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pholla-jm · 10 days

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English Teacher (2)

IMAGINE: ENGLISH TEACHER X READER PT. 2 FEAT: MEGUMI, YUJI, NOBARA GENRE: FLUFF cw: not proof read. slight cussing- like once i think.

italics means they are speaking in English. a/n: i really tried to get this out on thursday, but work was completely wiping me out!

Here’s part 1 if you haven’t read it!

English Teacher ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Megumi, I need you to tutor me.”

Megumi turns his head and gives his teacher, Gojo Satoru, a dirty look. I mean, why is a teacher asking their student to tutor them?

“What do you want?” “I want to learn how to speak English.” Megumi scoffs, already knowing the reason why he wants to learn English.

“It’s not the reason you think. You know, it’s important that we get along… as co-workers.”

Megumi just stares at him. Knowing full well that he did not want to get along with the new teacher for the sake of a positive work environment.

However, he knew that if he denied his wishes of learning English, then Gojo would bother him to no end.

“Fine.” He mutters and Gojo's grin almost splits his face in half.

So, Megumi spent his whole evening teaching and practicing how to speak English. *******

The next morning, Gojo walks into the teacher lounge so confident with a little pack of flashcards in his hand. He was able to spot you easily as you were sitting at a desk, going over some papers then writing something on another sheet of paper.

Gojo takes a deep breath, going over his flashcards one last time before heading to where you were sitting.

“Hello.”

You hear the heavy accent with his ‘hello’ causing you to smile a little.

Megumi had told you what was going on earlier… and you couldn’t help but find it a bit endearing. And it doesn’t help that Gojo talks about you while you’re in the room. You decided to not tell Gojo that you can in fact speak Japanese. The students knew about this too to make sure they wouldn’t spoil your fun.

You wanted to see how far Gojo was willing to go, just to talk to you.

You place the pen down, turning your full attention to him.

“Hello, you’re Gojo Satoru. Right?”

Gojo’s eyes widen when he hears you speak his name. He loves how you say his name. “Uh… yes.” “Nice to finally meet you.”

You stick your hand out for him to shake and he looks at it in confusion. You smile at him then put your hand down, “sorry. I forgot, it’s different here.”

Gojo blinks at you, trying to process what you said. However, it wasn’t clicking in his head. So he just nods his head and looks down at one of his flashcards. You peer over, trying to see what he has written down. You smile a little seeing a different handwriting in Japanese, and you recognize Megumi’s handwriting in English.

“What is… your name?”

You find it funny how blunt he sounds.

“(L/n) (Y/n). But you can call me (y/n).” You point to yourself while you said (y/n), hoping that he picks up the cue to call you by your first name.

“(y/n),” he repeated and you nod your head, “what a pretty name.” You had to fight off the growing blush on your face.

Gojo flips over to the next flashcard. “Eh… how… you do?”

“I’m good, thank you. How are you doing this morning?”

Gojo hums a little bit while looking down at his flashcards. “What… like do?”

You tilt your head to the side, wondering what he was asking. You also wondered if he just wrote questions to ask and not any to answer.

“Can I see those?” You point to the flashcards and his eyes widen for a second. “This?” “Yes.” You hold out your hand, signaling for him to put the flashcards in your hands.

You could see the hint of nervousness in his eyes, “it’s okay.”

Gojo places the white flashcards in the palm of your hand, and your suspicions were proved correct. There were only questions on here.

You peer up at him to see that he had a little pout on his face and he was looking away. You could see the slightest pink on the tips of his ears… and it was honestly cute.

You look back down at the flashcards and see little notes on how to pronounce things. You could see that he was actually trying which flattered you a bit. This man, who could be quite childish in nature, was trying to learn your language just to talk to you.

You smile up at him, “did Megumi help you?” Gojo looks at you a bit confused, “Megumi?” He asks. “Yeah,” you hold up the flashcards and he finally gets it. So, he nods his head.

Suddenly a timer goes off on your phone, signaling that you should be heading over to the classroom. Gojo looks over at your phone, wondering why it was going off.

You turn off the timer and grab your things, “Time to go to class.”

You turn back to Gojo, the flashcards still in your hands, “here. Let’s go.”

Gojo watches you in confusion. He was trying to process the fast words you were speaking and it was honestly giving him a headache. The best way he could describe it, is if he was listening to a SIM character speak really fast. Made no sense, but it meant something.

You were at the door, and you turned back around to see that Gojo was still standing there.

You wave your hand to motion him to follow you.

That he understood.

Gojo was quick to follow your footsteps. He keeps glancing down at you, wondering what to say. But he didn’t know how to say it in English, and it was quite frustrating to him.

“Teach me.” He suddenly says, causing you to stop in the hallway. You look up at him, and you can tell that he was being serious about this.

Gojo Satoru, the all powerful, was putting all of his pride away to ask someone to teach him something. You felt a certain tug in your heart, but you didn’t know exactly what it meant. “Come with me.”

You continue to head towards the classroom, where your three students were waiting for you.

Yuji’s head pops up, upon seeing his two teachers.

“Gojo-sensei what are you doing here?” “What, I can’t be in my own classroom?”

