#good GRIEF my hand hurt after this | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

rockettothestars222 · 2 months

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Summary : After the battle with Adam, Alastor disappeared. Everyone was sure he was dead, but you knew better than that. You find him injured and vulnerable in his broken down radio tower, and decide to give him a hand with his wounds.

Tags : GenderNeutral!reader, reader is shorter than Al, soft!Alastor, sorta, fluff, lots of fluff, hurt/comfort, Alastor is losing it

Notes : My first Tumblr one shot! Hopefully this isn’t too OOC, but writing a character who hides any sign of real emotion being vulnerable is difficult. Enjoy!

Word Count : 2,418

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You breathed, Hell’s fiery air stinging your lungs as you looked around at the death and destruction that surrounded you. You look back over your shoulder, Charlie’s quiet sniffles taking your attention. Lucifer was knelt in front of her, his hand brushing her cheek, a weak attempt at comforting her after her life’s dream was just destroyed. You frowned, your brow creasing together as you felt a hand on your shoulder. Looking up, your gaze me with Angel Dust’s.

“You did good out there,” he smiles down at you, an excited squeal coming from the pig in his opposite arms. You muster a strained grin, but his fades. “Still sucks though, huh?”

You nod, dropping your grin, “Yeah, still sucks. I can’t believe it’s all gone,” you look away from the arachnid, your eyes casting over the destroyed hotel once again. Angel nods, his arm drifting around your shoulder and giving you a squeeze, the best, and really the only, form of comfort he knows how to provide.

“We’ll rebuild it,” he squeezes you again, before releasing you and approaching Charlie and the rest of the group. You follow behind, though your gaze remains astray, scanning the battleground. Looking for any sign of someone alive. You know deep down who you were looking for.

Alastor, the overlord you’d grown to call a friend.

Not everyone would consider him that, but you were an optimist. You hoped he’d consider you the same. No one in Hell would be as kind as he had been to you without considering you some sort of friend. Or, well, as kind as an overlord like him could be. And everyone was convinced he was gone, but you weren’t that naive. Alastor, if faced with death or fleeing, would flee. He was snarky and a bit egotistical, sure, but he wasn’t an idiot.

“Uhm, hey, I’m going to get see if I can find any of my stuff out here. Maybe some of it is salvageable,” you call to the rest of the group, stepping closer to the mess that used to be your home. The ground cracked beneath you as you stepped across the rubble. Charlie, who’d seemingly made her peace with the tragedy that had occurred, looked to you, rising to her feet.

“Do you want any help?”

“No, no, I got it,” you were lying to your teeth, but you had to see if he was out there. She looked at you with sympathetic eyes, walking closer and wrapping you in a tight hug. Your arms wrap around her waist, squeezing her close.

“Be careful out there, okay? I don’t want you getting hurt on anything. We’re going to go and get something to eat, try and relax a bit before we start rebuilding tomorrow. Text me when you’re done, you can meet us out there, okay?” She pulls away from you, her hands still resting on your shoulders as yours fell to your sides.

“I’ll be careful, I promise,” you assure, smiling as the taller girl pulls away from you fully, waving you goodbye as she approaches the rest of the group. You watch as they leave, before turning back to the rubble, that strained smile of yours dropping. You rubbed your cheeks. How did Alastor do that all the time?

And with that, you were off, wandering as your eyes scanned the area, reminiscing as you came across bits and pieces of the place you’d called home for the past 6 months. Broken pieces of Sir Pentious’ old machinery make your brows furrow together, a feeling that you could only describe as grief swallowing your thoughts for a brief moment, your chest tightening. You stared at that machine for a good few minutes before tearing your gaze away, trying to look at anything else.

And there it was.

A good 30 feet from you was Alastor’s radio tower. Some of the windows broken, dented, and on its side, but for the most part it was still in tact. You began to walk towards it, without much thought. He’d spent a lot of time there before you’d all started preparing for the extermination. He was insistent it was the best part of the hotel.

The closer you got, the more hesitant you became. If the trail of blood in the dirt wasn’t off putting enough, the green glow that was emitting from tower surely was. But these two things sealed one thing in your mind: Alastor was alive. Of course he was, you’d known that. But that small strand of doubt was planted in your head by the others.

You walk around the broken and dented structure, before finding that the hatch inside was already open. You drew a final breath before pulling yourself up and inside. As you heaved yourself into the tower, you were met with something hard to look at. Alastor had his back turned to you, one arm over his chest, one arm helping him hold himself upright against the control panel of the tower. His overcoat had been thrown to the floor, it was a rare sight to see him without it. You frowned, pushing off of the floor and standing. You wanted to move closer, but weren’t sure you could do so without startling the overlord. If you’d managed to get this close without him noticing, you knew he must be very deep in thought.

“Alastor?” You tried, your voice soft. Even so, Alastor’s whole body stilled, his head turning sharply to look at you, his horns and shoulders growing two times their normal size. He had a wild look in his eye, but seemed to calm as he realized it was you, his body relaxing, and returning to its original position. His expression had turned sour, despite the constant smile.

“You shouldn’t be here,” he replied, his voice hoarse as he looked away. You frowned, stepping closer, avoiding the pools of blood on the ground.

“Alastor, we thought you were dead,” your voice was back to its normal volume.

The static sound, that was nearly a constant whenever Alastor was near, seemed to grow louder as his entire body span to face you, almost as if he were going to get angry, but he stumbled, both of his hands going back and gripping the control panel behind him. Now, you could see the giant gash across his chest, blood seeped into his shirt. Your eyes trailed from the bottom of his wound, up to meet his eyes. There was something behind them that you couldn’t quite place.

There was a beat of silence before you piped up again.

“He really got you, huh?” You point out the obvious, walking closer. Alastor tried to straighten himself, only using one hand to keep himself upright as the other found its way back to covering the wound.

“It is nothing that I can’t handle,” he assured, pressing his arm closer to his body. You stopped in front of him, looking into his eyes as you placed your hand on his. He wretched away, his rear pressing fully against the control panel, his hand sliding back. “Don’t.”

“Alastor,” you began, but he cut you off.

“Perhaps you misunderstood, I am FINE,” he growls, pushing himself away and walking around you, you turn to follow him with your eyes. “He may have hit me but I’m alive. Of COURSE I am. I mean, if I weren’t what would people think?”

Your brows furrowed, “what are you talking about, Al?”

“I have been a wonder to everyone since I manifested here, if I died for the princess of Hell and her low life sinners, I would be regarded as some,” he paused, clutching his chest as he turned away from you. “Altruist.”

He spat the word like it was the worst thing to ever leave his lips.

“I would be regarded at the ‘Oh so powerful Radio Demon who DIED for a chance at a redemption that isn’t even POSSIBLE.”

You walked closer to him, placing a hesitant hand on the small of his back. He glanced over his shoulder, and your expression softened.

“Alastor, no one is expecting you to die for us. All I want from you right now is. For you to let me help you,” you searched his face for any sign of agreement, but he was nearly impossible to read. A sigh escaped him. “You’re really hurt, Al.”

“I know,” he murmured, his ears flicking back as he turned to face you. He walked back towards the control panel, you trailing behind. You assumed him accepting that he was hurt was the closest thing you’d get to him saying, ‘I need help.’

“You should sit. It’ll be easier that way,” you looked up at Alastor, who was avoiding your gaze like the plague. You assumed he was ashamed of the situation he was in. He sat on the edge of the counter, snapping his fingers. A roll of bandages and pads of gauze appearing in your hands. You sat them down on the control panel beside him.

“I could have done this on my own, my dear,” he looks down at your hands as they reach for the buttons on his shirt, gently unbuttoning the first few.

“I’m sure you could have,” you murmur, though not fully paying attention to his words. You reached the last few buttons, pulling his shirt open. You could feel your face flushing as the his undershirt slipped off of his shoulders. It was a little unbelievable that the big bad Radio Demon was allowing this, but you supposed coming face to face with a second death was enough to allow a miracle.

Bending down slightly at your waist to reach better, you take some of the gauze, pressing it firmly to his wound. Alastor took a sharp inhale, his ears shifting back further than they already had been. Your frown grew deeper as you looked up at him, your free hand taking his, gently stroking your thumb across his skin.

“Alastor? Is this okay?” Your eyes scan his face, that somehow managed to display pain all while wearing that signature smile.

“It’s fine. I don’t want to hear a word about this when you’re done,” he winced, squeezing your hand as you began to wrap the bandages around the bottom half of his wound. You rolled your eyes, nodding.

“Not like anyone would believe me. I mean, you? Hurt? Impossible, right?” You pressed another piece of gauze to him, causing his claws to dig into your skin. It didn’t break, but it stung a bit. You tried your best not to show it — however hard that was — you didn’t want him to think that this, whatever this is, wasn’t okay.

“That’s not what I’m talking about,” he looked down at you, his brow creasing. You both fell silent, the crackling of radio static tickling your ears. You wrapped the rest of his wound in silence, your free hand grazing down the bandages, just barely making contact.

“You know,” you start, rising to your normal posture, finally removing your hand from his. “Letting someone help you doesn’t make you any less powerful.”

Another beat of silence as you grabbed the hem of his shirt, pulling it back up over his shoulders. His hands, in one swift motion, grabbed yours and pulled you between his legs, closer to his chest. You looked up at him, your eyes widening as they met his. Just inches away from your own was The Radio Demon’s face. His eyes were pitch black, red radio dials replacing his pupils. His neck was contorted, smile stretched further than you imagined could be comfortable.

“You. Don’t. Understand,” he growled, his breath hot against your face. You tried your best to remain composed, not looking away from him as his grip on you tightened. “You are not ME. You could not possibly imagine the position I am in because of that DAMNED hotel.”

“You’re right.”

Alastor’s grip loosened immensely, his neck snapping back to be in it’s anatomically correct shape. His eyes fluttered a few times before returning to normal, he looked almost confused by your agreement. He stayed silent, even his static flushing to barely a hum.

“Alastor, I don’t know what it’s like in your shoes right now. But if you ever wanted to TELL me what it’s like, I’d be here to listen,” you, gently, squeezed his hands in yours. Alastor’s eyes scanned every inch of your face, over and over and over. Looking for any sign that you were going to use this vulnerability against him. To hurt him. To knock him down from the tower he’d built for himself. But there was none. Your expression held nothing but genuineness.

He briefly considered telling you everything that was troubling him, briefly thought about scaring you away so he didn’t have to face you, and though still brief, his thoughts lingered on the consideration of pulling you closer and thanking you for treating him like he wasn’t the monster he knew he truly was. But he did none of those things. He didn’t have time to unbox what all of those thoughts said about him. He just smiled down at you, a real smile, his left hand caressing your face.

“Thank you for helping me, my dearest,” Alastor’s voice had returned to its normal chipper tone, but it didn’t seem as fake as usual. Not when it was directed at you. A grin of your own blossomed across your face as you placed your hand on his, leaning your cheek into his hand. You turned you face a bit, placing your lips against his palm for a short moment, all while never breaking eye contact. If you didn’t know better, you’d of sworn a light blush crossed Alastor’s cheeks.

“Anytime, Al.”

Alastor cleared his throat, his ears flicking back into an upright position as he pulled his hands away from you and pushed himself up and off of the control panel. He straightened his posture re-buttoning his bloody and tethered undershirt. You quickly grabbed his overcoat so he wouldn’t try to bend over and grab it himself, and ushered back over to him. He took it from your arms, putting it on and dusting it off as if that would mend its holes and cleanse it of the blood that stained it.

“Well, I should be going now,” Alastor approached you, taking your hand for a final time and placing a kiss to your knuckles. “You are truly a diamond in the rough, darling. I’ll be seeing you soon.”

“Wait, where are you—” but before you could complete that question, he disappeared in a flash of green light and dark smoke. You blinked, your face flushing as you recalled what had just happened. You were almost unsure it was real.

You’d have to tell Charlie the new hotel was going to need a radio tower.

#fanfic #alastor #writing #hazbin alastor #hazbin hotel #hazbin angel dust #hazbin charlie #hazbin lucifer #hazbin sir pentious #hazbin vaggie #hazbin husk #hazbin fanfic #alastor x reader #alastor x you #comfort #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel x you #rockettothestars222

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patronsaintofelsewhere · 7 months

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Thoughts on Angel Crowley & Healing from Trauma

(Minor Good Omens S2 Spoilers)

As someone who’s endured my own Trauma and dealt with the resulting PTSD, watching Crowley’s journey from a joyful, silly, and entirely innocent angel to a withdrawn, lonely, hyper-vigilant demon as a result of the Fall both shattered my heart and confronted me with the fact of myself, and I’d like to talk about it.

When you* experience Trauma, you experience an existential disorientation and a profound sense of grief over the world you thought you knew–one where you were safe and nothing bad had ever happened to you. “Innocence died screaming,” and all that.

You're also therefore mourning the loss of who you were, and struggling to make sense of who you are now. Which is why this conversation is so gut-wrenching:

“I know you.” “You do not know me.” “I knew the angel you were.” “The angel you knew is not me.”

This dialogue admittedly still makes my eyes swim. It’s reminiscent of the many conversations I’ve had with people close to me who knew me Before and After. Not only are you grieving the loss of your own innocence, so are those around you, and it feels like you’re wearing their loved one’s face like a mask.

And then underneath the grief, there’s a river of–what you’ll later discover is misplaced–guilt. They want you to be who you were. Fuck, you also want to be who you were -- to not have experienced what you did -- but you can’t.

