of his body screaming at the agonizing pain that was consuming him. Tears fell from his eyes.

It hurts. It hurts. It hurts.

Help me.

He ran and ran only to find himself inside a burning horse, the ashes of his little brother left on his feet–

It burns.

Then he was back at Dotorre’s lab, the fire reflected on the Doctor’s maniacal gaze as he pressed a blazing torch on his skin.

Stop.

It hurts.

Help.

Help me.

The smoke obscured his vision that was already hazy from tears.

He tried to pull a breath onto his artificial lungs, but he was underwater, under a sea of fire and he was drowning.

He placed his hands on his ears because even though he was underwater, their voices were not muffled–Niwa’s final words, the child’s promise, Dotorre’s mad laughter. He could hear them all at the same time, screaming at him, blending with his own sobs as the fire ate him alive, as the water pulled him into the deepest and darkest depths.

He was blinking away the tears, shaking his head. gritting his teeth against the pain, against the sensation of being burned to death. He was opening and closing his mouth but no breath came.

“--rer!”

He was burning.

He was suffocating.

He was dying--

“Wanderer!”

His head snapped at the person in front of him.

White hair, emerald eyes.

Nahida.

“I–I can’t–” He huffed, his eyes wide and frantic, “It burns, I can’t…”

Small hands took his, “Wanderer, look at me.”

With panic in his eyes, he looked at her.

Nahida squeezed his hands and spoke gently, “Follow my breathing.”

She took a deep breath, letting the wind fill her lungs. She held it in for a while before exhaling it, her shoulders sagging as tension left her body.

“Breath in…and out…” She watched her panicking companion struggle to follow her actions, “You can breathe. Just slow down. Repeat what I am doing.”

He tried his best to imitate Nahida, focusing on her face, the rush of wind in her chest and mouth, and let the air she exhaled supply his failing reserve stolen by the sea of fire. He followed her until he was no longer suffocating underwater, until the pain in his skin lessened.

“Just like that.” Nahida commended. Her thumbs started drawing circles on the back of his trembling hands, “Now focus on the action I am doing on your hand. Feel my skin against yours, the motion, and the warmth of my hand. Can you do that for me?”

Wanderer nodded, his calmer gaze dropping to their intertwined hands. He watched her dainty fingers dance on his. He followed the trail they walked on, focusing his attention on how they brush against his hand, how soft they were compared to his wooden limbs, and how warm they were as they lightly massaged his cold hand.

“Wanderer.” She called, causing him to return his gaze to her face, “Can you say the colors of the first three items you can see?”

“Your eyes, green.” His eyes shifted to the left and found a small pebble on the ground, “A gray stone.” Indigo irises roamed around the surroundings, “A brown tree.”

He was in a forest. Though he did not remember how he got here or where this part of the jungle was exactly located.

“Good. Now I want you to wiggle your fingers and toes. Yes, like that.” She nodded, “Feel the grass beneath you, how it tickles your skin and how your weight sits on it.”

He was in a forest, he repeated. He was not in the Mikage Furnace or that burning house. He was not in Dotorre’s lab. The Doctor was not here; he could not harm him.

He was in a forest with Nahida, with only the slight rustle of leaves and chirping birds were audible. The wind was calm and the blue sky was clear. He was not burning. There were no flames here, only trees and a moment of peace.

“You are safe here with me.” Nahida blanketed his trembling form with reassurance.

They stayed like that for a while, basking in the warmth of the sun, in the calmness that the earth offered, and in the presence of one another. Nahida was the anchor that kept him from being swept away by the tides of his fears, the hand that pulled him out of the murky sea, the cold water that extinguished the flames and soothed his burns until they were mere echoes of the past. With her here, his body stopped trembling. With her hands holding his, no more tears fell down his lap.

“Are you feeling better, Wanderer?” Concern swam in her emerald irises, her voice as soft as the whisper of the wind that passed by.

He hastily wiped away the remaining dampness in his eyes with his arm and straightened his back, “Yes. I apologize that you have to see such ugly display.”

She shook her head, “There is no need to apologize. Things like this do happen.”

Great, he had embarrassed himself in front of an archon, in front of a child.

“You do not have to be embarrassed about this. It is not an ugly sight. After what you have been through, this is to be expected. So please, do not beat yourself up over this.”

“...What happened?” He asked, seeking answers from the archon’s eyes.

“Let us start with what you last remember.”

“Fine. We were strolling through the street and you’re inviting me to watch a performance then there was a fire…” He trailed off, feeling the nauseating feeling crawl back into his throat.

She placed her hand on his and gave it a gentle squeeze, “That is correct. Apparently, a group of children accidentally hit a store owner’s table while playing, causing a candle to come in contact with flammable materials. A fire broke out moments after. You spaced out for a moment then ran away. After giving instructions to the people about safely putting out the flames, I followed you here.”

“Sorry for running off like that.”

Nahida shook her head, “Do not worry about it.” Her eyes softened, “If it is okay with you, can I ask what happened?”

He steered his gaze away from the archon, “When I saw the fire, I…” He fumbled to find the right words, “I felt uneasy.”

Terrified was the more accurate term but his pride did not allow him to verbalize it even though he knew his actions earlier spilled it already to Nahida.

“The next thing I knew, I was running. I don’t know where I’m going but I just kept running and found myself here.”

“Then I ran here to clear off my mind.”

Nahida’s head bobbed, not saying a word to the unspoken words she heard from his mind, “I understand.” She took a moment to gather her thoughts before continuing, “When a person experiences severe psychological distress, it can heavily affect them that day onwards. When they encounter something that reminds them of those upsetting memories, their body’s fight or flight reaction activates to save themselves from the perceived threat.”

Her palms rested on her lap, “In your case, the fire must have triggered that reaction.”

She recalled the turmoil inside her upon seeing how distraught he was when she found him, trembling, panic and pain in his eyes as he struggled to breathe while uttering the words,

“It burns, it hurts, help me.”

She was calling him over and over, but her voice could not reach him. He was in too deep in his delirium, which she could infer was caused by the memories she saw in his mind that were deeply rooted to fire. She had to use a bit of dendro to help calm his mind a little, to create an opening where she could stick her hand in and pull him out of his misery.

“How do you get rid of it?”

The question broke Nahida’s trail of thoughts.

He folded his arms on his chest and tried to regain his old composure, raising back his defenses, “I don’t want it interfering with future battles and other tasks.”

A sad smile appeared in her face at how he worded it as if it was something that could be easily discarded like trash, “I am afraid I cannot give you a definite answer to that. Each individual’s situation is unique. I can help formulate some measures to help you recover but this type of wound takes time to heal. So I ask you to be patient with yourself.”

He replied with silence, his mind processing her words.

An idea struck her at that moment, “Though we can do something now to help ease it.”

“What is it?”

With warm sunlight spilling down her form, Nahida’s smile was loving and radiant as she spread out her arms, “A hug.”

He raised an eyebrow, “Is this some kind of joke? You’re toying with me are you?”

“Why would I joke about such a serious topic? Researchers had found out that a hug created a feeling of calmness and relaxation. It is good for relieving stress.”

No response.

Her arms were getting heavier but she did not lower them, “Can I?”