Megumi sighs, and rolls his eyes.

“It’s English class.” Nobara says.

You smile at your students, “Students.” You say and Gojo looks over at you in shock. “I want you to meet our new student.” You say and motion over to the desks.

Yuji starts snickering, and Nobara bursts out laughing. Megumi’s eyes widened hearing this. He didn’t think this would happen.

“Wait! You could speak Japanese this whole time?!” Gojo asks you and you just shrug. “A little. Now head over to your desk.”

Gojo scoffs at himself, “a little my ass.” He mutters but you still hear him. “Hey, we won’t use that language in the classroom.” “But it’s my classroom.” “Not right now. It’s mine. And we’re learning English. You’re the one who said who wanted to learn English. Remember?”

Gojo is stumped because less than two minutes ago, he was telling you to teach him English.

“That’s interesting…” Megumi says, “coming from someone who said that they didn't want to waste their time with English.” “When did I say that? I’m here, learning right now. Aren’t I?... also you're flashcards sucked.” Megumi just frowns at Gojo, choosing not to engage with him anymore.

"I thought it was adorable."

Gojo walks over to the desk, sitting down next to Yuji with a small smirk on his face. “Plus, I wouldn’t mind someone like you as my teacher.”

His little comment makes you a bit flustered, but you quickly recover. “Alright, we’re going to pick up where we left off…” you then start your lesson, hoping that Gojo doesn’t just gaze at you and actually pay attention to your lesson. ~~~~~~~~~~~

Tag list for people who wanted a part 2! @yumii-34 @jotarohat @kuroosluthoe @sakuichan @chilichopsticks @nijinohoshi @cloudjoyous @tobysmokes if you don't feel comfortable being tagged, just let me know and I'll happily remove it!

#jujutsu kaisen #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #oneshot #satoru x reader #gojo fluff #gojou satoru x reader #gojo x reader #satoru fluff #satoru x you #jujutsu kaisen fluff #jjk x you #jjk fluff

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etherealising · 9 months

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interlude zero | dear carmy

↢ previous chapter | next chapter ↣ | masterlist

pairing: carmen berzatto x self-sabotage | carmen berzatto x fem!reader

summary: a look into carmy's life and thought process in the aftermath of the berzatto family christmas.

wc: 4.6k

thank you for all the love and support, please enjoy this first special chapter dedicated to all of you! 💜

January 2019

Carmy sat on the fire escape of his New York apartment, cigarette hanging loosely from his lips, the sun slowly setting behind all the high-rise buildings. It wasn’t the best view but it allowed him to take advantage of the somewhat fresh air New York had to offer. He had been out there for quite a bit now on his second cigarette in 15 minutes.

His thoughts were racing as they usually did, never being spared a quiet moment from his thoughts. His head raced with ideas he’d thought about trying in the kitchen, thoughts about a new tattoo he was hoping to get, wondering when Mikey would finally see how far he’d come. His mind pushed forth anything and everything he could think of, all so the slideshow in his head kept what happened a month ago between the two of you in the dark recesses of his mind.

Carmy told himself that if he didn’t think about the things he wasn’t ready to resolve, then there was no way that they could hurt him, no way that they could force their way out and get him to admit that they indeed were a part of his reality. Accountability wasn’t Carmy’s strong suit, and over the years when it came to the two of you, he felt it best to sweep things under the rug, no point in prodding at old wounds if the friendship between the two of you was well past saving.

He sat there as the sky transitioned colors; blue bleeding into orange, a sunset he knew you would’ve appreciated. Cigarette already burned out, the poison coating his lungs helping to warm his body from the chill that was settling in the air. There was a knock on his apartment door, the unit was so small that even sitting on the fire escape made him feel like he was right next to the door. He ignored it, no one ever stopped by his place, it’s not like he was inviting coworkers back to his place or anything, if it was important they’d come back tomorrow. The knock sounded again, and again Carmy ignored it, his knee bouncing up and down as he hoped whatever nuisance at his door took the hint to leave.

Carmen Berzatto was never lucky enough to get what he wanted. An incessant knocking began on the front door with no indication that the strings of knocks would be stopping soon. Hands running down his face Carmy aggressively stood up from his chair, if he wanted to be bothered at home he would’ve put a fucking welcome mat outside of his door. He reached the door twisting the knob and yanking it open, he frowned at the sight of legs, face covered by the package in their hands.

“Package here for a uh, Carmen Burzetto.” The mispronunciation of his last name caused Carmy to cringe. He nodded at the delivery person wanting to end this interaction as quickly as possible, he was presented with a package slip and pen quickly signing his name without paying attention. The package was handed off to Camry, tucking it under his arm he closed the door not giving the delivery person another second.

Walking to his kitchen Carmy set the box on his countertop confused at what it could be. He never ordered shit so he knew this wasn’t of his own volition, he found the packing sticker, the return address of his family home jumping out at him. He grabbed his only knife, cutting the box open. He could only assume that the package was from his mom, and what she felt the need to send him he had no clue.

Setting the knife to the side he quickly removed the medium-sized box covered in bubble wrap. Tearing at the protective wrap, he stopped as he realized exactly what he was looking at. Sitting on his counter staring back at him was a matte black box with a matching bow and envelope addressed to him; a box he had purposely left behind a month ago, the same night he had left you.