And when they catch a glimpse of something that reminds them of Before-You -- because it's not like that you has just up and vanished, you've just changed -- they say things like, “I feel like I have you back!” Like the After-You is a consolation prize, something to be tolerated while they wait for the Before-You to return.

It’s not malicious. They love you. They want you to be happy. But it just serves as a reminder of your loss and suddenly you’re acutely aware of how alone you are with the Thing that hurt you.

After trauma, you’re lonely and you're afraid. But those emotions make you feel quite naked, because both of those things would require you to depend on other people to feel better and, at this point, the thought of doing that is far too scary, so to the world, you’re angry. Thus begins the cyclical self-fulfilling prophecy.

And that cycle goes a bit like this: People see the mistrust and the bitterness and the volatility (the shield that keeps people at an arm's length and helps you feel safe). They don't see the profound sustained fear underneath, the desperate need to feel seen and accepted. And so people pull away.

And that real or perceived abandonment feeds the monster that’s taken up permanent residence in your ribcage and screams at all hours that you’re not worthy of love, that you’re irreparably broken, and you’ll always be alone. And you pull away from the people that love you. And the cycle repeats. And you start to believe all of the bad things about yourself that the monster tells you.

Being confronted with a character who you adore and who you also relate to closely is bittersweet in that it’s both immensely painful, but also offers you an opportunity to interrupt that cycle, to explore a different -- perhaps more forgiving -- lens through which to view yourself. To practice self-compassion by proxy, if you will. After all, we tend to extend far greater empathy and forgiveness to others than we do to ourselves.

Angel Crowley, "who squeaked and squealed when he was happy; who flailed his arms around and made explosion noises with his mouth to explain nebulas; who preened when told his stars were pretty,” (joycrispy) reminded me a lot of “Angel T,” or rather myself before Trauma.

And Crowley's story is tragic. I was heartbroken and angry for him; I felt the depth of the betrayal he experienced at the hands of someone he loved who he'd believed loved him; I found myself wanting to protect him, to comfort him. Crowley did not deserve what happened to him.

And, over a decade later, I realized that I’d finally accepted that I’d been an innocent, just like Crowley had, and I didn't deserve what happened to me, either.

And -- if you find yourself relating to this post -- neither did you.

Once we can tell ourselves that and actually believe it, we can start to lower the shield. We can allow people closer, including ourselves. We can bring the parts of ourselves we may have hidden away back to the surface. We can soften again. We can truly start to heal.

Crowley, at his core, remains the same. He is still kind, deeply loving, playful, silly, and – against all odds – hopeful. But his trauma has changed him; his innocence is gone.

He struggles to trust others; fears abandonment; engages in unhealthy coping mechanisms; finds it easier to prioritize and tend to Aziraphale's needs and desires than his own; and has difficulty expressing his emotions.

But he also gained an abundance of empathy, a deep love for humanity, and a strong sense of justice.

We adore Crowley exactly as he is now; we don't wish for him to be who he was before the Fall. And neither does Aziraphale.

In kind, we won’t be who we were — nor should we try to be — but we can be something new, a different version of ourselves that is equally good, equally worthy, and equally deserving of love.

After over a decade, I think my Trauma wound has mostly healed, as much as Trauma wounds can, anyway; it’s a dull ache rather than an acute pain. Yet Crowley's story assuaged that remaining hurt like a salve I hadn’t realized I needed.

So thank you to @neil-gaiman for giving us such a beautiful story, and to David Tennant, Michael Sheen, and the rest of the cast and crew who bring the characters we love to life on screen.

Good Omens truly is a gift. May it continue to inspire us to offer kindness and love to ourselves and one another. 🖤

* I am aware that I say “you” when I should use the singular first-person “I,” but I still struggle with this when talking about my own trauma. So I’m using “you” and you, reader, will deal with it x

#good omens #good omens season two #good omens 2 spoilers #aziraphale x crowley #anthony j crowley #angel crowley #anthony crowley #crowley #crowley good omens #good omens crowley #crowley trauma #gos2spoilers #go s2 #go season 2 #good omens 2 #aziracrow #david tennant #good omens character analysis

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ponderingmoonlight · 6 months

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can you pleaseee make a sequel to the "jjk men hurting y/n" (gojo part) where their son wonders if they can marry y/n when they grow up. you know what i mean.

(also oh my goddddd that fic had me rolling in bed giggling and kicking my legs 😭😭😭😭)

Nothing better than that, thank you so much for your request and liking my work<3

Part l can be found here under Gojo's part

Gojo's and (y/n)'s son wanting to marry (y/n)

Pairing: Gojo x fem!reader

Word Count: 1,2k

Warnings: fluffness overload

Tags: @coffee-on-a-rainyautumn @defnotriri @smarsd @sharycatx3 @kaiserkisser @sanicsmut

As usual, feel free to leave a comment or reblog <3

What happened on that fateful day of the night parade was hard to swallow for both you and Satoru. That unimaginable grief of the breakup when all he wanted to do was to save you. Suguru who wanted to not only kill you but Yuta for your abilities and died himself.

It was all too much to handle, a test for both of you.

“Why didn’t you just tell me? I told you I’m pregnant, that I’m expecting your child and you-….You looked at me with nothing but hatred in your eyes…”

“I’m so sorry, (y/n). Believe me, it killed me from the inside to be so cold to you when in reality, I wanted nothing more than holding you in my arms and tell everyone. But there was no other way. If I’d told you about Suguru’s plan, you would have insisted on coming to Tokyo. And if I didn’t and you’d find out yourself, you would have been absolutely mad and would have been there anyway. Please, all I wanted was to keep you safe. I had no other choice…”

For the first time in your relationship, you saw Satoru Gojo cry in front of you, his hands wrapped around your face. Oh, if you only knew how hard it was for him, how it broke his very own heart within these three cursed weeks.

But now you’re here, safe and sound.

“What happened to Suguru?”

Your innocent question pierced his heart like a knife. Satoru wanted to break down in front of you, too overwhelmed by everything that happened over the last weeks.

But he had to be strong. For you and his unborn baby.

“He didn’t make it.”

Your heart dropped, arms instinctively wrapped around your boyfriend’s trembling frame. Oh, your Satoru. All the things he had to endure over this time. Despite you had every reason to be mad at him you simply can’t. He did this for you, after all. And who knows at what cost.

“We’ll get through this together, okay? You, me and our baby.”

And after months of grieving and talking everything out, you did eventually. You did live through it all: the difficult pregnancy, you almost dying during birth, Satoru getting sealed at Shibuya, the loss of many good friends. It was never easy, you thought about giving up all too often.

But now you’re sitting at the kitchen table with your three year old beautiful son who owns the eyes of his gorgeous father and your hair color.

“Good morning my lovelies”, Satoru purrs against your ear before gently placing a kiss on your cheek.

“Stop that!” your son suddenly shouts, gazing at your husband and his very own father visibly upset.

Huh, what has gotten into him today? Normally he doesn’t mind much when Satoru shows you affection. You tilt your head to the side, Satoru nods towards you.

“What, are you jealous, young man?” Satoru asks challengingly, sitting down next to his son who crawls into his lap immediately.

“You can’t just kiss mama like that because I wanna marry her!” the little boy in front of you announces, determination sparkling in his blue orbs.

Satoru and you stare at each other bamboozled and before you can help yourself, a little giggle escapes your lips. Is this why he was acting so weird? Where does this thought come from?

“You wanna marry her?” Satoru repeats.

“I learned that you kiss at a wedding. So you can’t kiss mommy!”

“Oh, I understand. And how did you get the idea of marrying her?” Satoru continues the conversation.

Your heart feels like exploding in warmth, pure joy speeding through your veins. Seeing your sweet little angel sitting on his father’s lap while announcing that he’ll marry you makes tears sting in your eyes. After all the things you’ve been through, the fights, the injuries, the worries, is this really your life right now? Sitting at the breakfast table while having a delightful conversation with your family?

“I love my mama because she makes me brave.”

Satoru’s eyes dart towards you, so touched by the words of your little one that you can immediately see the glossy shine in them. It’s still like a dream to him, sitting here in peace with both of you by his side. This was definitely worth all the fights and losses he had to endure over the last years. This precious little moment of innocence and pure love.

“Y’know little man, just because you love someone you can’t automatically marry that person. That here is your ma, which means you can’t marry her. If someone gets to marry her that would be me”, Satoru clarifies with his oh so sweet voice.

You desperately try to hold back tears. The love you hold for your little family is more than you could ever explain, deeper than any ocean on this planet. Your son might not be aware of it know, but the fact that he’s sitting here so unbothered was never granted, that all of this will work out was never given.

But now it is. Now you’re sitting there all together. And your son just announced that he wants to marry you.

“But why can you marry her and I not?” he requests, lips forming that little pout that reminds you so much of his father.

“Because you already have her as your wonderful mama. Leave some for the rest”, Satoru replies.

Your son shrieks in his father’s loving arms as he begins to tickle him, laughter filling the room. If anyone would have told you 5 years ago that this will be your life, you would have laughed at him. You really thought this world has no joy for you left, that you and Satoru are cursed through being jujutsu sorcerers.

But that child in front of your very own eyes isn’t a curse. No, it is a true blessing just like Satoru himself. You can’t help but admire him for his strength, for his never ending optimism in this world that tried to tear him down multiple times. Always running back into your open arms, always looking out for you and your family. How do you even deserve him, the man in front of you who looks at your child lovingly?

“But why did you not marry her then?”

You tilt your head to the side, amused by the question of your little one.

“That’s a really good question, angel”, you comment sweetly.

Of course you know all too well that the last few years didn’t have any room for a wedding. Between so many deaths, getting sealed and constant fighting, there wasn’t enough time to arrange something like that. But still, you love to tease your boyfriend a little bit.

“I definitely will someday”, Satoru ensures, gaze set on you with a breathtaking smile.

“And I’ll be there too!” your son cries out in excitement.

“Of course you will, Suguru! Ain’t no wedding without my favorite man by my side!”

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ervotica · 2 months

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𝐦𝐲 𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐬𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐜𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠

pairing; azriel x fem!reader

summary; and so i cry the light is white and i see you

when your wings are taken from you in a brutal act of torture, you see no way to ease your grief. your mate is there to guide you back when you need him most.

warnings; hurt/comfort, ANGST, suicidal ideation, sorta suicide attempt, in depth descriptions of injury

The wind stings at your flushed cheeks where you stand at the edge of the rooftop. It's dark, iridescent balls of light expanding at every edge of your vision as you take a step towards the lip of the roof that overhangs from the house. Wetness clings to your eyes, threatening to spill over your itching waterline when you gaze down to the sea of lights below.

You long to feel the whip of the breeze against your face as you rise and dive into the night sky, to scream and yell at the top of your lungs as your wings flap behind you in tandem with your family.

You'll never feel that again.

You've been a shell of yourself since the day your wings were taken. Had them brutally cut from your body, hacksawed until all that remained were jagged stumps in place of gorgeous, thick corded planes of muscle. Naked. Half the person you once were. Your back is a myriad of scars, still healing and bruised, ripples of broken flesh marring your once untouched skin.

You are broken and ugly and miserable.

It took weeks to even walk again, weeks of rehabilitation, physical therapy with Madja. Weeks of sobbing in your mate's arms as he held you upright, of wanting to claw your way out of your own skin and scream and rage until something snaps you out of this living nightmare. Weeks of Azriel having to force you to eat and drink, to get outside in favour of withering away in your bed.

You're teetering on the edge of the building now, swaying in time with the gusts of air that threaten to send you toppling onto the street below.

"My love, what are you doing?" Azriel's voice breaks you out of your haze, but you don't move; you don't make any effort to step away from the edge. One wrong move from either of you and you're dead.

"I miss flying," you croak.

"I know you do." His voice oozes with pity and it sends rage hurting through your veins like the white-hot lick of a flame. You stumble, swatting Azriel's hands away when he surges forward to wrench you back. Your pulse roars in your ears and you lose focus of his speech, each pleading word blending into one another until you don't bother to decipher the words at all.

"Come back to me," he shouts over the ringing in your ears. "Come back to me, mate."

The name seizes your muscles, pours into your soul like molten lava and solidifies, heavy and unforgiving.

"Why?" you whirl around, heels hanging over thin air, nothing to break your impact were you to fall - or throw yourself - from this great height. Azriel's unnaturally still, not moving, not breathing- calculating how long it would take him to dive after you if you were to slip. "Why do you call me that? Why don't you run from me, leave me here now I'm not of use anymore."

He takes one step, and then another. Sweat beads on your brow despite the frigid chill of the night- his scarred fingers outstretched, waiting for you to take them. The golden thread inside your chest pulls taut like a bowstring. He's calling you home.

"You are my mate." he says. "I need you. Come back to me, my love."

"I'm ruined, Az." The words stick in your throat like syrup. "I'm no good to anyone, anymore. All I'll do is burden you." A sob rips through you. "You won't be happy with what I am now. I just want you to be happy."

The confession almost brings him to his knees.

Something snaps inside of him; eery calm replaces terror as he surveys you with narrowed eyes and a tilt of his head.

This is not your Azriel.

This is the feared shadowsinger- who wears a mask of cool wrath, who bows to no one. A calculated facade of composure.

"You are not ruined," he growls. The glacial fury in his voice has your breath catching in your throat, your insides freezing as if his words have wrapped icy fingers around your throat. "You are my mate, and you will step down and come to me. Now."

You find yourself complying without question, moving away on wobbling legs until your limbs give out and you're tripping over your own feet, hurtling towards the ground. As fast as the mask appears, it slips away, pure, unrelenting relief cascading down the bond.