He pondered for a while before releasing a sigh, “Suit yourself.”

Nahida’s voice sang merrily, “Thank you.”

Others said that when one experienced the warmth of another person, when they feel arms wrapping around them, tender and full of love, that was the time they would truly know what it meant to not be alone. When there was someone who would hold them as they wept, embrace them as if they were their most beloved treasure, accept them for being their vulnerable and weak self, they would know what it felt like to be loved. It was how deep wounds start to heal. It was when a wanderer endlessly and aimlessly roaming around the world finds a home.

A hug was not a miracle cure by any means.

It would not erase the wounds or the scars left by the fire.

It would not be able to restore a broken vase to its former unblemished self.

What it could do was to ease the pain,

And let you know that at this moment,

You were safe and loved.

Even if everything seemed to be crumbling before your eyes,

Even if the ground beneath your feet disintegrates,

Even if your fears try to pull you underwater,

I will be here,

Holding your hand.

You are not alone.

Not anymore.

#genshin wanderer #genshin nahida #nahida genshin #genshin scaramouche #nahida #scaramouche #wanderer #fanfic #ao3 fanfic #angst #hurt/comfort #wanderer has fear of fire #wanderer and panic attack #nahida therapy #genshin #genshin impact

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earthstellar · 11 months

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Classics Mirage and the Turbo-Fox Sanctuary

I like that in the Classics (Marvel US continuation) continuity, after the war, G1 Mirage returns to Cybertron

and in the wake of realising pretty much all of his old friends/fellow nobles are dead, he decides to open up a turbo-fox sanctuary as they are now an endangered species

I’m just imagining this really massive Towers estate being converted into a nature preserve with a bunch of turbo-foxes hanging out in a huge open enclosure and Mirage dutifully helping the population so it can restore itself

Perhaps Mirage was so burnt out on the war by the time it ended, he was so sick of killing anything, that he sees this turbo-fox population dwindling and nearly extinct and immediately sets to work trying to save the species because 1) what else is there and 2) they deserve better than to die out, like Cybertronians themselves very nearly did

Something he used to hunt for sport becomes his only real anchor to his past (and the pre-war era in general); Creatures that he used to consider only as trophies have become the last living memory of his entire lifestyle, and that lifestyle can no longer exist, and it shouldn’t exist

He feels bad for the old days, when he got so much joy out of hunting them down-- The way they scratch up his paint when they try to climb him doesn’t bother him, the hard work involved in making sure all the new babies have enough fuel and are well-groomed with healthy plating keeps him busy

Mirage surrounded by baby turbo-foxes in the slowly re-growing ruins of a Towers crystal garden-- He doesn’t have to think about the war so much, looking at the ruins of all the other Towers estates doesn’t hurt as much, now that they have a new and better purpose

He can’t bring back his friends, but he can help this little species

and yeah I know canonically after a while Optimus calls him back from Cybertron to go to Earth and keep doing more fighting bullshit

but still, I think the whole idea of Mirage starting up a turbo-fox habitat out of the ruins of the homes of the people that used to hunt them constantly is a really good way of showing not just how much things changed due to the war, but how much war changed Mirage himself--

--and how a more peaceful, beneficial, restorative outcome can still be possible in the ruins of both personal and planetary destruction

(tagging this with ROTB too, because that’s the current Mirage zeitgeist, lmao)

#rotb mirage #g1 mirage #transformers g1 #maccadam #maccadams #tf mirage #transformers #classics continuity #transformers classics #transformers comics #rotb #rise of the beasts

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illustrious-rocket · 3 months

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Find the Word Tag Game

I was one again generously tagged by @blind-the-winds, so let's do it. The words this time are jump, jerk, just and jam.

Jump

“Once upon a time I held a Jewel of Life in my hands, and I have to do so once again…” Discussing her goals brought Sheena a sense of determination that helped her focus. “Saeko Oryo misused one and destroyed the Tenganist holy land at the site that’s now known as the Sinjoh Ruins. But what was once used to destroy can be used to repair, I’m sure of it. If I can find the lost Life Orb and turn it back into a Jewel of Life, I can restore the Sinjoh Ruins back to their original lush state, just like Shaymin did for La Ciudad Dorada. Once that’s done, I will declare that area to be a sanctuary state for my people. Towards those goals, and for the sake of diplomatic ties being established once they are, I want to form an alliance with you and La Ciudad Dorada, Rosalita. But before that, I have to find the legendary Navel Rock in the Sevii Islands. If I can get there, I can meet Ho-oh again and forge an alliance with it. Then, for my people…” Sheena had been staring at the food in front of her while she spoke, so she failed to notice Rosalita stand and walk over to her. She jumped slightly in her seat when she felt Rosalita embrace her again. “Sheena, I understand,” Rosalita said, her voice soft and gentle. “I understand everything. The weight you are carrying is far too much for any one person’s shoulders. Please, I hope you will allow me to help you lift it.” “Rosalita, there’s…” Although she felt guilty for burdening Rosalita with her own problems, Sheena again found her friend’s embrace far too comforting to ignore and settled into it, allowing Rosalita to stroke her hair. “There’s nothing I’d like more.”

Jerk

Pulling away from Lisia, she quietly said, “Thanks for being my friend, then… but, do you get it? My dad, he… he was always there. When he wasn’t anymore… it just… everything fell apart. I never got a chance to say goodbye to him, and then before I knew it my mom wasn’t dealing with it all… and I had to go to Rustboro so Matt could look after me. I know it was what my dad wanted, but… I was so mean to him, too, and he didn’t do anything to deserve it…” “Your mom told me about that, too. I might not know Matt myself, but… if your dad trusted him to watch out for you, I think he understands." "That's the thing." Still gripped by feelings of shame, Olivia looked downward. "Dad did trust him, and all I did was act like a jerk. If Dad saw what I did he would hate me for it." "Olivia, no," Lisia firmly told her. "Your dad might have been a complicated guy with a rough past, but I feel one hundred percent certain when I tell you that he loved you more than anything, and nothing could change that. Honestly, I don't even think death could change it. Wherever he is now, somewhere in time and space with our Sootopolitan ancestors… wherever he is, he still loves you."

Just

“We aren’t heroes, that much is true. But I do believe that in our own way, we really are keeping much worse things from happening in this world, too.” Leaning her head back, Rosalie shut her eyes and reflected upon her own past. “I used to be like you, Gabriel, a starry-eyed prodigy at the Pokémon Institute. I thought I was going to change the world with my work on the medicinal properties of plants, but my dreams were just too big to stay within the Institute’s lines. I want to do good things, I just want to make my discoveries on my own terms and get the credit, instead of having others meddling and taking credit themselves. Since there wasn't a place for me in their environment, I ended up here, with all the other misfits Team Rocket takes in. And ever since Nekou invited me to join her little group, I feel like I've found my place. I guess what I’m saying is, it’s thanks to her that I found where I belong. I know it’s hard to see, but there are good things that came from what you did. We just have to keep working to preserve them.” “You’ve got a point, Rosalie,” Zager conceded, “but I don’t think there’s anything I could ever do to earn her forgiveness, either. I put her in the situation she’s in right now.”