He checked the bottom of the now empty box the gift arrived in, hoping to find some sort of return slip, only to come up short. His gaze fell back on the present, hands moving up to tug at his hair. He couldn’t open it, didn’t think he deserved to. Not after having left you to wake up in a lonely bed the day after Christmas, no apology or excuse just you and a confused Richie wondering how he had suddenly been roped into dropping you off at the airport. Not with all the disappointment he had caused, he wasn’t worthy of the kindness you had shown him time and time again.

Carmy paced around his tiny kitchen, he could always ask Sugar or Mikey for your address. Returning the present he wouldn’t be able to live with himself if he accepted. You were a great gift giver, so great in fact he had your gifts in a designated box that traveled with him everywhere he went the last couple of years; even Copenhagen a box of memories taking up space in the small boat house. Memories from the person who had held his heart long before he realized it for himself.

He stopped in front of the box, hands resting on his hips debating the pros and cons of opening the gift. In a way he owed it to you to open the box, sending it back would’ve just made him an even bigger asshole than he probably already was in your book. His hands reached out pausing on the edge of the countertop to calm the shaking. When he deemed himself stable enough he reached up to untie the velvet bow, the softness that caressed his fingers reminding him of what it had felt like to hold your neck in his hand as he thumbed the ink stain behind your ear.

How his breath hitched as you shamelessly told him the small letter permanently inked into your skin could have represented his last name if he wanted it to. Losing himself to memories, he wondered what would have ensued had he taken up your offer to let the brand on your skin represent a part of him. He had wanted to give in, wanted to paint your skin with more than a letter that he knew, in reality, had nothing to do with him. It confused him all the same though, hearing those words leave your lips felt like a cruel joke to him. He was just a grown-up version of the little boy that had been your best friend, was sure you were just in need of a distraction, and Carmy had laid the perfect opportunity in your lap by inviting you to spend the night with him.

He broke from his reverie dropping the loosened bow from his grasp, eyes landing on your pretty cursive that painted the black envelope with his name. His fingers traced over the letters, the closest thing he had to touching you at this moment. Holding the envelope in his hand Carmy’s gaze burned into it before setting it off to the side. He was already opening your present, he didn’t think he had the guts to find out what was hidden inside the ominous black envelope.

Carmy took one more deep breath before removing the top of the box from its joined position with the bottom part. Carefully unfolding the tissue paper to not rip it, he uncovered two decent-sized velvet bags with the logo reading ‘Made in’ in gold foil. Carmy carefully removed the two bags from the box, pushing the empty box off the countertop to make room. He opened the first bag confused at what was in his hands for a moment before something clicked and he sat the block upright. Grabbing the second bag he took out the heavy roll laying it down before quickly unrolling it, the unblemished metal reflecting the kitchen light onto his face.

He sat his hands on the counter, head dropping between his shoulders as he let out a deep sigh. He knew this had to have cost you a pretty penny, he could tell just by looking at the knife set. Unable to help himself he pulled the Chef Knife out, testing the weight of it in his hands, he carefully looked over the tool, appreciating the wood-like finish of the handle. Before he could return the knife to its rightful place his eyes caught sight of an engraving on the handle. Holding the knife up to his eyes he felt his breath hitch as he took in the letters, fingers ghosting of the initials ‘C.B.’ that had been a personal touch. One by one he removed the other three knives only to find that they had all indeed been engraved with his initials.

Carmy threw his head back, eyes staring at the ceiling as a sorrowful laugh escaped his lips. He felt a tightness in his chest as he tried to come to terms with what you had gifted him. The thoughtfulness and the care that you put into this gift proved to him that you had always been a better friend than he had ever been to you. The fact that you had gone out of your way to get his initials engraved into the set, something he knew definitely cost extra, squeezed at his chest. He wasn’t good at this shit and he hated it because you were, it came easy to you, the caring, the friendship, everything.

Carmy came back to earth choosing a spot to showcase his new knife set and block. Just because he didn’t have any guests over didn’t mean Carmy himself didn’t want to be able to marvel at the gift every time he came home. Unconsciously positioning them so they were the first thing his eyes landed on as soon as he stepped through the door. He stood there for some time just admiring the set, envelope lying forgotten on the countertop as he mentally berated himself for all the mistakes he made with you.

April 2019

Carmy had just returned home after a particularly rough shift. His chef coat was stained with whatever concoction his co-worker had spilt on him. Carmy felt like everything that could go wrong in the kitchen during his shift, did. He felt like he was off his game, constantly striving to be the best in the kitchen, working his ass off to show how much he belonged, how much he deserved to be there. The praise he desired was nowhere to be found instead being told he was “a worthless fucking idiot not even McDonald’s would hire.”

Not even the knife set he had set up three months ago could raise his spirits. He had half a mind to knock the fucking thing over, the metal mocking him the longer he stared in its direction. He threw his soiled chef coat on the cheap dining table chair he had acquired making his way to the fire escape, a much-needed smoke on his mind.