Azriel's already there, hooking his arms beneath your own to shoulder your weight, a hand atop your head to anchor your body to his own even as you shudder and scream and soak his leathers with angry tears.

"I know, my love. I'm sorry, I'm so sorry," he murmurs, the words a whisper into your hair as you claw at him, legs buckled and utterly useless. You're settled against thick muscle, tucked under Azriel's chin where he's lowered you both to the ground.

"I'm nothing," you gasp against his chest. "I have no place here anymore. I'm useless."

His hand is an anchor against the back of your neck, grounding when he squeezes the malleable flesh to draw your gaze to his own.

"You are everything."

The welcome pressure on your neck lulls you into drawing a long breath. Azriel deflates, hazel eyes trained on the rise and fall of your heaving chest.

"I am nothing without you," he continues on. "You are my life and my heart. Were you to die, I'd go by your side with a smile. I can't bear the thought of living in a world where you do not exist."

His wings twitch where they're tucked behind him. Your trembling fingers splay against the sharp angle of his jaw.

"I'm sorry," you croak. "I never want to leave you." His knuckles drag across your cheekbones, brushing away the tears that stain your balmy face. "I don't know how to live like this."

His lips press to your temple, brow nestled against the wisps of windswept hair at the crown of your head. He smears a kiss there and ventures lower. One against your jaw, your chin, in the crease of your brows.

And then he slants his lips over your own. Your muscles go soft, ragged breaths evening as he parts your lips with a swipe of his tongue, a hand splayed against the base of your spine as you sag. He brushes your nose with the tip of a scarred finger.

"Come on," he murmurs, urging you to stand. When you do, he tucks you into his chest, arms slung over your shoulders in a crushing embrace. "I will do anything to make this easier for you, my heart. I know it will be difficult, and I know it's scary. But stay with me."

Your arms tighten around his middle.

"Always."

784 notes · View notes

valeskafics · 1 month

Text

"(S)He's Not You" - Conrad Fisher x Reader

a/n: from an anon request 🩷

Summary: You help your best friend put the broken pieces of his heart back together.

Word Count: 4,000

Rating: 18+, MDNI

TW: afab reader, she/her pronouns, profanity, innuendo, infidelity (not by reader or conrad), hair pulling, pining, fingering, p in v sex, unprotected sex

Disclaimer: I do not own any of The Summer I Turned Pretty characters nor do I claim to own them. I do not own any of the images used nor do I claim to own them.

Comments, likes, and reblogs are never required but are immensely appreciated 🩷

You don’t know what you were expecting to see when you made it back to Cousins after your last final exam. The beach house was saved and everyone was getting along right before you left. So why is Connor crying? You approach your best friend with trepidation, knowing he’d never want you to see him like this. You rest a gentle hand on his shoulder and he jerks his head up, eyes going wide as he quickly tries to dry his tears, to calm the way his body seizes with every sob. But you just sit down beside him and pull his head into your lap. And he cries. God, how he cries. It physically pains you to see him like this, like something is squeezing your heart in two as you run your hands through his hair.

You know who did this. Belly. She fucking broke his heart. You swear, if your mom wasn’t so close with hers and Steven wasn’t one of your best friends, you’d kill her with your bare hands. The pain she’s caused… You shake your head, listening to Conrad’s sniffles as they slowly begin to calm.

“You’re too good for her,” you say softly, “You always were.”

He lets out a hoarse laugh, sitting up and meeting your gaze with bloodshot eyes, “Then why did she pick him over me?”

Jeremiah. He must mean Jeremiah. God, you think you really might drive all the way to her fucking volleyball camp and kill her. You shake your head.

“Cuz she’s an asshole.” You see the hint of a smile curling at the corners of your best friend’s lips and you poke his cheek, “Is that a smile I see, Fisher? Don’t you hide that from me. Come on.”

He shakes his head and finally smiles, and it’s like the sunshine has broken through the clouds as he embraces you tightly, “Thanks.”

“Anytime, bub,” you rub his back.

“Can I be completely honest?” When you nod, he heaves a sigh and continues, “I… I never stopped loving her. No matter what she did or said. I never stopped. Do you think that’s stupid?”

“Love is stupid. It doesn’t make sense. That doesn’t make you stupid.”

Conrad gives a sad smile at your reassurance before continuing, “I think you’re the only person I have ever been completely honest with. And you’ve always been honest with me. So do you really think I’m too good for Belly?”

His eyes are full of self-doubt, self-pity, grief. You hate what she’s done to him. You take Conrad’s hands in your own and squeeze gently.

“Of course I do. I always have. Stringing you and Jere along like that? Playing you against each other? That was bullshit. Belly isn’t all that, Connie. You’re gonna find someone so much better.”

“I thought Belly was my soulmate,” he mumbles, “Why didn’t she pick me?”

“Because she’s not your soulmate,” you reply firmly, “All she’s done is hurt you, bub. Love isn’t supposed to hurt. It’s supposed to be intense, yeah, but it’s supposed to make you feel glad that you’re alive.”

You can see that even if your words aren’t immediately affecting Conrad, he’s listening. You’ve always had a way of getting through to him, even when Belly couldn’t. Even when Susannah or Laurel couldn’t. Everyone would look to you to talk some sense into your best friend. His brow furrows as he turns to face you.

“So you think I’m better off without her? It’s just… The way I saw it was that Jere must be better than me cuz-”

“Absolutely the fuck not,” you cut him off sharply, resting your hands on his cheeks, wiping away the last of his tears, “Jere is great, okay? Jere is sweet and awesome and a great guy. But you know what he’s not? He’s not you.”

Conrad lets out a breath, a long one, wrapping his arms around your waist and resting his head on your shoulder, his voice muffled, “How do you always know how to make me feel better? And how are you always right? Love isn’t supposed to hurt.” He pauses, giving you a cheeky smile, “Maybe I need someone more like you.”

You elbow him, shoving him away when he chuckles, “Ha ha, very funny, you jerk. Besides, I don’t think it would go down very well with Paul if I dated you.”

He rolls his eyes at the mention of your boyfriend, “Paul’s a tool. You know you can do better, right? I mean, you got into Stanford. He has the IQ of a potato.”

“Don’t be mean, Connie,” you chide before giggling, “He’s at least a yam.”

Conrad throws his head back, bursting into full-bodied laughter, covering his mouth, “I bet you a hundred bucks he doesn’t even know what a yam is.”

Intrigued, you pull out your phone, giving Conrad a sidelong glance as you text Paul. Conrad tries to lean over your shoulder to read what you’re typing, only to be batted away. He pouts, resting his chin on your shoulder, startling slightly when your phone goes off and you gasp at the reply.

“He doesn’t know what a yam is!”

Conrad shakes his head incredulously, “I won… Okay, pay up.”

“I can’t, I’m poor.”

He scoffs, tossing his arm around you, squeezing your side, “Fine. I’ll let you off easy since I like your face.”

“You like my face?” You tease, batting your lashes at him, “God, when are we getting married? That was so romantic!”

“Shut up.”

“That’s gonna be in our vows,” you declare as you stand up, taking Conrad by the hand as the two of you grab your bags and walk toward his car, “That you like my face.”

He shoves you away from him, trying his best not to laugh but failing miserably, “I hate you.”

“You can’t shove your future wife like that! That’s spousal abuse!”

“Who’s gonna stop me, you little nag?”

You burst into giggles, the sound of which seems to lift his spirits as you meet his gaze, “I hate you so much.”

“I hate you too, wifey.”

You bump your hip against his, then you turn to face him, “But look, I’m serious. One day? You’re gonna find some girl who makes you forget Belly ever existed. And you’re gonna be so happy.”

“Promise?” He asks softly, extending his pinky toward yours.

You nod, wrapping your pinky around his, “Promise.”

As you begin the drive to California, Conrad can’t help but look over at you every so often, smiling to himself as you sing along to some Fleetwood Mac song, waving at every passing car like the weirdo you are. He shakes his head, wondering why his stomach flutters when you look over at him, the sun shining down on your face.

Sure, before you got with Paul and he got with Belly, he’d always sort of, kind of had a thing for you. But he got over that when he fell for Belly.

Right?

Stanford is everything Conrad hoped it would be. And best of all? He’s there with you. His favorite person in the world. He knows that your boyfriend hates it. After all, he didn’t have to deal with Conrad’s presence freshman year. And now? Things are different. Paul is cold and distant, while Conrad remains the same. Always sweet and loving. Tonight, for example. You burst into Conrad’s dorm, declaring that the two of you are going to hang out.

“Alright, just don’t be annoying.”

You grab his pillow and begin whacking him with it, making your best friend burst into laughter, trying to cover his face as you do your best Kim Kardashian impression, “Don’t be fucking rude!”

“Alright, alright! Come on, let’s go. What do you want to do?”

“Pizza?” You offer, “I’m hungry as fuck and Paul always wants to eat at these fancy healthy places. Sometimes all I want is a slice of that cheesy, greasy goodness.”

Conrad scoffs as the two of you begin to walk, “Buzz kill.”

“There’s nothing wrong with eating healthy,” you protest.

“It’s California. Put an avocado on the pizza and say it’s healthy.”

You roll your eyes, elbowing him playfully, “Your Bostonian is showing, babe.”

Babe. His heart races slightly as the two of you begin to walk out of the building and toward the pizza parlor near campus. However, you don’t seem to be walking fast enough for Conrad’s liking as he pulls you by the hand, trying to get you to pick up the pace. You whine playfully, making him snicker.

“I’m tired of your whining.”

“I’m training you for your next relationship!”

“Keep talking like that and you might just be my next relationship.”

“Yeah, cuz that’ll go over real well with Paul.”

“He can fight me. Besides, you’re a big girl. He doesn’t control you.”

His voice is teasing, but there’s an undertone of seriousness to his voice, to his expression that is hinted at but you don’t quite catch. A lingering desire for something more, something that’s remained unacted upon for years. You respond to his teasing in kind, pretending to swoon in his arms, your voice reeking of melodrama.

“Why, Mr. Fisher, I do declare! Are you going to fight for my hand?”

He shakes his head at your antics, and though he’s joking when he replies, a part of him truly means it, “It would be an honor, my lady.”

You two finally reach the pizza parlor, moving toward what has quickly become your usual booth, taking a seat and waiting for your waitress to pass by. When she shows up, Conrad takes the lead and begins placing the order.

“And pineapple and anchovies on her side-”

“Don’t you dare!” You gasp, clutching your chest, “You’re killing me, Fisher!”

The waitress laughs at the two of you, remarking what a cute couple you make. And neither of you moves to correct her. As she walks away, Conrad turns to face you with a grin.

“I’ve never met anyone as dramatic as you.”

“Oh, yeah? Well-”

When your face freezes, eyes going wide, Conrad turns around to follow your line of sight. And there, he sees what has you so shocked. It’s Paul. With a girl. A girl who he has his arm around. A girl who he’s kissing. Conrad turns back to you, watching as you blink owlishly, trying to absorb the sight in front of you.

“Am… Are you seeing this or am I delusional?”

“You’re not delusional,” Conrad mumbles, taking your hand. The devastated expression on your face tugs at his heartstrings, rage building inside of him at the thought of anyone wanting to hurt you, of anyone thinking they’re better off with someone other than you. “Let’s get out of here.”

“I thought he… Loved me,” you mumble, your voice cracking as your lower lip wobbles slightly. You stand up and race out of the restaurant, “I’m going back to my dorm.”

Conrad is stunned for a moment but rushes after you. You were there for him and now he’s going to be there for you. He catches up to you just outside, grabbing you by the arm and pulling you into his arms, letting your head rest against his chest. He runs a hand through your hair, speaking softly.

“I’m sticking with you.”

The levee breaks and your tears begin to flow, a heart wrenching sob torn from your throat as you cry against Conrad’s chest. This isn’t how tonight was meant to go. You weren’t supposed to be crying like this.

“I know how you’re feeling right now,” he whispers, “And I’m so sorry.”

“I tried,” you cry, clinging to him, “I tried so hard!”

“I know you did,” he soothes, squeezing you gently, rubbing your back, “And you should never have had to.”

Days turn into weeks, weeks turn into months and soon? It’s nearing winter break. And Belly and Paul are nothing but distant, unpleasant memories. Conrad has been biding his time, working up the courage to ask you out, and decided today is the day. And as the two of you talk, moving your head to rest in his lap as you chatter away mindlessly, it confirms what he’s known deep down ever since he built sandcastles with you on the beach back when you were kids.

He’s madly in love with you.

“Okay, um, fuck, marry, kill.” He watches you with amusement as you think, “Wonder Woman, Catwoman, Harley Quinn.”

He runs his fingers through your hair affectionately, “Marry Wonder Woman because she’s gorgeous and cool as hell, fuck Catwoman, and kill Harley Quinn because she’s insane.”

You sit up, staring at him in horror, “You killed Harley?!”

“What? Did you really want me to marry her?” He questions incredulously.

“Yes! She’s the baddest bitch in the DC Universe. How DARE you!”

“Wha- Okay, DC Queen, would you marry her?”

“Yes!” You say without hesitation, making Conrad arch a brow, “She’s smart, she’s gorgeous, we’d be the cutest cottagecore lesbians in Gotham City.”

“I?” His jaw drops, “Harley would be the worst wife in history! And what the hell is cottagecore?”

You flop back so that your head is once again in his lap with a dramatic sigh, “You don’t understand aesthetics, Connie!”