Jam

Father sadly shook his head, briefly causing the hologram to distort. “I don’t blame you for not believing me. You have absolutely no reason to. I also know that it’s too late to undo what you went through, but… I want to make amends for it, Renzo, I truly do. I want to make amends for everything this world did to you. That’s why I sent Finansielle to fetch you… I want you to go with her. She’ll bring you to Polaris’s temple… where we can finally meet face-to-face. Please give me this chance. With Polaris, I can fulfill all your wishes.... Lorenzo Milovy.” Renzo froze at the mention of his true, full name. “How would he know that’s my… there’s no doubt, it has to be him. There’s no other way… he couldn’t know… it would be impossible…” “Well, Renzo, what do you say?” Finansielle playfully asked him. “Or should I say Lorenzo? What a cute name…” Renzo’s whipsawing circumstances had his head in a spin. He’d started out the day supremely confident that the beginning of his long-sought revenge was finally at hand, only to be crushed mercilessly under Anabel’s proverbial heel. And yet, just when all avenues to his lifelong dream seemed completely closed off, here were Father and Finansielle jamming that window right back open again.

#The Angel of Reckoning #pokefic #pokewriting #tag game

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ravenrose18 · 5 months

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My Personal Savior

Chapter 3- Reunion in Ruin

youtube

Raven sees all the men come out of the building and a woman backs away from the gate and holds her hands up she only has a pistol, a set of knives, and a crossbow with a backpack of course. She keeps her head down, barely showing her face she keeps her hands up

"I was just looking for shelter. I didn't know this place was occupied it looked abandoned." She says softly, glancing up with her icy blue eyes looking around her, not knowing what's going to happen next.

Even though Raven was keeping her hands up and away from her weapons, Arat remained on high alert. After everything that she and the Saviors had faced during the apocalypse, she couldn't help but be cautious. One wrong choice could compromise everything that they had worked so hard for.

Arat's eyes scanned over the new face once more, taking note of how shy and nervous Raven seemed. Of course, anyone would react that way with a gun in their face, but she was still a little worried that Raven might have other intentions than just settling down."You're looking for shelter?" She repeated, her voice expressing her skepticism, "Who told you that we were letting people in?"

Raven looks up at her keeping her hands up and shakes her head "Nobody I just saw this place and thought it was abandoned I thought I could take shelter here I don't mean to be a bother or a threat of any kind but I only hurt people if they threatened me or intend to hurt me. But you're trying to stay on guard, and I get it. I have been alone this whole living in the woods and finding whatever shelter or food I can." She says softly

Arat listened closely to what Raven said. As sincere as it seemed, she still wasn't quite sure about how to regard her.

"How do we know that you're telling the truth? I mean, staying alone this entire time? You didn't join a group even once?" She had just begun to open her mouth to speak again, but before a single word could be uttered, something interrupted her. It was a whistle, a simple one with just two notes. A high note to a low note, a brief pause, then the same thing over again.

As innocent as it seemed, the men's fierce expressions lightened, fear shining in their eyes. They lowered their weapons and moved away from the gate, giving room to whoever was approaching. A deep, grave voice chuckled before speaking up. "Arat, is that any way to be speaking to our guests?" Soon, Negan strolled up to the gate, curious about what the fuss was all about. His trademark grin was stretched across his lips. Lucille was casually lying upon his shoulder, her polished barbed wire glistening in the fading sunlight. His eyes didn't look at the visitor just yet. Instead, he turned his gaze to Arat.

Arat sighed, avoiding his eyes for a moment before eventually making eye contact. "Sorry, Boss. You can't be too careful these days."

"The hardworking people of the Sanctuary are what makes this whole operation. Remember that the next time you try to turn down the miracle of an eager, able-bodied person who saunters up to our gates." Though he didn't raise his voice, it was clear that she got the message. Arat nodded, apologizing once more before taking a step back.

Raven closes her eyes, and then she hears the whistle she looks at the men, and then the woman, At their reaction and noticing the man walking up he must be the leader/ boss of this place.

But once Raven heard that voice, she couldn't believe her ears she thought she never hear his voice again, let alone see him again. After she left once she found out bout Lucille's diagnosed cancer she had to get out of there she didn't want to come between her and Negan while they figured out everything Raven even knew about Negan cheating on Lucille but never said anything. She tries to stay strong and act like she doesn't know him yet. After she went back home to kill her parents after the apocalypse started, she went back to Negan's house, and it was burnt to the ground she didn't know if Negan was still alive or not. She just stood there looking down as the hood covered her face, and she kept her hands up. Negan turned his eyes away from Arat, placing his full, undivided attention on Raven. He didn't recognize her yet, due to her face being hidden from sight. "Sorry about that, sweetheart. You'll have to excuse my dear friend, Arat, here. She's a fiery one." He spoke with a grin. After a moment, he glanced her over, taking note of the weapons that he could see. Although, he didn't seem too bothered by them, for his bravado never wavered. He took a small step forward, leaning into the step a little. "So, I overheard that you want to join our little group. Well, you are more than welcome to skip your merry way in, but that's only if you're willing to work like everyone else here. You pull your part, and you'll get food, a place to lay your weary head, and protection from everything out there that wants to kill you." He moved his hand a little to hold Lucille a little more comfortably before continuing to speak. "Now, to me, that sounds like a damn good deal.

So, what do you say?"Raven glances up slightly at him she sees his face and recognizes him immediately she is in shock but she doesn't want to get in the way or be a distraction for him being a leader here maybe they get alone later and catch up. "I'm willing to help in any way I can. I know how to scavenge, hunt, track, and I know how to defend myself, and I know how to kill." She says softly as she puts her hands down and starts messing with her necklace. When she is nervous or starts getting anxious, it helps her calm down. She hopes Negan hasn't changed a lot to where it's a different Negan than who she once knew before the apocalypse, but everybody changes because the apocalypse makes people do crazy and unthinkable things. He watched her glance up but didn't quite catch her facial features. From what he could tell, she seemed a little familiar, but he didn't think too much of it. After all, he could have seen her at some neighboring community while on a supply run. People from other communities had joined them before. His smile brightened as he heard her list her talents.

She was exactly the type of person that they needed. "Well, then. What are we waiting for? Let the poor girl in." He looked to one of the men, who, without a moment of hesitation, opened up the gate for her to walk inside. Negan's eyes trailed back over to her before landing on the pendant as she messed with it, his smile fading slightly. It was the same necklace he had given Raven. His eyes jumped from the necklace over to her face, but unfortunately, he couldn't see it. Then the sinking feeling hit. If this wasn't Raven, then how would the girl get that necklace? Of course, she could have just bought one similar before the outbreak. Negan momentarily pushed the thought of the necklace aside. He'd ponder on it later when he was alone. He forced his smile right back, waiting for her to walk into the Sanctuary. The old Negan was still in there, but he was overshadowed by what he'd become. Now and then, the old him would slip out, but it wasn't often.

Raven smiles softly and nods as she walks past the gate and looks around her she is going to keep her guard up she may have been invited in by Negab but that doesn't mean she will trust anybody she follows Negan into the building she needs to get alone with him she doesn't want their reunion to be witnessed by everyone in his group. "Do you mind showing me around and maybe if it's okay to clean up umm... I like to have a moment alone with the leader of this group to know what is accepted and the rules." She says

They immediately closed the gate behind her. A few stayed there to keep guard in case of anyone else, but everyone else began to disperse to do their own thing. A group of 5 stayed with her and Negan as they walked into the sanctuary, acting as guards in case anything were to go wrong.