Sometimes he wondered what would happen if he just decided to give it all up one day. He never would, he knew that, but sometimes he just needed a few ‘what ifs’ to help calm him down. He would regret it, that’s what would happen and he’d probably be more miserable without it in his life than he was with it. He sat on the fire escape for a while burning through three cigarettes in all with the stress he was feeling.

Moving back into the apartment he made his way to the kitchenette hoping to make himself a quick PB&J and call it a night. He removed a cup from his dish drain running it under the faucet to refresh himself. He drank a quarter of the cup before moving to set it down on the countertop, hand missing by an inch as he practically slammed the glass into the countertop, the cup breaking on impact as his mail fell victim to the flood.

Carmy let out a sharp curse, the feeling of being cut racing through his palm as he dropped the remaining glass from his grasp. For a moment he just watched as his mail soaked up the water, before grabbing the closest dish towel and doing his best to clean up the mess. He dried the mail as best he could snatching it up to sit atop the little dining table where the air from the open window could hit it. Carmy glanced down at his palm, the cut was not deep enough to warrant any stitches, he used the damp dish towel as a makeshift bandage and wrapped his hand.

A black water-stained envelope caught his eye stopping him momentarily before he rushed to grab it, the lettering on the front already smeared and unreadable, “Fuck!” The loud curse reverberated off of his apartment walls as he ran to quickly flick on his stovetop, hoping the heat would help to dry out the contents. He stood over the stove envelope dangling over the burner careful to not let it get close enough to catch fire. If there was ever a day to finally face what he had been avoiding and open this damn envelope, today seemed like as good a day as any.

Zoning out Carmy stood there racking his brain for what the envelope could contain. A traditional Christmas card would have been the easiest thing to find in there, but he knew you didn’t do easy. That’s why he allowed the envelope to age on his countertop, whatever you had sealed into the sleek black pocket would be a tough pill for him to swallow.

The singe of his thumb brought him back to reality, the heat of the burner licking at his fingers burning his forefinger and thumb as he unconsciously dropped the envelope right onto the stovetop. “Shit! Fuck me!” The expletives left his lips as he forcefully plucked the envelope from its position and played hot potato with it before he was able to get it to the countertop. He brought his fingers to his lips aiming to soothe the throbbing in them.

Carmy stood with his hands on his hips, angry breaths leaving his nostrils as he tried to keep the slim thread of his calmness in check. Snatching the singed envelope from the countertop he made sure he still had a pack of cigarettes in his jean pocket before making his way out to his normal spot on the fire escape. The cheap lawn chair he had sat out there was a welcoming sight.

Plopping down in the chair Carmy lit a much-needed cigarette before stilling his shaking hands and delicately opening the envelope, not wanting to ruin something that had once been in your hands. He was right, things with you were never easy, because what he was hoping to be some cheesy Christmas card, was instead a folded letter with your pretty cursive dancing across the pages.

Head tilting towards the sky as Carmy tried to find strength in the cosmos, the weight of the letter settled into his lap where he had placed it to gain his bearings before diving straight in. Focusing back on the pages he carefully straightened them out; slight water damage had seeped through them but not enough to ruin them. Taking one last deep breath Carmy began reading the letter.

𝑫𝒆𝒂𝒓 𝑪𝒂𝒓𝒎𝒚,

𝑰 𝒉𝒂𝒗𝒆 𝒔𝒕𝒂𝒓𝒕𝒆𝒅 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒔 𝒍𝒆𝒕𝒕𝒆𝒓 𝒎𝒐𝒓𝒆 𝒕𝒊𝒎𝒆𝒔 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒏 𝒘𝒂𝒔 𝒑𝒓𝒐𝒃𝒂𝒃𝒍𝒚 𝒏𝒆𝒄𝒆𝒔𝒔𝒂𝒓𝒚. 𝑰𝒕'𝒔 𝒏𝒐𝒕 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝑰 𝒅𝒐𝒏’𝒕 𝒌𝒏𝒐𝒘 𝒘𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝑰 𝒘𝒂𝒏𝒕 𝒕𝒐 𝒔𝒂𝒚 𝒕𝒐 𝒚𝒐𝒖. 𝑰𝒏𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒂𝒅, 𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒓𝒚 𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒅 𝑰 𝒘𝒊𝒔𝒉 𝒕𝒐 𝒔𝒉𝒂𝒓𝒆 𝒔𝒆𝒆𝒎𝒔 𝒕𝒐𝒐 𝒊𝒎𝒑𝒐𝒓𝒕𝒂𝒏𝒕 𝒕𝒐 𝒃𝒆 𝒄𝒐𝒏𝒇𝒊𝒏𝒆𝒅 𝒕𝒐 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒘𝒓𝒊𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔 𝒐𝒏 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒔 𝒑𝒂𝒈𝒆. 𝑲𝒊𝒏𝒅 𝒐𝒇 𝒊𝒓𝒐𝒏𝒊𝒄 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝑰’𝒎 𝒂 𝒋𝒐𝒖𝒓𝒏𝒂𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒕 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝑰 𝒄𝒂𝒏’𝒕 𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒏 𝒔𝒕𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒕𝒐𝒈𝒆𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒓 𝒂 𝒇𝒆𝒘 𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒅𝒔 𝒊𝒏 𝒂 𝒍𝒆𝒕𝒕𝒆𝒓 𝒕𝒐 𝒂 𝒇𝒓𝒊𝒆𝒏𝒅. 𝑫𝒐 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒏 𝒄𝒂𝒓𝒆 𝒘𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝑰 𝒉𝒂𝒗𝒆 𝒕𝒐 𝒔𝒂𝒚, 𝑪𝒂𝒓𝒎𝒚? 𝑨𝒕 𝒎𝒐𝒎𝒆𝒏𝒕𝒔 𝑰 𝒄𝒐𝒏𝒗𝒊𝒏𝒄𝒆𝒅 𝒎𝒚𝒔𝒆𝒍𝒇 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒔 𝒍𝒆𝒕𝒕𝒆𝒓 𝒘𝒂𝒔 𝒂 𝒘𝒂𝒔𝒕𝒆 𝒐𝒇 𝒕𝒊𝒎𝒆, 𝒐𝒏𝒆 𝒍𝒂𝒔𝒕 𝒅𝒆𝒔𝒑𝒆𝒓𝒂𝒕𝒆 𝒑𝒍𝒆𝒂 𝒇𝒐𝒓 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒕𝒐 𝒔𝒆𝒆 𝒎𝒆, 𝒕𝒂𝒍𝒌 𝒕𝒐 𝒎𝒆, 𝒓𝒆𝒎𝒆𝒎𝒃𝒆𝒓 𝒎𝒆.