“Oh, please, I’m from Boston. I don’t have to know this crap.”

“So am I and yet I know it,” you stick your tongue out at him, making him roll his eyes, “What do you think cottagecore even is?”

“That thing where girls just wanna make everything all pastel and wear oversized sweaters, right?”

“...That’s the worst description I’ve ever heard in my life.”

“It’s the truth though!” Conrad insists, “That’s all I’ve ever seen! A bunch of girls who wear oversized sweaters, drink pumpkin spice lattes, and hang out in cottages-”

“Who the fuck hangs out in cottages?” You question, bursting into laughter, “Bub, that’s not it at all.”

“It is! All the pictures I’ve seen are girls sitting in cottages or standing in fields with oversized sweaters drinking out of tiny cups! And if you’re the expert, you explain it and I’ll admit I was wrong!”

“...I actually don’t know what it is.”

Conrad stares at you for a long moment, stunned, “You’ve been defending cottagecore this whole time and you don’t even know what it is?”

“I just like fighting with you,” you snicker.

“Yeah? And I love arguing back. But you know what I like more?” He smirks, leaning in close, his voice low as he murmurs, “This!”

You let out an inhuman shriek as he shoves you off his lap, “You dick!”

“I guess you’re falling for me already!” Conrad grabs your hand when you move to leave, “No way, I’m not done messing with you yet.”

“This is physical abuse!”

“How is pulling you back onto my lap ‘physical abuse’?”

“You haven’t pulled me- HEY!” You land on his lap, smacking his chest with annoyance, “You’re so annoying Conrad, I swear!” Your phone goes off and you gasp, checking the time, “Oh, shit. I’ve gotta go.”

“Why? You gotta hot date?” Conrad taunts, pinching your side before letting you up.

“Ha! Yes, actually. Sam from lab asked me out! You know, the cute guy who sits up front?”

Conrad does his best to mask his disappointment, feeling his heart crack in two all over again. He knows he should be happy for you. He knows it. But it fucking hurts. He fakes a smile, his words of excitement coming out forced.

“That’s cool. Where are you guys going?”

“The movie theater downtown,” you beam, “And for dinner.”

“Oh. Cool. Yeah. That’s cool,” he forces another smile, his stomach in knots. You’re going on a date. With someone who isn’t him. “Have a great time.”

You frown slightly, knitting your brows together, “You okay?”

“I’m cool,” Conrad says, barely masking the crack in his voice, “Everything’s cool. You should get ready.” You part your lips as if about to say something, but he gives you a gentle shove, “Go. I’m serious. Tell me how it goes.”

He walks back to his dorm, alone and dejected, hands in his pockets. Conrad tries to distract himself all day and all evening from the fact that some asshole is probably holding your hand right now, kissing you, making you laugh. Telling you how beautiful you look when you smile, brushing your hair behind your ear-

He doesn’t know how long he sits at his laptop, just staring at the study guide in front of him but not really seeing anything.

That is until he hears a knock on the door. Conrad frowns, standing up and wondering who it is that’s bothering him right now.

And there you are. In a pretty blue sundress, looking absolutely gorgeous.

“Hey. You busy?”

Conrad blinks a few times, trying to make sure his eyes aren’t deceiving him, before stepping aside, “Yeah, no. Uh, come in.”

You walk past him, the scent of your vanilla body spray lingering in the air as you pace the length of his dorm. Conrad watches you, wondering just what happened. You come to a stop in front of him, hands on your hips.

“Okay, here’s the deal. I went on a date with a really nice guy, right? He picks me up, brings me flowers. A real gentleman. Opens the door and even pays for our movie tickets.” Conrad’s heart sinks as he hears you talk about your date, “He buys us popcorn. He gets us a soda with two straws. It’s a romcom and he holds my hand when I tear up. It was perfect. The date any girl dreams of.”

“I’m sure it was,” Conrad mumbles, a lump in his throat. He can’t pretend to be happy for you. It hurts too damn much. “It sounds like a great date.”

“It was,” you pause, “But there was one huge problem.”

“Yeah? What was the problem?”

“You.”

Your response is so blunt. So simple. With one word, you’ve raised a million questions in his mind as he looks at you.

“Me? What do you mean me?”

“I mean I was with the perfect guy,” you say, gazing up at him with a soft, gentle expression on your face that makes his heart pound, “And all I could think about was how much I wished it was you.”

His pulse spikes at your words, his heart filled with equal parts hope and disbelief, “Really? You… You thought about me that whole time?”

“I couldn’t even kiss him goodnight. Because all I could think was…” You trail off before whispering, “He’s not you.”

He’s not you.

“You wanted it to be me?” Conrad whispers, smiling at you almost bashfully, running a hand through his hair.

You nod, “I guess I was just scared of us being each other’s rebounds-”

“You’d never be a rebound to me,” Conrad quickly assures you, cupping your face in his hands. You rest your hands over his, eyes locking as he speaks, “You’ve been the most important person in my life for as long as I can remember. And I was an idiot for trying to move on from my feelings for you with Belly because…” He laughs, “She’s not you.”

Your eyes start to blur, and you’re pretty sure you see Conrad spill a tear too as you mumble, “You’re my best friend. And I’m in love with you, Conrad Fisher.”

He lets out a breathless laugh, resting his head against yours, “Shit. I love you. I love you so much.”

“You’re so cute,” you grin up at him, you know that?”

“Shut up,” Conrad protests, rolling his eyes and feigning annoyance, “I’m not cute.”

“Okay, fine, you’re ugly- OW!”

He snickers after pinching your side, “That’s better…” The expression on Conrad’s face is so tender when he moves to take your hand in his, comparing how small and soft your palm is against his own, “I never wanna let go of your hand.”

“I don’t think you really ever did. Not since you took me to make that first sandcastle,” you whisper, using your other hand to caress his cheek, smiling as he leans into your touch, “Even though you were a little menace and tugged on my braids, I only wanted to be around you.”

“Hey, I did it gently.”

“Yeah, maybe that’s the reason I’m into that now- Oh.” You freeze, realizing what you’ve just said. Aloud. To your best friend. Who now knows you’re in love with him. “I didn’t mean to say that out loud. Me and my big mouth…”

When you meet Conrad’s gaze again, you see the smirk playing on his lips as he moves a hand to thread in your hair. You gasp as he tugs gently, shivering at the feeling. You let out a soft moan of his name, moving your hands to rest against his chest as you feel his nails gently moving against your scalp before tugging again.

“Not fair…”

He grins at you, pulling you in close and pressing his lips to your own.

And it’s like nothing you’ve ever felt before. There are fireworks behind your eyes as your mouth moves against his, your arms wrapping around his neck as the two of you slowly move toward his bed. You feel his mattress against the back of your thigh and let him push you down gently, never once breaking the kiss. You tug at Conrad’s shirt, helping him pull it up over his head before reaching for his jeans. He laughs against your lips at how eager you are, the sound turning into a moan as you palm at his cock over the fabric of his boxers. He moves his hand from your hair to move along your thigh, leaving a trail of goosebumps in its wake, higher and higher until he pushes the hem of your dress up. Conrad tugs at your panties, pulling them down your legs and tossing them to join his shirt and jeans.

Within a few more seconds, the two of you lay there, completely bare before each other. Conrad’s hand moves to cup your mound, his fingers tracing you gently, making sure you’re wet enough to take him, teasing you, preparing for what’s to come. And you just stare up at him, lips parted with those sweet eyes that he can’t get enough of. He grasps at the base of his cock, lining himself up with you, when you suddenly grab his hand.

“I’m a little nervous,” you admit softly, “I… It’s you. And I want this to be perfect.”

“Me too,” Conrad admits, “And it will be.”

“Will you hold my hand? I just…” He can’t help but smile at the way you gaze up at him, interlacing your fingers with his, “I like how big your hands are. How safe I feel when you hold mine.”

“Yeah, baby,” he whispers gently, “I’ll hold your hand.”

And when you come together, it’s like nothing you’ve ever felt before. He fills you so perfectly. Like two pieces of a jigsaw puzzle. Like he was made for you. His lips are soft and slow against yours, both hands holding your own as he rolls his hips against you, setting a rhythmic pace as he ruts against you. Your legs wrap around his waist, your moans and his filling the room as he lets go of one of your hands to tug on your hair with a playful grin. Before you can say anything, he’s kissing you again, his lips moving against yours.

His phone goes off and you glance at it, scoffing when you see that it’s Belly. No doubt she’s gotten bored with Jere and wants Conrad back. Conrad gives you a soft grin, whispering in your ear.

“She’s not you. She’s not the one I love. The one I’ve always loved.”

With that, any insecurities die on your tongue as he kisses you again.

#conrad fisher x reader #conrad fisher x you #conrad fisher #the summer i turned pretty #the summer i turned pretty x reader #my writing #conrad oneshot #conrad fisher one shot #conrad fisher fanfic #conrad fisher imagine #conrad fisher smut

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star-girl69 · 2 months

Text

Because Of You

Clarisse La Rue x Fem!AphroditeCabin!Reader

—-

synopsis: years after your rite of passage, the boy who’s heart you broke just won’t leave you alone. clarisse, your girlfriend, quickly decides she’s not a fan.

a/n: should i stop procrastinating and then forcing myself to write shitty fics quickly? probably. but not today!! this is kinda just like an au of dont delete the kisses but… you guessed it… IDC!!!!!!!! from this ask

thank you all so much for patiently waiting i love y’all soooooo muuccchhhhhh 🫶🫶💋 as i mentioned on my acc i have the next week off from school, pls expect more content then!!

Because Of You - Lana Del Rey (Unreleased)

warnings: NOT PROOFREAD, this sucks so bad y’all sorry lolllll, y/n is a year round camper!, starts out very background heavy but i really don’t care 😭, creepy men UGH, ugly bitches not being able to let shit go, im gonna say sexual harassment just incase, swearing, usual demigod stuff y’all know what you’re getting into, jealous!clarisse YESSS, possessive!clarisse ik i screamed!!, protective!clarisse too, slightly graphic makeout scene, i think that’s all, tell me if i missed anything!!

—-

When you were young, you were thrilled by the thought of love.

The idea of belonging not only with someone- bodies fitting together like puzzles pieces- but belonging to someone- wrapping around you like a warm blanket.

Later, your half-siblings would describe mostly similar experiences to yours- an overwhelming desire to be loved, wanted, needed. Ever since you ran into camp with a monster hot on your heels and satyr shouting encouragement next to you- everyone’s stared at you. They poke and prod, they act like they’ve never seen a daughter of Aphrodite before.

It’s annoying, but it makes you feel good- but not quite.

Until Alek came along.

You were both 13, you still believed in soulmates, and you wanted nothing more than to be with each other for the rest of your lives.

You were 13, and he felt like the only one for you.

And when you had to break up with him to fulfill your rite of passage- it felt like the world was ending. You cried for days and begged your sister Phoebe to say it wasn’t a true, it was just a mean, mean prank.

But she couldn’t tell you that, and there were more types of love that romantic.

While you longed to hold someone, to be held- you also craved your mother’s approval like you were starving. You wanted her love, you wanted her to visit you in your dreams, you wanted gifts from her, you wanted everything and anything she could give you.

So, it hurt like you had never known hurt before, but you did it. Alek seemed entirely indifferent to it, almost ignoring you and pretending you hadn’t said it- but you felt a warmness around you, a dove flew between trees, you knew your mother was there and she approved.

Breaking up with Alek felt like the sun had exploded on top of you.

Being with Clarisse felt like the sun was wrapped around you.

—-

After Alek’s initial denial, he went through all the other stages of grief, mourned your relationship like you did, and you came out on the other side with a one-sided agreement to forget it ever happened.

Alek got stuck. Or went back. He started to believe that you were still meant to be, that much you could tell.

Until that day at the training fields when your hand slipped at archery and you almost shot Clarisse in the head- and she had glared at you so harshly while you ran over and examined her head, gushing out apologies and fretting over her.

She pushed you away, hand lingering for a second, eyes softening before she quickly looked away.

“Just… be more careful,” she had said, almost like a question, like she wasn’t sure the words were coming out of her mouth.

And, Gods, were you terrified it was all some secret plan. Make you think it was alright only to corner you in the woods and probably kill you, or something.

And when she asked the next day to teach you how to shoot a bow, you agreed with tears in your eyes, knowing of her reputation, and it took a lot of trust and a lot of swapped secrets for her to prove to you it wasn’t all some elaborate plan.

But even if her plan was to kill you the entire time, you fell in love over her fixing your stance, hands brushing as you accidentally grabbed the same arrow, stolen looks across the pavilion.

It wasn’t until a random kid bumped into you, making you fall and twist your ankle. Clarisse had this look in her eyes that was so genuine, so full of love and care for you, softly caressing your leg after she had punched the other kid in the face.

And you realize as she said you were doing great, limping while she helped you to the infirmary, that this was something.

And as much as you hated the violence being committed over you, it was the hottest thing you’ve ever seen, and the warmth in your chest was all you had ever wanted. This was what it was like to belong with someone, to someone, with her, to her.

This was what it was like to be admired. Loved. Wanted. Needed.

And when she softly told you goodbye, you had kissed the corner of her lips and thanked her- turning to walk into your cabin, ankle already feeling better thanks to the ambrosia.

She grabbed you by the wrist and turned you around, pulling you against her tightly and kissing you so harshly like she had just found the secret to the world in her lips on yours, her hands on your hips.

And when she finally pulled away, embarrassing strings of spit connecting your lips, she said she was sorry. Probably the first time she had ever said that to someone, and you smiled.