Negan didn't seem fazed in the slightest by the requests. After all, that was normal stuff that he had heard every single time, just delivered differently. However, the last bit piqued his interest. His brows raised and he stopped in place, flipping around to face her. He leaned back a little, his mouth slightly agape. A scoff of amusement escaped his lips before he smiled once again. "Well, that's a new one. Usually, Laura is the one to tell the rules since people are too scared to ask me themselves, but this is a breath of fresh air. Finally, someone with some guts from the get-go." He stood upright once more, before looking to the followers. He gave a gesture with his hand for them to disperse, and though a little reluctant, they did as they were told. Once they had left, Negan put his attention back on her. "So, what does the lady of the hour want to do first?"

Raven smiles and giggles "How bout we talk in private first in your room? I don't feel comfortable being around so many people and I might as well talk to the man himself and know who I'm putting my trust and life to. I don't trust people easily and like I told Arat I was alone this whole time that's why I never was in a group." She says

Negan looked even more surprised by the request, his smile brightening. Whoever this was, Raven or not, he already had respect for. No one in that Sanctuary was brave enough to be completely alone in the same room with him. Even his second in command, Simon, feared Negan at times. However, a possible stranger was willing to put themselves in a vulnerable situation, having only just arrived there. That either meant that they were crazy, or extremely brave. Either way, he saw that as a win. "Well, shit. This just keeps getting better and better, doesn't it?" He gestured for her to follow him, before beginning to make the journey to his room. His worn, black cowboy boots echoed on the concrete floor as he walked.

Raven smiles and walks with him toward his room she knows as soon as she gets in that room with him she is going to reveal herself to him by taking off her jacket since her body is covered in scars from all the abuse she has gone through with tattoos he is sure going to recognize her. She may think this might be a bit of a weird request and whoever is nearby watching might think she is crazy but if Negan was going to hurt her to show he is a leader and show people to fear him then she might as well show she is not afraid of him or anyone. She was getting warm with her leather jacket so she unzipped it showing a black tank top underneath. She wore black ripped jeans with combat boots. She was surprised to find the boots in a store to replace her old ones.

It didn't take too long for them to reach his room. Inside, it looked like some kind of hotel suite. A Queen size bed with a fancy gray comforter and matching pillows, realistic fake plants, wicker lampshades on floor lamps, two designer armchairs with a triangle pattern embroidered on the fabric, extravagant vases, and a pronghorn's head mounted on the wall. Other than that, there was a leather couch, a glass coffee table, a modern shelf filled with books, some fancy rugs, a stereo, and a few other things. He stood aside from the door, gesturing for her to enter the room ahead of him. "Ladies first."

Raven looks at him and smiles as she walks into his room as she looks around she takes off her backpack and sets it beside the couch. Raven has her back towards him and she takes off her jacket and puts it on the back of the couch and she stretches. "Oh, your room is very nice. Man, it feels good to let my skin breathe I never take my jacket off." She says as she looks down at the tattoo she got with Negan on her forearm.

@integra1127 @integra1127grimmreaper @jdmorganz @jdm-negan-mcnaughty-blog @justjdm @jdeanmorgan @jwritesfanfics @justjdm @negansource @negans-girl-blog @negans-dirty-girl @negandarylsatisfaction @negangifs @jdm-traash @jdmslut-red @jdmorganstuff @girlwiththenegantattoo @ghostwriter2203 @a-woman-with-claws-and-fangs @naughtyneganjdm @naughty-negan @naughty-negan-clan @naturallynegan @neganbabygirl @fanfictilltheend @neganandjdm @neganappreciation-blog @neganandtonyswife @neganandblake @neganandstevensdoll-blog @savedpeople @sanctuaryforthelost @jdmswh0re @jdms-flat-ass @jdmsimp @twdxtrevor @jdmorganstuff @jdmslut-red @jdm-traash @jeffreydaddydeanmorgan @jeffreydeanmorganconfession-blog @jeffreydeanmorgantrash @jeffrey-daddy-morgan @negansource @negans-girl-blog @negandarylsatisfaction @negangifs @sanctuaryforthelost

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deepouterspacecandy · 2 months

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Our Sanctuary of Ruin

18+ only. Violence, references to death, and sexual themes.

Sometimes it all falls apart. Perhaps with Abby, you can overcome anything. I hope you enjoy, thank you a million for all the love!

Abby feels the warmth of tiny hands tugging at her sleeve, their grip wrapping snuggly around her thumb. As she looks down, a toothy smile greets her, and it’s contagious.

A precious sunflower opens up inside her chest as little feet bounce in her presence.

Accompanying the dirt streaked smile is a sweet voice, teeming with innocence.

“Mama?”

“What’s up, buttercup?” Abby asks.

“Did you and mommy make this whole town?”

Falling behind schedule for her training session, Abby shifts on her feet. She treasures her family above all else and proves it to you every day, but tardiness is the bane of her existence. She contemplates handing off the question to you and making a quick exit, but the intensity in your gaze gives her pause.

“We sure did, Bug.”

The child wiggles their fingers, inviting Abby to lift them up into her nurturing arms. With one swift motion, she obliges, eliciting a giggle that fills your home with bliss.

“How, mama? Tell me a story!”

When Abby glances at you, as you carefully trim the aloe vera plants that decorate the living room window, it’s with a sea of affection.

“When you’re a little bit older, I’ll dish all the deets, okay?” Abby explains. “How about a song?”

In the foyer, Abby gently rocks the child to their favourite tune, melodies drifting along the bright spring breeze and spilling into the courtyard.

Her hope is that they will only encounter the ways of the world through stories, shielding them from the harsh truths that you both have experienced.

The thought of history repeating itself keeps her awake at night.

--------------------------------------------------

Abby is away on a two-week assignment with her squad, when you notice something is amiss at the stadium.

Isaac has distributed an overwhelming workload that has stretched everyone to their limits, and you can feel the support beams of the bridge beginning to shudder. But it’s more than that and you sense it in your gut.

There is a noticeable shift in behaviour, as people become more guarded, stress levels soaring through the community.

Before Abby set off, an unshakeable premonition niggled into you, hinting at imminent upheaval. While you wish you could’ve gone with her, it’s rare for the two of you to work together anymore.

To achieve broader coverage, Isaac strategically assigns his most skilled soldiers to different missions. In the past, questioning his authority has always had negative outcomes for both of you.

Your extensive knowledge and experience in various types of weaponry, as well as Abby’s exceptional skill in combat, have made you indispensable members of the WLF.

If that enhances the likelihood of you leading missions independently and getting separated, pissing off Isaac almost guarantees it.

It’s not uncommon for your brain to send signals of distress when she's gone, even though there’s often no unsurmountable danger to speak of. You’ve navigated being isolated from her countless times and always emerged relatively unscathed.

Still, this time, midnight without her seems to linger, its darkness a looming, cavernous shadow that only expands as time ticks by.

The familiar sound of her crunching her way through a bag of sunflower seeds is something you’re desperate to hear.