𝑺𝒐𝒓𝒓𝒚, 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒔 𝒍𝒆𝒕𝒕𝒆𝒓 𝒔𝒉𝒐𝒖𝒍𝒅𝒏’𝒕 𝒃𝒆 𝒂 𝒑𝒆𝒓𝒔𝒐𝒏𝒂𝒍 𝒂𝒕𝒕𝒂𝒄𝒌 𝒐𝒏 𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒄𝒉𝒂𝒓𝒂𝒄𝒕𝒆𝒓, 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒕’𝒔 𝒏𝒐𝒕 𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒍𝒍𝒚 𝒇𝒂𝒊𝒓 𝒊𝒇 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒉𝒂𝒗𝒆 𝒏𝒐 𝒘𝒂𝒚 𝒕𝒐 𝒅𝒆𝒇𝒆𝒏𝒅 𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒓𝒔𝒆𝒍𝒇. 𝑰 𝒉𝒂𝒗𝒆 𝒔𝒐 𝒎𝒖𝒄𝒉 𝑰 𝒘𝒂𝒏𝒕 𝒕𝒐 𝒔𝒂𝒚 𝒕𝒐 𝒚𝒐𝒖, 𝒃𝒖𝒕 𝒊𝒇 𝑰 𝒑𝒖𝒕 𝒕𝒉𝒐𝒔𝒆 𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒅𝒔 𝒐𝒏 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒔 𝒑𝒂𝒈𝒆 𝑰 𝒌𝒏𝒐𝒘 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒐𝒏𝒍𝒚 𝒓𝒆𝒔𝒑𝒐𝒏𝒔𝒆 𝑰 𝒘𝒐𝒖𝒍𝒅 𝒈𝒆𝒕 𝒊𝒏 𝒓𝒆𝒕𝒖𝒓𝒏 𝒊𝒔 𝒉𝒖𝒓𝒕 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝑰 𝒅𝒐𝒏’𝒕 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒌 𝑰 𝒄𝒂𝒏 𝒌𝒆𝒆𝒑 𝒅𝒐𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒕𝒐 𝒎𝒚𝒔𝒆𝒍𝒇. 𝑰 𝒅𝒐𝒏’𝒕 𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒏 𝒌𝒏𝒐𝒘 𝒊𝒇 𝒚𝒐𝒖’𝒍𝒍 𝒂𝒄𝒕𝒖𝒂𝒍𝒍𝒚 𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒏 𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒅 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒔 𝒍𝒆𝒕𝒕𝒆𝒓, 𝒃𝒖𝒕 𝒘𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒅𝒆𝒄𝒊𝒅𝒆 𝒕𝒐 𝒅𝒐 𝒘𝒊𝒕𝒉 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒔𝒆 𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒅𝒔 𝒐𝒏𝒄𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒚’𝒓𝒆 𝒊𝒏 𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒑𝒐𝒔𝒔𝒆𝒔𝒔𝒊𝒐𝒏 𝒊𝒔 𝒏𝒐 𝒃𝒖𝒔𝒊𝒏𝒆𝒔𝒔 𝒐𝒇 𝒎𝒊𝒏𝒆.

𝑰 𝒄𝒐𝒖𝒍𝒅 𝒔𝒊𝒕 𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒆 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒂𝒔𝒌 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒂𝒍𝒍 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒒𝒖𝒆𝒔𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏𝒔 𝑰’𝒗𝒆 𝒃𝒆𝒆𝒏 𝒅𝒚𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒕𝒐 𝒉𝒆𝒂𝒓 𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒂𝒏𝒔𝒘𝒆𝒓, 𝒃𝒖𝒕 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒉𝒂𝒗𝒆𝒏’𝒕 𝒅𝒐𝒏𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒕𝒉𝒖𝒔 𝒇𝒂𝒓. 𝑺𝒐 𝒘𝒉𝒚 𝒘𝒂𝒔𝒕𝒆 𝒎𝒚 𝒆𝒏𝒆𝒓𝒈𝒚 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒊𝒏𝒌 𝒐𝒇 𝒎𝒚 𝒇𝒂𝒗𝒐𝒓𝒊𝒕𝒆 𝒇𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒕𝒂𝒊𝒏 𝒑𝒆𝒏 𝒐𝒏 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒕?