“Sorry. It’s just… once your lips were on mine, I don’t think I can ever stop. I don’t wanna stop.”

And she kissed you again and it was all you ever wanted out of this life- to love and be loved, to hold and to be held, and it was all because of her.

—-

The welcome back campfire is your favorite time of year.

It’s when the camp comes alive, when the Gods themselves seem to return to this place- even Mr. D is a bit more lively with all the pure infectious energy running through the first few days of camp. Everyone’s getting settled, classes haven’t started quite yet, and the year round campers get a much needed break.

As much as you and Clarisse wanted to keep things private, when she punches someone in the middle of the pavilion for accidentally bumping into you, it’s not hard to figure out Clarisse cares for you more than she does anyone else.

And after one of your younger siblings, Cara, a 12-year-old notorious for staying up late, saw you and Clarisse kissing that first night- it spread like wildfire.

But it was the winter, so it still felt secret, until summer rolled around and Clarisse kept getting more and more annoyed by every camper who entered the gates. She would grab at you in the middle of meals, drag you into her bed, even kiss you in public- do all these things that seemed so out of character for her, but she was a different person when she was with you.

Everyone had been looking at you oddly all night, shocked, confused, even Clarisse has cracked a genuine smile at someone who dropped their drink- squeezing your hand.

Maybe they had all heard the rumors. Maybe they didn’t believe them.

But it’s all cleared up when Clarisse leads you to the best seat, the log not too far from the fire but not too close, wrapping her arms around you and kissing your temple.

Your cheeks heat up, only because Clarisse is never this touchy in public, and never around this many people before.

All of the eyes on you feel weird- they feel so judging.

And you’re not used to that, however vain it may be.

“Everyone’s staring at us,” you mumble, shuffling closer to Clarisse so your legs are pressed together.

She leans her head against your shoulder. “‘S okay. Don’t worry about ‘em, baby.”

You huff. “Did no one ever teach them it’s rude to stare, though? Like… c’mon.”

She sighs dramatically, lifting her head from your shoulder.

“Stop fuckin’ staring,” she says. Not quiet shouting, but her voice is loud and forceful. Her voice carries weight.

And eventually, at the risk of Clarisse’s wrath, all the wandering eyes stop.

A few of Clarisse’s siblings laugh from around you, commenting that the stares were getting a bit ridiculous, everyone just grateful that you all might get a little reprieve from the overwhelming stares and whispers.

But, you still feel uneasy. Clarisse kisses your shoulder.

And while you look around at the faces very pointedly not staring at you, there’s one person who still is. You roll your eyes, open your mouth to comment on it- but your mouth quickly snaps close at the sight of Alek.

—-

You don’t mention it to Clarisse. Maybe because breaking his heart haunts you, maybe what could have been haunts you.

You try not to think of Alek or that night, you try not to think of the entire age of 13. You always knew that Alek never quite let you go. He still sort of believed that the two of you would come back together- subscribing to some abstract belief soulmates.

You don’t think about Alek. Everything you do is because of her, because of Clarisse.

Sometimes, knowing you have secret admirers makes you feel all happy, but now that Clarisse sneaks you into her cabin every night- it makes you feel weird. You really don’t want anyone except for Clarisse, the idea of even being near someone else kinda disgusts you.

But, you choose to believe that maybe he was just shocked, and he’ll get over it in a few days.

You spend your days in the summer sun with Clarisse, holding her hand on walks through the strawberry fields, still using your archery lessons to spend time together, staring at each other from across the pavilion at meals, dreaming about a future together when it gets dark and you’re forced to whisper softly.

Alek is just always lurking. Is it coincidence? Is he stalking you? Every time you’re with Clarisse, trying to enjoy a nice date, he’s there- staring at you like a lovesick puppy.

And if it wasn’t because of her, you would probably be flattered. But you have Clarisse, you’ve moved on, you’re in love and happy.

It’s the late afternoon, you’re trying to enjoy a long moment with her, breathe in the sweet smell and just feel how happy you are, know it’s because of her.

The fields are still crowded with kids who pushed off their chores until the end of the day, so you and Clarisse stay on the outskirts. Not too far into the woods that’s filled with satyrs and nymphs who have grown very hostile towards any two campers who make their way into the woods. But not too close.

You don’t even register that other people are there. You’re going on about your annoying half-brother, she’s pretending to listen intently- but it’s just enough to be here with her, and at least she’s listening to the sound of your voice. At least that brings her some comfort, and that makes you feel good.

“And then, he said-” you trail off, feeling like something’s crawling all over you, practically being able to feel the anger in the air.

“Hm, what?” Clarisse asks, snapping out of her reverie at your silence.

Alek is glaring at you, of course. It just feels so juvenile. You had received letters from him for years- ones that he didn’t sign- but you knew. He said that the two of you had so much more to give together, that a second chance was all he needed to make you forget about the rite of passage, about pleasing your mother.

Clarisse squeezes your hand, leaning closer to you.

You used to like the feeling of getting those letters, of knowing you were loved and wanted. But now, with Clarisse, because of her- it feels wrong.

She follows your eye line and Alek quickly looks away, back down at the strawberries he’s supposed to be picking.

Clarisse’s hand tightens around yours.

“Who the hell is that?” she huffs.

You suck in a breath. “Alek.”

“Al-huh?”

You smile, despite how uneasy you feel.

“Alek, Clarisse. From my rite of passage?”

“Oh,” she nods, nose scrunching ever so slightly. “The one who left you those creepy letters? Has he left anymore?”

“No, no,” you say, risking one more glance at his back- just to assure yourself. Maybe you’re just making it all up. “Not since last summer. I mean, he was staring at us the night of the bonfire too, he’s always around on all our dates- it’s just creepy, at this point.”

“Sounds like the fucker has a death wish,” she drawls. “I’d be happy to help him with it.”

You bump her shoulder with yours. “Yeah, yeah Miss Violence.”

She smiles back, but she searches her eyes and you can tell she doesn’t like what she sees.

“Hey, c’mon. I’ll kill him if he pulls some shit again.”

“Clarisse.”

“Beat him up?”

“Clarisse.”

“Physically threaten him?”

“Clar-”

She smacks her hand over your mouth. “Shhh,” she smiles. “Don’t stress. I’ll take care of it.”

“Clarisse!” you shout, laughing, but her hand is still pressed tight over your moth.

“Oh, sorry, baby, I can’t hear you!”

“Bitch,” you hiss, and she frowns.

“Mean.”

—-

Clarisse, unfortunately, is true to her word.

Alek finally leaves you a note. It’s simple, unsigned, but obviously him. You recognize his chicken scratch scrawl.

All it says is:

I miss you, we could be something

She writes him a note back, a long one- first talking about all of her accomplishments as a daughter of Ares, then detailing all the ways she’ll make him regret thinking about you.

She tells you now, whispers in her bed, she laughs and your mouth hangs open.

“Clarisse!” you gasp, scolding her with a soft hit to her shoulder.

She rolls her eyes and moves closer to you.

“What else was I supposed to do? Ignore it? You don’t know me if you think I could just ignore some random dude flirting with my girlfriend. He’s a fuckin’ weirdo, and hopefully that note will teach him somethin’.”

“I mean. I doubt it will,” you mumble after a moment.

She smiles, your heart squeezes- because her smile is so beautiful- and because Clarisse never smiles like this. It’s bloodthirsty. It’s almost inhuman. It’s Godly.

“Then I’ll have to teach him in… other terms.”

—-

Dinner this evening is slow and relaxed. It’s Friday, so you’ve all made it to the end of the first official week of camp. Chiron let’s the rules fade away tonight, cabin tables have been abandoned and everyone sits where they want.

A few Hermes kids volunteered to start a fire, Mr D is busy trying to get the new kids to sneak him some alcohol- but he’s hard pressed to find ones who haven’t already been warned not to.

The energy in the air is infectious. The promise of a late wake up tomorrow, a fun night, the feeling of the moon and the fire, warmth on your skin- it’s a recipe for lowered inhibitions, for everything to come a little easier.

Clarisse sits next to you a table in the pavilion. You’re surrounded by Silena and Beckendorf, a few Hermes kids, a few Ares kids- a big mosh of random campers squeezed together at this one table- but it works, for whatever reason.

There’s nothing like laughing at someone’s shitty joke and feeling Clarisse laugh with you, pressed close to her so you can feel her chest rumble, feel her arm squeeze around you.

“He did what?!” Silena screeches, looking at you with wide eyes.

You laugh at her shock, at the audacity of Alek.

She sneaks a quick glance at Clarisse, who seems entirely engrossed in her siblings’ arm wresting tournament at the next table over.

“Yeah,” you sigh, feeling sort of complacent with it now. It’s not like anything will change. You’re here because of her, because of Clarisse. Everything you do is because of her.

Breathing, eating, sleeping. Basic human functions and the need to survive has only strengthened with the motivation of staying alive for her.

“Anyways,” you smile. “Clarisse left him back this big, long note. All about how she’s the strongest girl at camp,” you roll your eyes, but you’re smiling too big to be anything but joking. Besides, everyone knows she’s probably right. “And then threatened him a whole bunch. So, hopefully, he’ll just get his head out of his ass and then everything will be good again.”

You breathe out at the end of your small rant, and Silena smiles sympathetically.

“Hopefully,” she echoes.

But, because of Clarisse, because of her arms around you, you don’t feel anything but peace.

—-

Of course, life is not straightforward for demigods.

At the end of the day, you’re doomed to fall in your parents footsteps- except there is no immortality for you to fall back on. You’re vain and you’re proud, just like your parents, and you step too far, jump too high, and you’re as left dust on the floor.

Even though the same path had been left out for you to repeat, doomed footsteps to follow in, you step where they stepped and expect a different end.

The night is pitch black, besides for the brilliant stars and the bright, bright moon. It makes everything feel so private and secret. It makes Clarisse relax, makes her hold you closer but looser.

It feels good to feel her arm loose around you. She’s not afraid of you disappearing, because she knows of someone dragged you away you would rise up from the waves and straight back into her, into her arms.

The Apollo kids are playing music, voices hum along, the night is on fire with the crackles and the rising smoke, on fire with the peace, the content.

It feels like nothing can hurt you here.

But you’re a demigod, and life is not that easy.

The seat next to you is abandoned, and you barely even take notice as it’s quickly filled again- but you take notice of the eyes on you, of the body leaning forward to speak softly to you.

The fact that he’s here, the fact that he blatantly didn’t listen- you suppose you could have felt some sympathy for before, craving a life that wasn’t his anymore. Living off of memories made him too hungry.

Your mouth presses into a thin line as you recognize the voice in your ear.

“Y/N, I jus’ wanna talk.”

The rest of the table has fallen silent, and you realize everyone had almost immediately taken notice of his entrance- and you could tell by the way Clarisse’s body was tense against yours- he would regret ever coming over here.

“Clarisse,” you mumble, shifting closer to her.

She hooks her head over her shoulder, shifting completely so she’s straddling the bench, pressed up against your back.

Her tone is genuinely confused.

“Are you, like, okay in the head?”

The table, previously silent with fear, now bubbles with forced laughter.

“It’s not of your business,” Alek says, staring directly into your eyes. You feel like a deer caught in headlights, just completely shocked, too scared to move like it will all become real.

Clarisse puts her hand on your forehead and floats it down across your face, and your eyes voluntarily flutter shut.

“You’re not even worthy of being looked at by her,” and you can hear the smile on her voice. She confidence seeping from her pores- you can feel it all with the way she’s protectively wrapped around you.

“Y/N,” he says again, ignoring her through gritted teeth. “I just want to talk.”

“If you say one more fuckin’ word to my girlfriend I’m gonna kill you.”

There’s no smile on her voice, no edge of a joke. Not even angry. She’s deathly calm. She’s focused, like a 20 pound weight sinking to the bottom of the sea. She cuts through whatever she has to and everything else knows to avoid her.

You don’t know why the hell Alek just can’t let the 13 year old version of you go, why he’s looking something where there’s nothing, and you’re just so done with all of this.

You open your eyes, sitting up, letting Clarisse’s arms fall around you in confusion.

“Alek,” you start, softly. “We dated for a month when we were 13. That’s all it was, that’s all it’s ever gonna be. It’s over, okay?”

“Exactly,” he breathes. “A month when we were 13- and we were that good together? We could do so much more now, I wanna show you.”

“Okay, I’m done,” you mumble, standing up.

And without you in between, Alek finally gets a good look at the daughter of war. She’s pure, streamlined muscle. Every inch of her body has been meticulously trained to kill monsters- Alek knows that killing him would be easy.

Clarisse cracks her knuckles and you almost laugh at how cinematic it is.

—-

You hum as you run the alcohol pad over her split knuckles. Clarisse likes to leave the scars like this, the small ones, let them heal on her own. Even though she winces at the feeling, you know she’ll be walking around, proudly showing off her scabs until they finally fade away. She’ll cross her fingers and hope they scar, probably.

Clarisse watches you with admiration, admiring your movements, your voice, even though you’re really not doing anything special. But, to her, everything you do is special.

“Did you see how bad his face was?” she asks, trying to remain calm, but eagerness slips into her voice.

“I did,” you laugh. “It was real bad, baby. Good job.”

She huffs, as if it’s common knowledge.

“I always do a good job, just matters what level of good I’m on. I think this was one of my best works though, huh?”

She admires her split knuckles and you roll your eyes, finally starting to put some bandaids on the clean wounds.

“You’re crazy,” you mutter.