Occasionally, your fears have crept up on you and consumed your thoughts. But now, they have materialized into a tangible, brambly husk, prodding both hands.

You try to ignore the group sitting across from you in the chow hall, their hushed conversations sporadically punctuated by the sound of them coughing into their arms. Isaac’s practice of bringing soldiers from other parts of Seattle into the stadium has, time and again, resulted in the spread of dreaded viruses.

Lately, it seems like his drive for power has clouded his judgment, making him increasingly careless. His urgency to build up his militia has led to lax enforcement of quarantine protocols, something you’ve griped about for a while.

Memories come rushing back like a flash flood as you observe a sweaty, emaciated man coughing without restraint while waiting in line for his breakfast.

He receives disdainful looks from both soldiers and civilians, the atmosphere thick with disapproval.

You get where they’re coming from.

Last year, a terrible flu spread through the community, and it knocked you on your ass for three days. Abby’s diligence played a crucial role in ensuring that you recovered quickly, just in time to reverse the roles until she was back on her feet, too.

For the first time in a while, you felt the perils of something that wasn’t Cordyceps.

With your girlfriend’s support in making certain you were hydrated and fed, keeping a cold cloth pressed to your forehead, you were able to endure the fever until it eventually broke.

Not everyone in the community had the same stroke of luck.

Enveloped in the ambiance of Abby’s mixtape playing in your ears, you ditch your tray and stroll towards the communications room. When it comes to selecting music that can elevate your mood and ease anxiety, Abby is nothing short of a godsend.

True to her nature, she threw in something completely offbeat, leaving you to interpret its meaning.

Just as the edges of your worries are blurring, a sudden and forceful slam against the janitorial room door next to you reverberates through the corridor.

Your shoes absorb the vibrations from the shock, making every muscle in your body coil.

“What the fuck?” you mumble, yanking out your earbuds.

“You gotta snag it while it’s hot, am I right?”

You let out a sigh as a passerby chuckles at the extremes people will go for privacy. With your music blaring, it’s clear she picked up on nuance better than you could.

“Right,” you say.

As the woman’s giggles trail her down the hall, you can’t help the nausea squirming inside your stomach.

--------------------------------------------------

It’s a refreshing change to find the radio room completely empty.

Most times, there is a line that goes all the way out the door, and despite being given preferential treatment, you seldom make use of it.

With anticipation, you reach into your pocket to retrieve a crumpled slip of paper, the frequencies Abby plans to use hastily scribbled on top.

Without fail, you’ve established a daily routine of connecting with each other twice a day. Regardless of any compromises she may make in other areas, Abby remains unwavering in her position on this issue.

The one time you overslept and turned up late to your work assignment at the armory, missing your scheduled date with her, she charged into your apartment days early from her mission with a wild expression in her eyes.

It’s better to set aside your other duties temporarily than to worry her half to death while she’s fighting through an ominous world with her bare hands. Although you try to conceal it, devastating panic would consume you just the same if she didn’t show up.

As soon as you switch to her current frequency and call out, her chuffed response is instantaneous.

“Morning, sunshine,” Abby says. “God, I miss your voice. How is this dreary day treating you so far? Over.”

You’re dying to tell her how much you long for her, worse than a lost limb, but you’re keeping it under wraps. Abby becomes discombobulated when she concerns herself with your well-being while she’s on the road, and it’s crucial for her to stay mentally sharp.

“You know I’m out here kicking ass and taking names. Over.”

Even with static interference, Abby’s laughter numbs the swarm of wasps buzzing between your ribs.

“That’s my girl. So, I have something super important to ask you, okay? Over.”

As you rest the mic against your cheek, the delightful sting of happiness tugs at the corners of your mouth. The mischief in her tone echoes through the radio waves, unmistakable to you, even miles away.

“Lay it all out, beautiful,” you say. “And you better make it good. Over.”

The line intermittently switches between static and clear, a signal that she’s preparing to make your day amazing.

“Tell me,” Abby purrs. “What are you wearing right now? Over.”

The area where she is situated is constantly milling with eavesdroppers, obvious to you as the lively whoops and cheers of her crew ring out in the background.

You can’t help but fling yourself backwards in your chair, feeling your cheeks grow warm as you try to gather your composure, determined to give her more than just bashful glee through the line.

One of her favourite things, aside from making you happy and keeping you safe, is catching you off guard with her playful prowess. Every soldier on Abby’s squad is someone you trust and adore, fueling your determination to outshine your girl at her very own sport.

“It’s good you asked, my love,” you say, pulling on a frayed strand hanging from the hemline. “Since I only just realized how stinkin’ low your tank top hangs under my arms. Do you think I should go home and put on a bra before my shift starts? Over.”

While you wait, the line falls silent, giving you a moment to picture the delightful sight of those elated blue eyes crinkling at the edges.

There’s no view quite like Abby when she runs her teeth over her pouty bottom lip, pretty freckles blending into pink cheeks.

“Goddamn,” she says.

The huskiness in her voice is a telltale sign her resolve is wavering fast.

“You’re killing me, woman. Which one did you steal this time? Over.”

“The one I tore off you the night before you left,” you say.

You let your lips graze the microphone, creating a tantalizing, crisp murmur you know will torture her.

“It still smells like you, Abigail. I don’t know how on earth I’m going to stay focused at work today. Over.”

You’ve appropriately scandalized the soldiers at the other end, without a doubt, who you suspect have positioned themselves close by to listen in on their captain’s conversation. It thrills you to no end that they will have ample material to tease her for the rest of the day.

It is certain to bring a smile to her face and keep it there.

Instead of striving to regain her dominance in the exchange, Abby’s voice turns softer, brimming with enthusiasm.

“Man, am I ever nuts about you,” she says with a breathless chuckle. “You still make my heart race—have I ever told you that? I must be the luckiest girl alive. Over.”

The spark of your very first meeting with Abby burned as brightly as a bolt of lightning trapped inside a bottle and you reminisce with her for a while.

They paired you together in training just to watch you consistently eclipse her in target practice events, while she effortlessly outperformed you with her mastery in hand-to-hand combat. It took mere moments for you to become infatuated with each other.

Your affection for her surpasses all others, but the most significant impact has been how she has helped you learn to love yourself. Abby revived the light in your life, offering you a fresh perspective on the art of finding it.

“I can’t wait to hold you. Swear you’ll keep my side of the bed warm for me until then? Over,” Abby says.

A raw lump settles in your throat. Each goodbye feels just as difficult as the last, and no matter how much you try to suppress your fears, you can never predict when it might be the last time you lay eyes on her.

“You know I will,” you say.

As you wrap your arms around yourself, the scent of the forest lingers on your skin, and Abby is right there with you.

“I love you deeper than the ocean, Abby. Stay safe out there. Tell Manny to watch your six until it’s my turn. Over.”

Out of nowhere, an ear-splitting siren blares throughout the stadium.

An eerie chill shoots up your spine, as if you had already known what was about to go down. It completely obscures the last thing Abby said to you, making it impossible to comprehend her message.

--------------------------------------------------

The disorientation intensifies as you make your way back to your suite, with the relentless strobing of the emergency lights fixed on the walls above you.