𝒀𝒐𝒖 𝒉𝒖𝒓𝒕 𝒎𝒆, 𝑪𝒂𝒓𝒎𝒚. 𝑰 𝒃𝒓𝒖𝒔𝒉𝒆𝒅 𝒊𝒕 𝒐𝒇𝒇 𝒂𝒕 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒇𝒊𝒓𝒔𝒕 𝒐𝒏𝒆-𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒅 𝒕𝒆𝒙𝒕, 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒘𝒆𝒓𝒆 𝒃𝒖𝒔𝒚 𝑪𝒂𝒓𝒎𝒚, 𝑰 𝒖𝒏𝒅𝒆𝒓𝒔𝒕𝒐𝒐𝒅.

𝑻𝒉𝒆𝒏 𝒎𝒚 𝒕𝒆𝒙𝒕 𝒘𝒆𝒏𝒕 𝒖𝒏𝒂𝒏𝒔𝒘𝒆𝒓𝒆𝒅, 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒎𝒚 𝒄𝒂𝒍𝒍𝒔 𝒘𝒆𝒓𝒆 𝒈𝒐𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒔𝒕𝒓𝒂𝒊𝒈𝒉𝒕 𝒕𝒐 𝒗𝒐𝒊𝒄𝒆𝒎𝒂𝒊𝒍. 𝑨𝒏𝒅 𝑰 𝒅𝒆𝒇𝒆𝒏𝒅𝒆𝒅 𝒚𝒐𝒖, 𝒎𝒂𝒅𝒆 𝒖𝒑 𝒆𝒙𝒄𝒖𝒔𝒆𝒔 𝒊𝒏 𝒎𝒚 𝒎𝒊𝒏𝒅 𝒕𝒐 𝒘𝒓𝒊𝒕𝒆 𝒐𝒇𝒇 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒔𝒖𝒅𝒅𝒆𝒏 𝒄𝒐𝒍𝒅 𝒔𝒉𝒐𝒖𝒍𝒅𝒆𝒓 𝑰 𝒘𝒂𝒔 𝒓𝒆𝒄𝒆𝒊𝒗𝒊𝒏𝒈. 𝑻𝒉𝒆𝒏 𝒘𝒆𝒆𝒌𝒔 𝒕𝒖𝒓𝒏𝒆𝒅 𝒊𝒏𝒕𝒐 𝒎𝒐𝒏𝒕𝒉𝒔, 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒎𝒐𝒏𝒕𝒉𝒔 𝒕𝒖𝒓𝒏𝒆𝒅 𝒊𝒏𝒕𝒐 𝒂 𝒚𝒆𝒂𝒓. 𝑨𝒏𝒅 𝒏𝒐𝒘 𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒆 𝒘𝒆 𝒂𝒓𝒆 𝒇𝒊𝒗𝒆 𝒚𝒆𝒂𝒓𝒔 𝒍𝒂𝒕𝒆𝒓, 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝑰 𝒄𝒂𝒏’𝒕 𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒏 𝒓𝒆𝒎𝒆𝒎𝒃𝒆𝒓 𝒘𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒗𝒐𝒊𝒄𝒆 𝒖𝒔𝒆𝒅 𝒕𝒐 𝒔𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒅 𝒍𝒊𝒌𝒆 𝒘𝒉𝒆𝒏 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒘𝒆𝒓𝒆 𝒆𝒙𝒑𝒍𝒂𝒊𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒂 𝒅𝒊𝒔𝒉 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒘𝒆𝒓𝒆 𝒔𝒐 𝒆𝒙𝒄𝒊𝒕𝒆𝒅 𝒕𝒐 𝒕𝒓𝒚.

𝑻𝒉𝒆 𝒆𝒍𝒆𝒄𝒕𝒓𝒊𝒄 𝒃𝒍𝒖𝒆 𝒐𝒇 𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒆𝒚𝒆𝒔 𝒘𝒂𝒔 𝒍𝒐𝒔𝒕 𝒕𝒐 𝒎𝒆, 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒔𝒐𝒇𝒕 𝒘𝒂𝒚 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒘𝒐𝒖𝒍𝒅 𝒔𝒎𝒊𝒍𝒆 𝒂𝒕 𝒎𝒆 𝒔𝒆𝒆𝒎𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒍𝒚 𝒈𝒐𝒏𝒆 𝒇𝒐𝒓𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒓. 𝑨𝒏𝒅 𝒑𝒊𝒄𝒕𝒖𝒓𝒆𝒔 𝒅𝒐𝒏’𝒕 𝒅𝒐 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒋𝒖𝒔𝒕𝒊𝒄𝒆, 𝑰 𝒌𝒏𝒐𝒘, 𝒚𝒐𝒖’𝒓𝒆 𝒋𝒖𝒔𝒕 𝒂 𝒘𝒂𝒔𝒉𝒆𝒅-𝒐𝒖𝒕 𝒗𝒆𝒓𝒔𝒊𝒐𝒏 𝒐𝒇 𝒔𝒐𝒎𝒆𝒐𝒏𝒆 𝑰 𝒏𝒐 𝒍𝒐𝒏𝒈𝒆𝒓 𝒌𝒏𝒐𝒘.