She shrugs. “You’re the one who let me. You’re the one who loves me.”

“Yeah,” you mumble after a moment, not really wanting to lie to her, tease her right now. She smiles soft and sweet, placing her fingertips against your jawline and leaning forward.

“Did you like watching me?” she breathes, her low voice hitting you right in the stomach, breath against your lips.

You circle her biceps with your hands and run them up and down the tense muscle.

“You know I did.”

“Three months no dessert,” she smiles.

“Three months of sharing with you,” you laugh. She smiles wider before finally, mercifully, putting her lips on yours.

Everything you do is because of Clarisse. It feels so good to be close to her like this- practically in her lap- fo feel how strong she is, to know what she did for you today.

It feels so good to know she loves you.

When you pull away, trying to chase her, she dodges you and kisses your jawline, your neck, and you throw your head back and release the most unladylike sounds as she leaves hickies on your neck, seemingly determined to make them as dark as possible, as easy to see. And a lot of them.

“Jealous?” you say, biting your lip to keep in a moan.

“Just want everyone to know you’re my girl. Want everyone to know who makes you feel good, feel loved, huh?”

You stomach twists and your mind goes blank.

“Huh?” she repeats, sticking her face in your neck to breathe in and out, catching her breath. “Why you feelin’ like this, baby?”

“Because of you,” you breathe. “Because of you, Clarisse.”

—-

y/n walking around the next day looking like she got attacked by a vampire

silena trying to be happy for y’all but also concerned for your health

clarisse just being proud as hell

—-

this was small so idk if y’all picked it up but clarisse was jealous before alek even came along- jealous that there were more campers coming! like? she just doesn’t like unworthy losers looking at her girl 🙄

—-

possessive!clarisse i love you so much baby

—-

taglist:

@lvrue @t-wylia @laughingcheese037 @kroumi @urdeadpoet @colezb @rey26 @harmzilla @elliewilliamsbae @amberfreemansburntface @kyuupidwrites @neverwaakeme-up @shark1008 @liballer @heyimadison @nvirskies @pnsteblnme @mar2ss @restellsss @ravisinghs-wife @marsconer @evangelinexo @randomhoex @luvrrish @rebecca37 @saltair-and-palemoonlight @ace-spades-1

#clarisse la rue #clarisse la rue x reader #clarisse la rue x y/n #clarisse la rue x you #pjo tv show #pjo x reader

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rafecameroninterlude · 1 month

Text

₊˚⊹˚ 𐙚 𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐬 𝐲𝐨𝐮

pairing: dark!rafe x fem!kook!reader

summary: ❝i lost myself and i lost you too.❞ — you leave rafe at the height of his addiction after a heated exchange. fast forward two years later, and you have everything rafe couldn’t give you.

warnings: addiction, mentions of drugs, domestic violence, recovery, so much angsttt

word count: 1.4k

a/n: i let my best friend read this and she told me i needed to make a second part where rafe and y/n run into each other and now it has me thinking lol. would y’all want that? let me know in the comments or ask box <3 series masterlist

“what the fuck did you do with my shit!” you followed rafe into his bedroom, tears streaming down your face as you watched him flip the mattress over. your heart ached at the sight of the man in front of you. “rafe..” you shook your head. the man you once knew was so far gone, you couldn’t wrap your head around it. “y/n, i’m not gonna ask you again.” he looked up at you, his eyes bloodshot as he grinded his jaw. terror flooded through you at being in this position once again. “i-” you sucked in a breath when he stalked towards you, his eyes narrowing, “i-” he took your arm, pushing you against the wall. “i flushed everything. every last bit of it. it’s gone, rafe.” he blinked at you, his expression blank.

“what the fuck are you talking about?” his grip tightened, the pain shooting up to your shoulder. “you’re hurting me,” your voice was small as the tears started falling again, rafe unfazed by your obvious discomfort. “what do you mean you flushed everything?” he let go with a push, running his hands through his hair as he jogged to the bathroom, looking down at the toilet bowl as if his coke would be there waiting for him. he stared down wildy, your blood running cold when he slowly turned his head in your direction. “you said you were going to stop!” you sobbed, falling to the floor as you recounted walking in on him doing a line before he tried to gaslight you into thinking you didn’t know what you saw.

he walked over, squatting down as he took your chin inbetween his fingers. “look at me,” your eyes softened at his gentle tone, the feeling of pure horror returning when he smiled. “i could kill you right now.” in a flash, his fingers went from your chin to wrapping around your throat, yanking you up with him. you thrashed against him, your hands flying over his own in hopes he’d let go. “you wanna throw out my stuff? fine. i’ll throw you out then.” he dragged you to the front door, pushing you outside before slamming it shut. you lost your footing, your knees and the ball of your hands scraping against the pavement. you hissed, your white dress adorning new dirt stains. physical pain couldn’t compare to the emotional pain you felt right now.

you stared at nothing, having moved yourself from the concrete to the grass. you couldn’t even think of any words to describe what you were feeling at the moment. empty, defeat, sorrow, grief. how is it that you were grieving someone who was still alive? you sat for a long time, just listening to the birds chirp as the sun began setting over the horizon. while the outside was beautiful and lush with green from spring, there was a storm raging inside rafe’s home that you couldn’t even begin to fathom. you thought about things, and reflected over your relationship with rafe for the past four years of your life, but you couldn’t ignore the fact that the bad outweighed the good anymore.

on sore legs, you tried opening the front door, and much to your dismay it was locked. making your way around the house, the back door opened with ease as you slipped in silently. you took a look around, your heart twisting in your chest. all the furniture was flipped over, shards of glass from shattered decor and picture frames covered the floor, even the tv was knocked on its side. you managed to walk around the mess, keeping an ear out for rafe just in case he tried to come at you again. it was eerily quiet but you made your way upstairs nonetheless. you walked past the bathroom, freezing as you noticed rafe lying on the floor.

you peeked in, examining the unconscious man. his knuckles were bloodied, along with a few cuts on his arm that you assumed came from punching stuff like a maniac. soft snores echoed through the air as you felt an overwhelming sense of flight. it was now or never. you needed to leave from here, from him, and never look back. you didn’t care about anything that couldn’t fit in a backpack, quickly packing enough clothes to last you for a few days. you were going to explain everything to your parents as soon as you got the chance, but right now your main focus was getting to the mainland before rafe could wake up. you threw your hair up in a clip as you speed walked down the hallway, not even bothering to look at rafe one last time.

as soon as you made it out the door, you ran like your life depended on it, and in a way you assumed it did. you ran until your lungs burned with each intake of breath. you glanced down at the time on your phone. 8:45 PM, the exact time of the last ferry for the day. you took a deep breath, stepping on as you handed the guy at the front ten dollars. you spent the ten minutes it took to get to the mainland silently crying, fighting the urge to go back to rafe.

two years later…

“damn! that was really close!” topper watched the golf ball fly in the air, landing by the hole. “move over, watch how it’s done.” rafe laughed, ultimately not making the goal. they had been at the golf course for about an hour now. “hey man guess who’s coming back to figure eight.” rafe shrugged, taking a sip from his water bottle. normally no one ever left figure eight, except for..

“y/n. my sister told me a few days ago that her parents gave her their estate as a wedding gift. crazy right?” rafe paused not knowing what to take in first. the fact that you’re coming back, or that the words ‘wedding gift’ just left topper’s mouth. he stayed quiet, pondering over what he just heard. “y/n’s married?” apart of rafe was hurt at the revelation, but he knew he didn’t have the right to feel anything towards you. except guilt for everything he put you through.

“yeah, my sister went to her wedding like a month ago..” topper examined rafe’s reaction, “i’m sorry i shouldn’t be telling you this, i know you two used to be serious.” he took off his cap, wiping the sweat from his forehead. rafe tongued the inside of his cheek, shaking his head. “nah, it’s alright. i don’t think she knows i’m still here. i gave my dad hell so i’m pretty sure the last thing she, let alone anybody else, would expect is that tanneyhill is mine now.” he sighed, his golf club long forgotten in the dirt. “we’re bound to run into each other at some point.” flashbacks of you two ran through his mind, nothing but shame and anguish flooding his senses.

“i gotta go ‘top, i’ll catch up with you later, yeah?” rafe booked it across the golf course, ignoring the concerned shouts from his friend. for the next few days, rafe felt on edge as old urges started to pick at him, his frustration only growing as he fought with the idea to pass by your place. he wasn’t going to disturb your peace or talk to you or anything, he just wanted a glimpse of you. ‘fuck it.’ rafe grabbed his truck keys, knowing he was going to regret this later.

your parents, now your house, was only a few blocks away from tanneyhill. rafe didn’t fully pull onto the street, instead he parked at the corner, your house in clear view. there was a small moving truck outside, a man with black hair carrying a box inside. he didn’t have a work uniform on. rafe’s suspensions were confirmed when the same man walked out, you following behind him with that same pretty smile on your face. as if moving in slow motion, rafe watched as your husband picked you up, his heart twisting at the sight of you two sharing a kiss.

sure enough, your boulder of a ring caught rafe’s eye, the diamond sparkling underneath the afternoon sun. tears welled up in his eyes at how happy you were. your hair was longer, cheeks fuller, you were still the epitome of beauty. he beat himself up the entire time you were gone, and he was probably going to forever hate himself for the way he treated you. blinking away the tears, he made his way back home, the house feeling even more emptier than usual.

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pillowspace · 4 months

Text

Thinking about how Charlotte Emily most likely regularly hung out with the Aftons.

William comes downstairs at 9 in the morning to see Charlie and Elizabeth with empty teacups and a teapot, and is just like, ah. Of course. Little girls love tea parties, but indulges them anyway like "what are you two up to?" Elizabeth immediately lights up. "Charlie said that we should play British People 'cause we're British!" William, now a bit more confused, "...ah. I see." Elizabeth, "oh won't you join us? Pretty please?" Charlie then pipes in that she had also asked Mike, but that he had very unfortunately said no, because "Liz plays too mean." Elizabeth, "I do not, you're just too scared to lose!" Michael, "I can't fucking lose at 'British People.'"

Charlie and Elizabeth do atrocious things to their dolls. Drama. Tragedy. They always clash on the endings though, as Charlie wants their dolls fo have a happy end while Elizabeth wants their dolls to have an even worse end

Michael doesn't know Charlie's staying over, and brings home his schoolmates one day. William Frowns TM like "I tried to tell you Henry was dropping off Charlotte today, but you were already halfway out the door." Michael later re-enters the room to find his schoolmates picking on Charlie and pulling at her hair. The closest Michael ever feels to peace is when he's with the Emilys, so he immediately spirals at the sight like, "oh god, if Uncle Henry finds out I brought people over who hurt his daughter, he might not bring her over anymore. What do I do then? What do I do if he stops liking me?" He quickly shoos off his friends, going "dude! She's a guest, leave her be" while Charlie recovers. Before he too can follow after them, Charlie asks Michael if he'll draw with her. He hesitates. The Emilys are the closest he ever gets to peace, so he agrees and sits down to draw. "What are you drawing, Char?" "Marionette!" "'S that the creepy thing that's always watching the guests come and go at Freddy's?" "He's not creepy, he's my friend. Dad made him for me :(" "ahh. You know, my father's been building something for Liz too." "You think that it'll protect her like Marionette protects me?" "Maybe."

Charlie notices how anxious CC always seems to be, and declares one day that she'll keep him safe. She makes him a drawing of them both holding hands, and gives it to him so that he may always look upon it and know that Charlie's rooting for him. He nearly bursts into tears at the kind gesture. The whole household tries to be nicer to each other whenever Charlie's around, but CC tells her about Michael's behaviour to him. Knowing how weak Michael is to her, Charlie gives Michael a look while he's grabbing cereal the next morning like "you should be nicer to your brother. He's just a little kid." Michael immediately pauses, then awkwardly closes the cupboard like "ummm. Okay." Not wanting to use Charlie as a means to make fun of CC, he just never brings the interaction up afterwards

The Emily and Afton families joining together are constantly filled with different forms of jealousy from the Aftons. William, he's jealous of Henry. Michael, he's jealous of Charlie's positive relationship with her father. CC, he's jealous of how Michael seems to like Charlie so much more than him. Elizabeth doesn't even notice her own jealousy, but deep down, Charlie's completely peaceful household... confuses her. She rationalizes the lack of favouritism or hostility as it only stemming from Charlie being an only child, rather than Henry's good parenting. Being so young as well as being the perfect golden child, Elizabeth doesn't know how to express doubt in her father. Clearly, it must be her siblings doing something wrong if Charlie and Uncle Henry are doing so well on their own!

After CC's death, the house is filled with an unbreakable tension. It's grief. It's guilt. Michael and his schoolmates completely cut ties after what happened. And as always, the Emilys feel so separate from the tension of his own home. Michael starts talking to Charlie more frequently, more often at Henry's house rather than his own. He tries not to, or at least usually tries to hide first, but he accidentally has a complete breakdown in the living room one time. Charlie hums a soothing lullaby to him until Henry eventually comes back, notices the state Michael's in, and takes over calming him down while sending Charlie off to do some other seemingly helpful task. After Elizabeth's death, Michael only really has the Emilys left. Charlie stops just being his source of peace, and becomes his best friend. His only friend. Then after Charlie's death...

It's rather lonely all of a sudden.

Later, years later, when Michael's flesh is rotting on his bones and everything is just about to finally be done with, he sits down on the edge of a cheap creaky stage he bought, and lightly knocks his knuckles against Lefty's calf. "Charlie? Can you hear me alright? It's Michael ... I'm sorry. I know I never acted like it, but... for what it's worth... you were my best friend back then. ...Whatever's beyond this, would you like to be friends again there too?"