There are only a few reasons security personnel will trigger the alarm, and all of them spell trouble.

Someone, somewhere, made a catastrophic error.

Panicked screams echo down the corridor, and you can’t help but wonder how many festering bites and scratches slipped past the gates undetected, spreading quietly among the population.

You’ve witnessed firsthand how a single infected can wreak havoc on an entire population. Just how many people have been suffering in silence? With the sun slowly sinking below the horizon, casting a fiery orange hue over a mass of frightened individuals dashing through the open field, it seems like it’s only a matter of time before you stumble upon the answers you’re seeking.

By sliding boards onto the hitches Abby installed, you fortify the battered door to your apartment. In their frenzied escape, bodies collide against it, causing the hinges to rattle and groan against the frame.

Abby’s cautionary words about living in a high traffic area replay in your thoughts as you realize the importance of heeding her advice.

Scrambling under your bed, cobwebs and dust tickle your nose as you grab the go bags you’ve prepared.

The weight of Abby’s duffel presses heavily into your side, forcing you to abandon it. By sliding it back under the bed, you expect that if she comes looking for it, she will recognize that you have effectively accomplished the initial steps of your plan.

Frankly, you pray she will stay far away from this place.

After tugging the curtains over the expansive floor-to-ceiling windows, the fabric gliding smoothly along the rod, you reach for the crowbar fastened behind your wardrobe.

The armory enforces rigorous regulations, even for the soldiers who manage it.

They strictly prohibit carrying weapons outside the premises without authorization. Although implemented for good reason, it is of no use to you in a crisis—say, for example, an outbreak of infected ravaging the close quarters of your home.

Despite Abby’s persistent efforts to change the rule, her high-ranking position hasn’t granted her the privilege of storing firearms within the stadium, let alone carrying them on her person inside the walls.

As you marvel at the sight of the magnificent oak furniture Abby helped you build, you can’t help but appreciate her rebellious nature. With each creaking board you pry back, you slowly reveal a hidden trove of firearms and polished blades.

On top, a notepad you don’t recognize teeters precariously. Written inside, Abby’s scrawl is barely legible, a testament to her hurried thoughts.

You are my world, so please, baby, don’t be a hero. You’re the toughest person I’ve ever met, but that heart of yours is just too damn big. I won’t tolerate you getting hurt, so I’m asking you to put yourself first, just this once. Nobody needs you more than me, okay? I’ll find you—wherever you go. -Abigail

The sirens continue ceaselessly, their piercing wails ringing through the gardens and hallways outside your door. Beside your coat, hanging on a hook, are the earmuffs you both rely on during target practice at the firing range.

You place a pair over your head, take a deep breath, and slip out the back door.

--------------------------------------------------

Turmoil reigns in every corner of the stadium as despair and hysteria consume all who inhabit it.

Your ear protection muffles any ability to differentiate between screams and sirens as you jog down the stairs towards the dog kennels. The more you see of the chaos, the more driven you are by the need to rescue them from the horrifying ordeal of being tormented and confined.

With each cage, your hands tremble as you struggle with the latches. The moment you set the dogs free, they instinctively look to you, waiting for your direction. You’re at a loss for how to guide them and while there are supposed to be established procedures for situations like this, the shortage of resources seems to take its toll.

You raise your voice, urging the animals to leave, but they stay by your side, tails wagging anxiously. As the dog whisperer in your duo, you sorely miss Abby’s insight. If only she could give you guidance on getting everyone out alive.

A sudden cry booms through the field, and you strain to find where it came from. In the distance, a woman stands, her hands shaking as she holds a splintered baseball bat in her outstretched arms.

With a steady gaze, she focuses on the person she struck, their lifeless body sprawled on the ground. Frozen in place, her eyes widen in disbelief as the infected body twitches and writhes, its grisly movements disturbingly unnatural.

It lets out a gurgling scream through decaying vocal cords, and you sprint toward her without a second thought.

Rising from the ground with determined, predatory speed, the Runner locks its sights on the woman who clobbered it before fixing its empty gaze upon you.

You shout for her to run as your fingers close around the hilt of your weapon. The dog at your side acts swiftly, neutralizing the threat with its ferocious, gnashing teeth before you can even draw your gun.

Trouble seems to stretch in every direction as you frantically search for an escape route. Heart pounding in your chest, you steel yourself, ready to fight for your life.

When piercing gunfire fills the air, it’s a haunting testament to the unraveling fabric of your crumbling district.

--------------------------------------------------

Abby’s leg bounces restlessly as she waits by the radio, hunched over in her chair well past the scheduled meeting time. The sound of Manny’s footsteps hammering on the airstrip grabs her attention, and she braces herself for more disappointment.

“Anything?” she asks.

Holed up in the traffic control tower all afternoon, efforts to reach out to Isaac have consumed her squad. Just like Abby, Jordan was also on edge, growing increasingly unsettled as the day passed by without a single call from his fiancée.

“Nada,” he says. He motions towards Abby’s radio. “How about here?”

Abby shakes her head, her white-knuckled fingers tightly interlaced as she presses them against her worried mouth.

“Maybe she got held up. It has happened before,” Manny offers. “Have a little faith, Abs.”

“Why the hell isn’t anyone else getting their calls, then?”

Her eyes well up with burning tears as she hurls the microphone towards its wooden enclosure. Manny places a reassuring hand on her shoulder, giving it a firm shake.

“Your girl is a fighter, just like you,” he says. “Trust her.”

“She’s the only one I trust,” Abby whispers.

Feeling a headache coming on, she pinches the bridge of her nose.

“Something is wrong, Manny. I can feel it.”

Static crackles as a distorted transmission comes through. Abby lunges forward, snatching up the device.

“You’re breaking up. Say that again—we’re standing by,” Abby says.

Spotting Jordan, who is aimlessly pacing beside the helipad, she waves him down. Having abandoned his work on the helicopter hours ago, the fretful soldier rushes to huddle around the radio to the desperate pleas of a survivor begging for backup.

“They got inside.”

“What did he say?” Jordan blurts. “Anderson!”

With a raised hand, she signals for everyone to hush, her blood running cold when the strange voice continues.

“The stadium’s crawling with infected—we can’t get out.”

“Have you tried the east gate?” Abby asks, fear pulsating through her veins.

She has executed this drill many times, there should already be a task force combing the area.

Each passing minute sees the group around the transmission steadily expanding, their murmurs and whispers padding the silence.

Abby tries again.

“Are you still there?” she asks, abandoning all radio etiquette. “Can you hear me?”

“We can’t get near the gates—they’re gunning everyone down. It’s a fucking massacre.”

Abby nods at the helicopter, its reinforced fuselage and formidable firepower making it an intimidating beast against a backdrop of moss ravaged aircraft.

“How much longer before that thing is in the air?”

“Give me an hour,” Jordan says. “Maybe less with extra hands on deck.”

“You heard the man,” Abby barks. “We ship out in thirty. Get a move on!”

She uses a firm tone to direct the person on the other end of the radio to barricade the doors. With terror gripping her, the panicked voice becomes increasingly distant as her surroundings fade.

While her thoughts meander through a misty haze, your kind face materializes with striking clarity. It ignites an irresistible urge within her to reach out and touch you, stealing her breath.