𝑨𝒏𝒅 𝑰 𝒌𝒏𝒐𝒘, 𝒍𝒐𝒐𝒌 𝒂𝒕 𝒎𝒆, 𝑰 𝒔𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒅 𝒍𝒊𝒌𝒆 𝒔𝒐𝒎𝒆 𝒅𝒆𝒔𝒑𝒆𝒓𝒂𝒕𝒆 𝒔𝒕𝒖𝒑𝒊𝒅 𝒈𝒊𝒓𝒍 𝒃𝒆𝒈𝒈𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒔𝒐𝒎𝒆𝒃𝒐𝒅𝒚 𝒕𝒐 𝒍𝒐𝒗𝒆 𝒉𝒆𝒓. 𝑩𝒖𝒕 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒕’𝒔 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒈, 𝑪𝒂𝒓𝒎𝒚 𝒊𝒇 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒌𝒆𝒆𝒑 𝒑𝒖𝒔𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒂𝒘𝒂𝒚 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒑𝒆𝒐𝒑𝒍𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒍𝒐𝒗𝒆 𝒚𝒐𝒖, 𝒘𝒉𝒐’𝒍𝒍 𝒃𝒆 𝒍𝒆𝒇𝒕 𝒕𝒐 𝒑𝒓𝒐𝒕𝒆𝒄𝒕 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒇𝒓𝒐𝒎 𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒓𝒔𝒆𝒍𝒇?

𝑰𝒕’𝒔 𝒃𝒆𝒆𝒏 𝒇𝒊𝒗𝒆 𝒚𝒆𝒂𝒓𝒔 𝒔𝒊𝒏𝒄𝒆 𝒘𝒆 𝒍𝒂𝒔𝒕 𝒔𝒑𝒐𝒌𝒆 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒆 𝑰 𝒂𝒎 𝒍𝒊𝒌𝒆 𝒂𝒏 𝒊𝒅𝒊𝒐𝒕 𝒗𝒆𝒕𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒕𝒉𝒓𝒐𝒖𝒈𝒉 𝒅𝒐𝒛𝒆𝒏𝒔 𝒐𝒇 𝒑𝒐𝒕𝒆𝒏𝒕𝒊𝒂𝒍 𝑪𝒉𝒓𝒊𝒔𝒕𝒎𝒂𝒔 𝒑𝒓𝒆𝒔𝒆𝒏𝒕𝒔 𝒋𝒖𝒔𝒕 𝒕𝒐 𝒇𝒊𝒏𝒅 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒐𝒏𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝑰 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒌 𝒊𝒔 𝒑𝒆𝒓𝒇𝒆𝒄𝒕 𝒇𝒐𝒓 𝒚𝒐𝒖. 𝑾𝒂𝒔𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒎𝒚 𝒕𝒊𝒎𝒆 𝒘𝒓𝒊𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒂 𝒍𝒆𝒕𝒕𝒆𝒓 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒎𝒂𝒚 𝒏𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒓 𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒅 𝒊𝒏𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒂𝒅 𝒐𝒇 𝒆𝒅𝒊𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒎𝒚 𝒂𝒓𝒕𝒊𝒄𝒍𝒆 𝒃𝒆𝒄𝒂𝒖𝒔𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒔 𝒊𝒔 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒄𝒍𝒐𝒔𝒆𝒔𝒕 𝑰’𝒗𝒆 𝒃𝒆𝒆𝒏 𝒕𝒐 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒍 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒊𝒏 𝒂 𝒍𝒐𝒏𝒈 𝒕𝒊𝒎𝒆.