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danytar · 15 days

Text

“My joy& Pride” [Dad!Aegon X Sister!Wife!Reader]

Warnings: Death of a character - offensive language - anxiety - Incest

Summary: aegon's wife insists on sending her little son and daughter away...during the war to keep them safe.

After the murder of The King firstborn son the realm goes into mourning for the little prince. It was a very dark and difficult times for both of the king and his queen Y/n...

Now they have to put their grief aside and take care of their other children.The Queen was able to control her grief and return to her duties While her husband, the king, swore and promised her that he would take revenge for their son.

“I will not send my children away Y/n..this is a final decision”. Aegon said to her with a serious tone.

“Do you think they will be safe here? Do you want to slaughter them? ”. she replies quickly in a higher tone than usual staring at her husband with serious sharp eyes.

“That's not the point, my dear.. Do you think I would feel safe if I sent them to strangers to take care of them?”. He looks at her now waiting for her answer.

“They are not strangers, they are my friends ”. she replies

“They are still strangers How can we know if they betrayed us? And sold our children to the blacks?”.He gets up from his chair and walks towards her.

“Dove, please.. They are as precious to me as they to you..I won't let anything hurt them”. He continues speaking while gently placing his hands on his queen's arms.

“But.. Jaeha- He interrupts her response, saying “Jaehaerys murder was a terrible accident.. I know.How much did this hurt you..”. He looked into her eyes and spoke again.

“Our children will be safe here.. in front of our eyes ”.

She sighed for a moment and didn't know what to say. She was lost in her thoughts and her gaze wandered around the room away from her husband's eyes.

“My love...look at me ”. He responds in a soft voice trucking her hair behind her ear.

She looks into his eyes.. Aegon smilies softly at her. His thumb traced a small smile on her lips.. “Now show that sweet smilie of yours ”.

She chuckles sweetly “you're an idiot ”. She hits his shoulder playfully.. “An idiot? ”He raises an eyebrow and then teases her “Is this how you speak to your king? ”.

she smilies and nodded.. “I think I should punish you, my queen ”. he chuckles.

The queen Y/n was in her daughter's room braiding her own hair.. Jaehaera was innocent and sweet girl.. Literally her father daughter. The Queen tried hard not to see Jaehaerys in her so as not to treat her as a substitute.

“Do you love me mother? ”. The little princess speaks.

Y/N looks at her girl and smilies softly.. “Yes darling.. so much”. The Queen answers in a soft tone.

“And father? ”. she replies.. “We both love you sweetie ”. Y/n smiles and gently strokes her daughter's hair.

“I love you two as well”.

“mother...why did they killed my brother?”.

The queen's face tensed at this question but she sighs and answers her daughter.. “Because they are evil people who want to hurt me and your father ”.

“But.. he's innocent ”. she replies

“I know sweetie... I know.. ”. She whispers and hugs her daughter to her chest.

“It's not your fault with what adults do.. ”

“I don't want you or father to get hurt ”. Jaehaera replies with a sweet smilie and wipes her mother's tears.

Y/N smilies a warm smile and looks at her sweet girl.The princess wraps her little arms around her mother's neck.

“What are my girls doing? ”. Aegon's warm, loving voice interrupts them.

The princess breaks the hug and looks at her father “Your grace”. She node gently.

Aegon grinned at the sight of his daughter. He quickly walks over to her and holds her in his arms “Did my beautiful little princess missed me?”. He gently tapped his nose against his daughter's nose.

Y/N smilies at the view. He notices her smile and says “My doves, I was looking for you.. We have a meeting now”.

“Now? But..we were having a good time ”. The princess frowns gently.

“Yes, sweetie, sorry ”. he looks at her and smilies.

“It won't take long, sweetheart, I promise ”. her mother said with a pretty smilie.... “Yes darling ”. Aegon replies.

The king approached and took his wife's hand.. “Wait! father”. the little princess exclaims

Aegon turns around with a warm smile on his face then he kneels until he reaches his daughter's height “What is it my joy?”he looks at her.

She takes a small rose from her little rosey crown and she tucked it between her father's silver locks.

He smiles and places a tender kiss on her cheek.Then he gets up and leaves his precious princess's room with his wife.

“I beg your pardon, Your Majesty.. but the council prefer that we must send the princess and prince to a safe place”

“Tell him! He's stubborn ”. Y/N replies.

“My dear queen I think we've discussed this already”. Aegon he replies in a serious and confident tone as he sits up straight in his chair with his hands on the council table.

“I know, my love.. but- He interrupted her, looking at her “Y/N...I have told you before ”.

“Aegon right my dear..I don't want my grandchildren away from me”. Alicant replies to her daughter.

“Mother-

Their meeting is interrupted by one of the kingsguard. He enters the room breathlessly. “Your- your grace A sensitive incident occurred in the princess's chamber”.

“WHAT HAPPENED? ”. Y/N replies with a worry tone.

“SPEAK BEFORE I HAVE YOUR TONGUE! ” Aegon growls at him as he gets up from his chair.

“I'm afraid I can't say..”.

The king kicks his chair and walks towards the guard, holding his dagger “Speak before I-”. the sound of the council room door being opened interrupts him.

He saw his wife leaving so as he let the guard and walk behind her.. “Your grace the meeting-

He threw his dagger towards the council table, piercing the wood as a warning to them that whoever prevents him from leaving will regret it.

The queen walks towards her daughter's rooms, her feet trembling and her heart beating faster than ever she felt her ribs contract and her breath become more severe as she got closer and closer...

She felt as if she had been punched in the face with the hilt of a sword.. She saw the maids gathering in her daughter's room. She entered slowly she didn't say a word.. She got closer and closer..

The servants made way for her to see her little girl lying on her bed with her toy in her hand.. Her sweet face was pale and her skin was cold as ice... and there was blood flowing from her little nose and mouth..

It was a terrifying sight and the queen immediately collapsed and fell on her knees. When Aegon arrived and saw the scene unfolding before him, he felt something shatter inside him.

He dismissed the servants from the room and approached to his daughter's bed..

“I- I have Told you!”She shouted at him.. “It's because of you!! You killed her ” Y/N screamed again and collapsed violently.

“Y... y- y- you”.Her lips tremble as she says the words.

He did not answer her, but tears fell to his cheek he tucked her silver locks behind her ear. He felt like he was a real killer..

He looked behind him to find his wife kneeling on the cold ground, her tears flowing abundantly like rain on a stormy night.

He kneels next to her and hugs her to his chest.. She hits his chest with small fists and stutters between her words.. “M- my-My precious daughter”... She sniffles..

“Aeg-

“Shhhhh I'm sorry”. he whispers and a small tears sparkle at the corner of his eyes.

The king was standing on the balcony of the Red Keep, staring at the night sky. Lost in his thoughts..

Suddenly he pulled out the small rose that tucked between his silver locks he looks at the rose and small tears shed in his eyes.. pain and sadness..

He goes to his wife's room to find that she has calmed down now but signs of sadness were still on her face.

“It was our duty to protect our children... but- ” She muttered, with broken voice.. “We failed.. Jaehaerys... Jaehaera.. they.. they.. they deserve better parents”.

He looked at her, then approached and knelt at her chair “Don't say that.. We did what we could-

“It wasn't Enough!”. She muttered.

“My sweetheart please-”She interrupts him before he finishes his sentence.. “She was good.. kind.. Since the day she was born.. I don't know from where she came from” She gasped. “She was nothing like me.. not jealousy not mean.. so pure.. so beautiful ”

“No.. don't say that you're amazing”He whispers back and cups her cheeks.

“They did not rest until they brought us to the ground ”. she replied and looked at him.

He leans closer and looks into her lavender eyes “Fuck them.. fuck the crown.. fuck the throne.. fuck everyone who isn't us”... He continued. “There is no one in the world but us.. what they took from us..this is plot against us.. we will pay it back a hundred times over.. do you hear me? ”

She nods and hugs him.. he hugs her back and his hands are stroking her hair..

They will regret..

#aegon ii targaryen #hotd #house of the dragon #aegon headcanons #aegon the second #hotd fanfic #aegon targaryen x reader #hotd aegon #aegon x reader #aegon fanfic #aegon x you #aegon targaryen #hotd s2 #king aegon ii targaryen #aegon the elder #tom glynn carney x reader #tom glynn carney #aegon ii fanfic #aegon targaryen x you

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moonstruckme · 1 month

Note

Hiya Mae!! How are you?? It’s been a little bit but I was hoping I could request a poly!marauders fic (+plus Lily if you’re comfortable with doing that if not it’s fine). This week is the 6th anniversary of my brothers passing and this year is a bit harder as I’m turning 18. Having such a milestone coming up and him not being here is sorta making me sick. I was wondering if maybe you could base the fic off of that? Or something to do with grief and them helping reader out. I’ve found great comfort in the abundance of love you portray with their relationship and I could do with a lil of it.

If not it’s totally fine don’t feel obligated. Hope you have a good week!!

Hi sweetheart, sorry I couldn't get this to you during the week you requested it. I was also dealing with a bit of grief at the time and it felt too raw to try for a while. I hope you're doing well and that you really enjoy being 18, even if those feelings are complicated by your loss <33

cw: mentions of death, grief

poly!marauders x fem!reader ♡ 622 words

The sky is turning from deep blue to black outside when Sirus notices you’ve slipped into a melancholy.

The only hint of it is in your tone. You’ve been quipping about the film you’re all watching like you always do, bouncing off his and James’ comments and Remus’ amused grunts, but there’s a falsity to the cheer in your voice. This is something you and James have in common; when Sirius or Remus are upset it permeates the area around them like a thick fog, but the two of you have a way of keeping it contained within yourselves, putting on counterfeit smiles. Sirius often wonders if it doesn’t hurt you more.

He leans away from where he’s been resting his head on Remus’ pectoral, snaking an arm around your shoulders.

“Penny for your thoughts, pretty girl?” he asks quietly.

You shrug. Swallow. “Just thinking about them,” you murmur in reply.

Sirius suspects this isn’t the full story, but he, too, knows the necessity of papering over certain pains. He doesn’t pry.

Before the war—before Regulus—Sirius used to think that grief was the pain that came from the love you had for the lost person being ripped away from you. But even months after his brother’s death, all the love is still there. It’s amplified, if anything, every ounce of it demanding attention now that he can no longer take it for granted even a little bit.

What went was the ritual of it all. The peculiar brand of happiness he’d felt around Reg, never easy but still there, buried beneath layers of troubled history and shared broodiness. The inside jokes they’d barely realized they had, things no one who wasn’t raised in their house would see the humor in. The surety that if they fought, they’d get a chance to make up. Sirius will never have those things with his brother again. In memories, maybe, but now they’ll always be tinged with the love so big it hurts.

He wishes desperately he could keep you from hurting like that.

He shuffles closer, awkwardly wrapping his other arm around you until he’s nearly covering your body with his. It’s like he thinks he can shield you, like he can protect you from grief after he’d failed to protect you from loss.

“I’m sorry,” Sirius says.

You shake your head, turning so it’s jammed in the juncture of his neck and shoulder. Your face feels hot. “I don’t know what to do,” you choke out.

Sirius squeezes you tighter. He gets it, but he doesn’t. He knows how it feels to grieve, but not how to grieve your person in your way. It’s an ache he can only approximate.

“Sweetheart.” James’ voice sounds pained, and he gets up from Remus’ other side, rounding the couch to climb onto the armrest beside you. He rubs your back with one hand, the other coming to rest on Sirius shoulder, a comfort in case he needs it. “I don’t think there’s anything you can do, my love.”

Sirius feels a hot tear slip down his neck into his shirt, and James winces as your shoulders hitch under his touch. Remus makes a soft pitying sound.

“You’re alright.” He latches onto the last unclaimed part of you, rough hand soothing up your calf. “You’re okay.”

“Sorry,” you manage, and Sirius squishes you punishingly in his arms, pressing a staunch kiss to the side of your head.

“Don’t be silly,” he tells you. James makes a half-choked sound of agreement. “No sorries, okay?”

You nod, the bump of your nose moving against Sirius’ neck. He gives you another kiss to show his approval.

“You’re alright, darling,” Remus says again. “Take all the time you need. We’ve got you.”

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mhsdatgo · 3 months

Text

By the way, you can say you hate characters and STILL admit that they were abused or harassed. There's literally nothing wrong. Denying it or romanticizing it because of a strange kink of yours won't make your hate any less evident, trust me.

Rhaenyra was abused. She's continuously taken advantage of, and brushed away the moment she isn't needed anymore. And she experiences this first hand with her own father, who completely ruins motherhood for her when she grows up watching Aemma get impregnated and either miscarry or have the baby be stillborn or die in the cradle. If Viserys had been by her side as a supporter to her claim since the start, he wouldn't have gotten Aemma pregnant again and again in the pursuit of a male child. He wouldn't have married Alicent for the same reason. Even after, the only reason why he still stands by her side, and it's time the fandom accepts this, it's solely because of his grief and guilt, because Rhae is the only remnant of Aemma.

And there it starts. Firstly, groomed and left alone naked and alone by her uncle in a brothel. Secondly, slept with Criston Cole (although she did coerce him, that's still a literal TEENAGER) then she's married to a gay man and still approached super young by her new bodyguard and just one year later she's started giving birth to his children. (Side note: FUCK Rhaenyra x Harwin. FUCK with reverb. With hard K.)