She has learned so much about being a leader from the way you tirelessly protect your people, while still holding such a strong capacity for teaching others how to be vulnerable.

Even when you’re not together, you guide Abby through her darkest hours.

She picks the mic back up, feeling the cool metal against her fingertips, and blows out a deep breath.

“I know this feels really fucking scary,” Abby says. “And it is. But you’ve made it this far ‘cause you’re tough and you’re smart. You’ve got this. Stay right where you are—help is coming.”

The powerful rotors of the helicopter slice through the air with a deafening roar. She commands her team to collect all the guns and ammunition they can find and get ready to load them onto the chopper.

While nearing the aircraft and realizing that she will fly at an altitude of over ten thousand feet, her concerns about her competence as a soldier escalates.

Jordan’s grip on her arm is firm, demanding her immediate attention.

“If shit goes sideways, I need you to look out for my kid,” he says.

It’s so loud that they have to shout to communicate.

“We’re making it through this,” Abby says, reaching for his hand and giving it a liberal squeeze. “You’ll be back with them in no time.”

“I mean it, Abby. Tell me you’ll look out for my family. Please.”

The pain in Jordan’s eyes resembles the anguish she saw in yours the day she left. This heightened intuition that something is bound to go awry.

“If anyone can fix this shit, it’s you,” he continues. “It doesn’t have to be this way anymore.”

Envisioning a life free from the grip of a tyrant, Abby feels a surge of strength coursing through her. A newfound determination to build a home where nobody has to be left behind.

It is a cause worth fighting for.

“I’ve got you,” she says.

“Let’s give ‘em Hell, then!” Manny yells.

The metallic scent of aviation fuel permeates the air as they climb aboard, ready to fly into the heart of the storm.

#abby the last of us #abby tlou #abby x fem!reader #abby x reader #abby x you #tlou abby #lesbian

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zirawrites · 1 year

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I love your blog and I'm so excited to see some of your new work. And to fulfill your let's say holiday wish from your followers, I've got the perfect reaction scenario. Do you think you could do the companions and sole having their first new years eve kiss? Thank you in advance 💜💖

Cait: Cait and Sole had gone absolutely feral at the Third Rail for Goodneighbor’s annual New Year’s Eve party. Sole jumped on Hancock’s back multiple times while he danced as Cait cheered them on between gulps of her beer. The two hopped over the bar and attempted to drag a squealing Whitechapel Charlie from behind it. Their laughter and drunken serenading drowned out Magnolia’s soft jazz. Then the unthinkable happened: Hancock kicked them out of the bar, chuckling as he told them to sober up and try again next year.

“I can’t believe it!” Cait was more amused than frustrated, especially since the mayor let her keep her drink. “I don’t think anyone’s ever been thrown outta a business in Goodneighbor, except if they were trying to murder a fella, I suppose.”

As the two stumbled to the Hotel Rexford, Sole heard a muffled countdown coming from every building. They stopped in the center of town as settlers got down to the final numbers.

When a chorus of Happy Near Year! rung out around them, Sole turned to Cait and pressed their lips firmly against her own. The kiss turned into a giggling, tipsy mess; one neither would wholly remember nor forget come morning.

Curie: Curie was enamored by human traditions, so Sole couldn’t turn down her request to go to a real New Year’s Eve party. They chose the tame one thrown by Preston and fellow Minutemen at the Castle. It was a night of swing music, food vendors from local settlements and -- for the more daring -- moonshine Sturges had made in a Sanctuary bathtub.

When the countdown ringing in the new year ended, Curie pressed upwards on the tips of her toes and gave Sole a chaste peck on their lips.

“That is how the tradition goes, yes?” She was blushing, and Sole couldn’t help but push a strand of her short hair back behind her ear. “I’ve been researching, of course. I did not want to ruin anything for you.”

Sole reassured Curie that she could never be the cause of any ruin, and returned the kiss.

Danse: New Year’s Eve parties were always a little chaotic aboard the Prydwyn. It was one of the rare times Maxon let recruits let loose. Child scribes who’d never stayed up past their bedtimes snuck quick sips of wine from the kitchen. Someone had stolen gauze from the medbay and wrapped it around a suit of power armor, hanging colorful ornaments off it as if it were a Christmas tree. Even Knight Rhys had unclenched his personality long enough to dance with Scribe Haylen.

Danse seemed tense about the festivities. He wanted to participate, but felt it his duty to stay vigilant and sober in case of an attack. Sole coaxed him onto the makeshift dance floor with a promise they would de-decorate the holiday power armor before Maxon saw.

The two danced all the way up until the final countdown, and even then Danse stayed chaste and cordial. They rung in the new year like everyone else. It was only when Sole was taking the gauze down that Danse turned them around for a deep, heartfelt kiss.

When both finally pulled away, Danse’s usually furrowed brow was miraculously smooth. He seemed the lightest he’d been since Sole had met him. “Heard that was a pre-war tradition, but I couldn’t remember when I was supposed to do it. I hope I didn’t upset you.”

Sole laughed and tossed the spool of gauze at his chest.

Deacon: Desdemona had finally, finally let Deacon and Tinker Tom plan a New Year’s Eve bash -- under the guise it wouldn’t turn out like their Christmas party three years ago; something neither would elaborate on for Sole. Regardless, HQ was decorated in streamers and confetti and other paper products no one was sure how the men got their hands on. They attached a tray of drinks to PAM’s robotic pinchers for agents to grab throughout the night. Radio reception was never great underground, but where the songs cut off, Tinker Tom was quick to jump in with his own off-key interpretation.

Once Sole arrived, they had Deacon’s undivided attention. He lavished them with compliments on their elegant pre-war attire (”And hardly any holes! Did you dress up just for lil ‘ol me?”) and stories of what a bonafide New Year’s Eve party used to look like (”So Tom and I got it pretty right? Glad those ten caps I spent on ‘Anyone Can Throw a Party’ paid off.”)

By the end of the night there wasn’t a sober agent in the church. Everyone counted down the new year with giddy elation, swinging glass flutes and the miracle streamers around the room. Then they erupted in cheers, and Sole looked at Deacon with a warm smile that said he had planned one hell of a party.

Deacon leaned down and quickly pecked Sole on the lips. “For good luck, right?”

Sole rolled their eyes. They knew Deacon understood what the pre-war tradition meant. But he had been so sweet that night that Sole only wrapped him in a tight side-hug as they watched the other agents drunkenly celebrate.

Hancock: Hancock wasn’t just mayor of Goodneighbor; he was the self-appointed party prince of the Commonwealth. The Third Rail always threw a electric party of live music, free-flowing drinks and rowdy patrons. Half the bar didn’t even understand the pre-war tradition and just used it as an excuse for a generous serving of booze. But Hancock knew Sole would find the party important -- if not just for sentimental reasons -- and endeavored to make this the best bash yet.

Sole somehow found themselves as the star of the party. Magnolia sang any song they wanted. Whitechapel Charlie never charged them for drinks. Patrons moved from their seats if Sole lingered near their table for too long just in case they wanted to sit.

When Sole was finally able to pull Hancock away from the festivities, they asked why Goodneighbor’s settlers -- some of the baddest, seediest drifters in the ‘Wealth -- were being nice to them.