And up to this point, most fan agree that she's had a shitty life, although I don't agree with some of her choices. (like her treatment of Criston Cole and the bastards, not because I'm some kind of bigot, but because passing bastards as trueborn in THAT precise world sets them up for failure, not being legally deserving of a thone DOES NOT mean me hating them. That's for another post.)

To top it all off, she meets her uncle again, and there starts the fanfic self insert. They have sex on a beach the day of Laena's funeral, the only one of the three wives he's ever been canonically loyal to (FUCK you writers) and fans think it's soulmates meeting again or sum shit. They subtly threaten Laenor to fake his death or actually die (that's what they were trying to do, cope harder) and marry mere days after the death of Laena.

Yes, all cute and romantic (for Dumbnyras twats) but literally, has it done anything good? For Rhaenyra or like, anyone else? It just brought Daemon closer to the line of succession. Literally. That's all the good it has done.

Fast forward to ep 10. How do I even start with this? Only Jace seems to be on Rhaenyra's side. It's clear he only obeys to Daemon out of fear and is scared to talk back to him. Meanwhile, he COMPLETELY disregards his wife's, and by his faction's loyalties, QUEEN's, orders, he ignores her wails of pain as she miscarries their daughter out of pure shock and grief for her father's death. He lashes out and chokes her on the same day and people still see him as the malewife to Rhaenyra's girlboss. They're always ready to do award-deserving mental gymnastic to justify this man.

"He was planning war because he wanted to distract himself!!!!" "He only choked Rhae because he was mad at Viserys, he'd never hurt her!!!!!!"

Fuck off. Coming from probably Rhaenyra's #1 hater. Fuck. Off. Don't say you care about her place in the view of men when you're ready to justify shit like this.

This is the same man who runs off and has an affair with a teenager, and then prefers going on and having a badass death instead of joining his wife and children who need him in King's Landing.

Do I like Rhaenyra? No. Do I think that, because of this, she's never been abused, or exploited in any way, in her life? ALSO no. My distaste for her character has NOTHING to do with Viserys, Criston, Daemon, Harwin or literally ANYONE ELSE in her life.

Alicent Hightower time, baby.

My mother, my aunt, my grandmother, my entire bloodline, my Roman Empire. And more. To anyone who thinks of her as nothing but a bitter/jealous girl, go read @feretrumdulcia 's post about this matter cuz there's literally no one I've seen that words it better. (And bub if you're reading, long live you and the way you think.)

https://www.tumblr.com/feretrumdulcia/720746371814195200/i-have-seen-quite-often-that-many-people-consider

Anyone who can read this and argue that Alicent is envious/jealous or bitter, honestly needs to take the heart shaped sunglasses off, get off tumblr and Ao3, learn what media literacy is and start learning how to possess a crumble of it. To us it makes sense to synpathize with both, because we've seen the big picture. To Alicent, Rhaenyra gave her virtue to the man that almost killed her brother, and chose to believe she did not out of trust and maybe nostalgia for her friendship and easier times, only to have her father be blamed and taken away from her as a result.

She has four kids in the span of, how much? Five, six years? Seven at best? Helaena and Aemond are NINE MONTHS APART. Viserys didn't even let her rest after she gave birth to her daughter. And I'm convinced 100% that he kept her as Idk some whore he didn't need to pay for because it's stated that he never wanted Aegon but the son he butchered Aemma for. Why keep on bedding her and forcing children on her when you'd never get what you want from her?

Throughout the series she's called bitter and downright a c*nt for this and that reason. She tries convincing Viserys that Rhae's children are CLEARLY bastards and she's setting herself and them up for failure by committing treason and putting them on the throne? Nah, power hungry, jealous, bitter. She marries Helaena to Aegon as a last resort because she's Valyrian and probably would've received proposals worse than the ones Rhaenyra made that would eventually convince Viserys to give her away? Hates her daughter, abuser, shitty mom. Rhae's sons slit her son's eye out instead of running when they had the chance and she rightfully lashes out? Nah, crazy ass, for the dungeons. She gives money and moon tea to her son's rape victim to ensure she gets a way out and isn't forced to have a baby she doesn't want? Bruh, rape apologist. She goes to Aegon and RIGHTFULLY disciplines him? Abuser. Forced to show her feet to a rancid filthy man to know where her son is? Upholds the patriarchy, hypocrite. She convinces Aegon to start fighting for her family because it's either them or the Blacks and he needs to start putting his life together and fight for them, so she crowns him and makes him King? Treason, deserves death, long live the brothel queens.

Somehow, it is ALWAYS HER FAULT. And those few that admit how wronged she was make fun of her.

CAN SHE FUCKING WIN?! Or y'all just hate her because she isn't Valyrian?

Btw almost all of these arguments are the same for Book!Alicent who I personally believe to be FAR MORE than just a bitter stepmom that hates her stepdaughter. She arguably has more reasons to start a coup against her in the books without that prophecy shit.

TLDR; It's OKAY to hate characters and admit they're abused and taken advantage of at the same time. You don't have a moral high-ground on no one because you hate or love a character instead of the other.

#rhaenyra targaryen #alicent hightower #anti daemyra #anti daemon targaryen #anti daemyra stans #team green #team black #anti viserys i targaryen #anti larys strong

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libertyybellls · 4 months

Text

I DON'T KNOW WHY I BITE ?

pairing; finnick odair x f!reader

summary; few years after winning his games, finnick endures the trials of being a victor and all he needs is a helping hand.

contains; ANGST, comfort, descriptions of forced prostitution, descriptions of gore, murder, typical hunger games mortality etc etc. not proofread… ever

☾⋆｡𖦹 °✩

the room once filled with a bond you could not quite replace, is now empty, gray. it lacks the golden boy who brings light to every aspect of your life- and it has been for two months now.

you know where he is, what he’s doing, and who he’s with. you know the light of his soul will be snuffed away by the calloused deceiving hands of the capitol- their everlasting appetite to claim their control over citizens and victors alike.

you almost dread the sound of your front door unlocking. your mind manifesting his misery would be long gone- begging to a higher power that he will be okay- that the pillars of his body are not crumbling in on itself.

nevertheless, as you near the front door- you see it in his eyes. he almost looks like the same 14 year old that got thrown into a death match and came out with two legs and two arms- but this time his legs can’t carry him any longer, his arms are practically hanging off his tired body.

the door is still open behind him, the chilled air seeping its way into your once warm home. his shoulders are slumped, there is no light in his eyes- only that small tinge he adorns when he is with you.

you want to pull him into your arms, to kiss the disgust off of his features, to show him he is unworthy of this muck treatment, that he is the only light that cannot be choked out, the anchor that is not misplaced, he is right where he needs to be now.

there’s a silent understanding, you can see the falter in his steps as he tries to walk towards you- so close to disintegration you can almost see his seams falling apart one by one.

you meet him halfway- pulling him into you- now you must be his pillar. you must cover his ears, quiet his thoughts.

his tears coat your shirt, your fingers run through his scalp. he wants to crawl out of his skin. he can still feel a touch that isn’t yours- it sets his nerves alight.

why won’t you leave me. his mind screams- but his voice can’t carry these words. leave me here, let me rot.

you can feel him self destruct, his knees fail and now you are kneeling infront of his vulnerable frame. you want him to look at you, to see what you see, but who are you to ask for more?

but all he sees is grief, blood from kids his age- even younger, he feels hands all along his chest- his back, he smells roses- luxury- a scent that isn’t home, he tastes metallic blood from his lips- gnawing from anxiety, he hears the praises- he hears that he’s special, that he’s so humble, what a handsome young man he is.

“i wish i could be good.”

you can’t see his face, you are glad in a way- you don’t think you’d be able to take it. “you are good finnick,” your own tears fall. “if anything you are good.”

you want to yell these words, scream them at him. so inconsiderate of you- but how dare he not see this is not his fault? a puppet has no control over his own arms.

finnicks mind screams more at the capital than himself now. your tactics have worked. you have taken every last bit of my innocence away. you control me. he begs to be left alone, he begs to be so pure and unsuspecting again.

you both know his fate, you know where he’ll be in a few years. you know that your love alone cannot keep him here- however strong. every inhale feels like poison- but he listens to you murmur as you rub his back, telling him to breath.

you see his eyes now, he tries to drink in your gaze- he wants it to be the last thing he sees, except less concerned, less worn, less worried. despite his thoughts only ever consumed by you, he looked pained- he looks as though he is elsewhere in his mind.

“nothings gonna hurt you now” sanity is a sheltered lie but you would rather surrender your wits than your boy. your fingers dance up and down his back now- erasing the sinful marks left laying in his mind.

so short so technically a blurb but wtv….

#finnick odair fluff #finnick fluff #finnick odair x reader #finnick imagine #finnick odair smut #finnick angst #finnick oneshot #finnick smut #finnick fanfic #finnick odair #finnick x reader #finnick x you #finnick x y/n

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ghouljams · 7 months

Note

Might I be so bold as to ask for more Viking Soap please? I loved your first writing of it :)

Sure! Like I said I think this is a slow burn like the knight!Ghost. There's no romance in this piece, but perhaps a sort of understanding, a key to a door that the reader might take it upon themselves to step through later.

As Soap said in the first piece, "courting later, business now."

“We camp here tonight,” Mactavish tells you after hours of walking. At some point he’d set you down to walk on your own two feet. When his scent had replaced the smoke and you’d stopped struggling against his hold you walked. Numb as you are, you’re sure if you couldn’t still see the fire burning in your mind’s eye your feet might hurt.

“Camp?” You stare blankly at him, at the thick forest around you. Hardly a place you’d call proper camping.

“Ay,” He hardly spares you a glance, unhooking the ax from his waist, “You need sleep, it’ll help.”

You can’t imagine how it would. Closing your eyes feels like it’ll bring a curse upon you, what good is sleep when you’ll wake up to the same bleak reality? You’ll find yourself with the same company when morning comes.

“I didn’t realize the coast was so far,” You change the subject for yourself.

“It’s not,” He bounces his ax in his hand, looking at the trees around you. You’re slowing him down, you realize. “Clear some space for a fire,” He looks at you finally, his eyes pitying. You understand why he wouldn’t want to look at you if that’s what he’s thinking. He doesn’t give you time to respond before stalking off into the forest.

Your mind reels with the potential for escape. He’s just left you, you could run, could find your way back to your home. What’s left of it. Maybe there were survivors. But he left you. Which makes you think he knows your best course of action is to stay. You’re smart enough to know what that means.

You have a decent clearing set up by the time he gets back. A shallow pit dug for the wood bundle in his arms. He nods in approval at the space, and sets the wood down on one side of the pit. He grabs a sturdy branch from the pile and drops to sit against a large tree with a grunt. You chew your thoughts before putting them into words. Watch his careful hands turn the wood over before setting the edge of his ax against the grain.

You settle yourself down across from him. You think it’s good to keep eyes on this man as long as you can. If you do sleep it won’t be deeply.

"You were a Mactavish,” you start, an olive branch, a similar plight, you hope.

"Still am,” He tells you without looking up.

“You’re a viking,” you point out. The two don’t fit exactly in your mind.

“Ay, and a Mactavish,” He sniffs, “one’s a job, one’s a name. You’ll get used to it.”

“Used to what? Being kidnapped?” You watch him smile down at his work. His laughter is evident even without the sound.

“Used to being employed,” He chuckles. You don’t find it funny. This “employment” has already cost you everything you ever held dear. Friends, family, a home, taken from you for nothing. You can’t even hope to exact your revenge on the man who stole you away from it. You have nothing but your grief, and the tears that you’ve been too numb to shed.

You keep your silence. Fumbling through the dark without a guide forward. What can you do but stay quiet. It’s what you’re supposed to do after all. Quiet, docile, kept for your wits and quick hands not your mouth.

If this man wants a healer he’ll have to wait for you to gather supplies, everything you had is gone. You close your eyes and see flames, see your family’s faces screaming out in agony. Sleep, how could you ever sleep again?

“Who were they?” You ask, the three words are harder to get out than anything you’ve ever said. Yet there are still more words you can’t say, the clarifiers that you don’t want to acknowledge. The ones that burned my family, you don’t say. You said they weren’t your men, then how do you know them? You don’t ask.

“Only know one group that burns healers,” Soap tells you, you scrub at the sand that stings your eyes, “calls them witches to justify it, but there’s no honor in killing those that can’t fight back.” There’s a bitterness in his voice that you haven’t heard before. You hug your earasaid around your shoulders. Your mother’s familiar scent surrounding you, it’s not the comfort you hoped it would be.

“You sound like you’re speaking from experience,” You pull your knees to your chest, watching Soap carve careful curls of wood into a stick. His eyes are hard on his work. You don’t expect this man to be open with you, to spill his heart to you. You don’t expect humanity from him.

“We survive,” He mumbles, “for the ones that didn’t.”

You feel his grief catch in your chest, and mix itself with your own. Unsaid words, unlived lives. You bury yourself in familiar cloth so he doesn’t see your tears. It’s silly to cry for someone else, when you have so many tears for yourself. It saves time, you suppose, to cry for many things at one time.

We survive, you tell yourself.

#cod x reader #x reader #john mactavish x reader #john soap mactavish #johnny soap mactavish x reader #johnny soap mactavish #johnny mactavish #soap modern warfare #soap cod #soap mw2 #soap x you #soap x reader #viking!soap #medieval au #Soap really wishing he could comfort poor reader but also what can he do?#they have places to be and not much time #gotta get the fuck outta dodge before anyone comes after them

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