“It’s cause I told them to, Sunshine.” Hancock’s smile dominated his face, pressing the apples of his cheeks so high that Sole almost missed his wink. “Just wanted tonight to be perfect for you. I’m sure the holidays make you miss home.”

Sole shrugged dismissively, making Hancock’s grin momentarily falter. “Well, you’re missing one tradition. And that one’s my favorite.”

“Anything you want, Sole.” Hancock snaked a hand around their waist. “Just name it.”

Sole cut across the small distance between them with a kiss. Hancock chuckled into their mouth, and Sole finally pulled back with an equally as large smile.

MacCready: Sole had planned a quiet New Year’s Eve in Sanctuary, and MacCready wasn’t complaining. He usually liked celebrating the holiday somewhere boozier like the Third Rail or the Dugout Inn, but that was when he was a lone wolf with only himself to watch out for. Lounging on the couch nibbling on snacks Preston helped bake and watching Sturges unsuccessfully try to fix the radio was far more relaxing. And he knew Sole would stay safe... as long as they stayed away from the cookies Preston had overbaked.

“Having fun?” Sole curled up next to MacCready and handed him a Nuka Cola. “We ran out of booze when Cait got here. Sorry.”

“Nothing to apologize for.” MacCready took the bottle but set it on the table in front of them. Then the radio kicked on -- much to Sturges amusement -- and MacCready stood to offer his hand. “Care to dance?”

The two spun in slow circles across the crumbling, war-torn living room of Sole’s old house. They danced past empty picture frames that used to hold photographs of Sole and their spouse cradling baby Shaun. Over the shredded carpet where Sole unboxed Codsworth over 200 years ago.

None of it mattered. They had each other, and that was plenty to celebrate.

At the end of the song, MacCready leaned in and kissed Sole. It was a soft, romantic kiss just like in the pre-war movies. And it was perfect.

“Couldn’t wait until the countdown,” MacCready chuckled. “Do I still get another chance in the new year?”

Preston: Preston wanted New Year’s Eve to be perfect for Sole. Not only were they the Minutemen’s most hardworking general and therefore deserving of some appreciation, but Preston’s biggest crush. He spent days finding something sparkling for Sole to toast to (albeit it was boozy Nuka Cola Quantum). Then several more days hunting for salvageable champagne flutes. By the time he had pieced together a charcuterie board of mirelurk meat, Takahashi’s noodles and Sugar Bombs covered in syrup, Sole hadn’t seen him since Christmas.

When they entered their quarters to see the food spread out across their table, Preston’s face was blushed nearly purple. “I thought you deserved a break,” he admitted sheepishly. “I know you like to work through the holidays. Someone has to, I guess. But if you wouldn’t mind counting down the new year with me tonight...”

Sole was happy to spend the evening drinking and dancing to Diamond City radio. Travis eventually rang in the new year while Preston and Sole were sitting on the desk littered with the remnants of Preston’s food spread. Sole leaned over and kissed Preston as soon as the croaky-voiced DJ said happy new year. When they pulled away, Preston ran his hand rhythmically across Sole’s back.

“Well, happy new year to you, too, General.” Then he leaned in for a second kiss.

Piper: Piper was awoken by someone tugging on her arm. She jumped upright in her chair with a gasp as the stranger shoved a glass of wine in her hand, then ran across the newsroom to turn up the Diamond City station on the radio.

“Wake up, Piper!” It was Sole, who was enthusiastically waving their own wine in the air. “You fell asleep editing again. You were going to miss the countdown.”

Piper pulled off a paper that had stuck to her forehead and tossed it unceremoniously to the floor. “You nearly scared me to death, Blue.” Her voice was tense but appreciative. She would have hated to miss the weird pre-war tradition her and Nat usually celebrated together. Her sister had fallen asleep on the couch hours ago.

“I think you mean you’re welcome.” Sole hopped themselves to sit on Piper’s desk, brushing their knees against the side of her chair. “Need to get your responses checked like Takahashi? I think your malfunctioning.”

Instead of a retort, Piper listened to Travis count down the new year. When it ended, the two friends both screamed happy new year! and clinked their glasses together, downing the respective drinks in one long gulp.

“What other traditions did you like to do back in the day?” Piper stood to refresh her drink, and Sole took her collar to pull her closer. They leaned upwards to catch her lips in a soft kiss, only pulling away when Piper placed her hand on their knee.

“Too much?” Sole chuckled and played with the stem of their glass. “That’s something couples do to ring in the new year. I know we’re not officially dating but --”

They were cut off by Piper returning the kiss.

Nick: Nick was an old soul, so there wasn’t any doubt that he wouldn’t have planned the perfect evening on New Year’s Eve. He decorated the agency and opened it to a small group of friends in Diamond City including Ellie, Piper, Nat, Vadim and -- of course -- Sole. The group drank and danced to the radio, swapping stories of what antics everyone had gotten up to over the past year.

Nick eventually pulled Sole aside and offered to fetch them a drink, which Sole politely declined. “I haven’t seen enough of you tonight,” they admitted, nudging his side with their elbow and eliciting a chuckle from the detective. “But don’t get me wrong: you’re a perfect host. I could have never pulled something like this together.”

“Perish the thought, Sole.” He took their hand and brought their knuckles to his lips. “You can do anything.”

“Can I get a New Year’s kiss?” Sole batted their eyelashes in a comically innocent way.

Nick leaned forward to give them a chaste one, but Sole wrapped their arms around his neck and pulled him into something deeper. He chuckled against them, eventually pulling away when he could hear snickering from the other guests. “Weren’t we supposed to wait for the countdown?”

Sole shook their head. “New world, new rules.”

X6-88: As usual, X6 was leaned against a far wall observing the crowd instead of partaking in it. He had no desire to drink to the new year; as far as he was concerned, every day not working towards humanity’s future was time wasted. People’s incessant need to mark every milestone irked him, and he showed it by brooding far away from the New Year’s Eve party.

Sole saddled up beside him. His posture slightly deflated as he relaxed into Sole’s familiar presence. “So, what’s your New Year’s resolution? An old pre-war tradition. You vow to make some big change to your life and accomplish it by the end of the year.”

X6 took a moment to consider. “Improve the Institute by catching runaway synths.”

Sole shook their head. “No, it has to be something personal. For example, I made a pact with Preston to lose five pounds.” They slapped their hip, and the leathery sound brought a chuckle to X6′s lips. “Been hitting the Sugar Bombs too hard.”

“Your health is in an optimal state,” X6 assured. “But I suppose my resolution would be to... act on more impulse. Too much calculation can slow anyone down.”

“Trust your gut!” Sole encouraged, melding closer to him on the wall. “What’s your gut saying now?”

X6 leaned down and gave Sole a quick kiss. It was over nearly before it began, leaving Sole giddy and lightheaded. “Partake in more traditions,” he teased.

#fallout 4 reactions #fallout 4 #fallout 4 deacon #maccready #nick valentine #fallout 4 piper #fallout 4 cait #fallout 4 curie #paladin danse #this took so long to write i had to go way less detailed before they each became their own one shots #i just love writing romanced companions #especially deacon and x6!!!!#i did not read over this draft rip the typos

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