𝑰 𝒎𝒊𝒔𝒔 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝑪𝒂𝒓𝒎𝒚, 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒊𝒕 𝒉𝒖𝒓𝒕𝒔. 𝑰𝒕 𝒉𝒖𝒓𝒕𝒔 𝒘𝒉𝒆𝒏 𝑰 𝒂𝒄𝒉𝒊𝒆𝒗𝒆 𝒔𝒐𝒎𝒆𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒇𝒊𝒓𝒔𝒕 𝒑𝒆𝒓𝒔𝒐𝒏 𝑰 𝒘𝒂𝒏𝒕 𝒕𝒐 𝒔𝒉𝒂𝒓𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒏𝒆𝒘𝒔 𝒘𝒊𝒕𝒉 𝒊𝒔 𝒚𝒐𝒖. 𝑰𝒕 𝒉𝒖𝒓𝒕𝒔 𝒘𝒉𝒆𝒏 𝑴𝒊𝒌𝒆𝒚 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝑵𝒂𝒕, 𝒉𝒆𝒍𝒍 𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒏 𝑹𝒊𝒄𝒉𝒊𝒆 𝒃𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒖𝒑 𝒊𝒏 𝒄𝒐𝒏𝒗𝒆𝒓𝒔𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝑰 𝒉𝒂𝒗𝒆 𝒕𝒐 𝒑𝒓𝒆𝒕𝒆𝒏𝒅 𝒍𝒊𝒌𝒆 𝑰 𝒉𝒂𝒗𝒆 𝒂𝒏𝒚 𝒄𝒍𝒖𝒆 𝒘𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒇𝒖𝒄𝒌 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒚’𝒓𝒆 𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒏 𝒕𝒂𝒍𝒌𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒂𝒃𝒐𝒖𝒕. 𝑰𝒕 𝒉𝒖𝒓𝒕𝒔 𝒘𝒉𝒆𝒏 𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒏 𝒂𝒇𝒕𝒆𝒓 𝒇𝒊𝒗𝒆 𝒚𝒆𝒂𝒓𝒔 𝒂𝒑𝒂𝒓𝒕 𝑰 𝒇𝒊𝒏𝒅 𝒍𝒊𝒕𝒕𝒍𝒆 𝒑𝒊𝒆𝒄𝒆𝒔 𝒐𝒇 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒔𝒄𝒂𝒕𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒆𝒅 𝒂𝒓𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒅 𝒎𝒚 𝒂𝒑𝒂𝒓𝒕𝒎𝒆𝒏𝒕. 𝑰𝒕 𝒉𝒖𝒓𝒕 𝒘𝒉𝒆𝒏 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒔𝒕𝒐𝒑𝒑𝒆𝒅 𝒂𝒏𝒔𝒘𝒆𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒎𝒚 𝒄𝒂𝒍𝒍𝒔, 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒊𝒕 𝒉𝒖𝒓𝒕 𝒘𝒉𝒆𝒏 𝑰 𝒉𝒂𝒅 𝒕𝒐 𝒘𝒓𝒊𝒕𝒆 𝒕𝒉�� 𝒑𝒓𝒐𝒇𝒊𝒍𝒆 𝒔𝒕𝒐𝒓𝒚 𝒂𝒃𝒐𝒖𝒕 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒘𝒊𝒏𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝑱𝒂𝒎𝒆𝒔 𝑩𝒆𝒂𝒓𝒅 𝑨𝒘𝒂𝒓𝒅 𝒇𝒐𝒓 𝑹𝒊𝒔𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝑺𝒕𝒂𝒓 𝑪𝒉𝒆𝒇. 𝑰 𝒃𝒆𝒕 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒘𝒆𝒓𝒆𝒏’𝒕 𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒏 𝒂𝒘𝒂𝒓𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒏𝒐 𝒎𝒂𝒕𝒕𝒆𝒓 𝒉𝒐𝒘 𝒉𝒂𝒓𝒅 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒘𝒆𝒓𝒆 𝒕𝒓𝒚𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒕𝒐 𝒑𝒖𝒔𝒉 𝒎𝒆 𝒐𝒖𝒕 𝒐𝒇 𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒍𝒊𝒇𝒆, 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒘𝒆𝒓𝒆 𝒔𝒕𝒊𝒍𝒍 𝒉𝒂𝒖𝒏𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒎𝒊𝒏𝒆.

𝑻𝒉𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒊𝒔 𝒕𝒉𝒐𝒖𝒈𝒉 𝑪𝒂𝒓𝒎𝒆𝒏, 𝑰 𝒋𝒖𝒔𝒕 𝒄𝒂𝒏’𝒕 𝒔𝒆𝒆𝒎 𝒕𝒐 𝒈𝒆𝒕 𝒎𝒚𝒔𝒆𝒍𝒇 𝒕𝒐 𝒉𝒂𝒕𝒆 𝒚𝒐𝒖. 𝑨𝒏𝒅 𝑰 𝒉𝒂𝒕𝒆 𝒎𝒚𝒔𝒆𝒍𝒇 𝒇𝒐𝒓 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒕. 𝑰 𝒉𝒂𝒕𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝑰 𝒎𝒊𝒔𝒔 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒘𝒂𝒊𝒕 𝒇𝒐𝒓 𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒄𝒂𝒍𝒍𝒔. 𝑰 𝒉𝒂𝒕𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝑰 𝒍𝒐𝒐𝒌 𝒇𝒐𝒓 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒊𝒏 𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒓𝒚 𝒅𝒂𝒕𝒆 𝑰 𝒂𝒈𝒓𝒆𝒆 𝒕𝒐 𝒈𝒐 𝒐𝒏. 𝑰 𝒉𝒂𝒕𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒏𝒐𝒃𝒐𝒅𝒚 𝒄𝒐𝒎𝒑𝒂𝒓𝒆𝒔 𝒕𝒐 𝒚𝒐𝒖. 𝑰 𝒉𝒂𝒕𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝑰 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒌 𝒂𝒃𝒐𝒖𝒕 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒔𝒐 𝒎𝒖𝒄𝒉 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒄𝒐𝒏𝒔𝒖𝒎𝒆 𝒎𝒚 𝒎𝒊𝒏𝒅 𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒓𝒚 𝒎𝒊𝒏𝒖𝒕𝒆 𝒐𝒇 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒅𝒂𝒚. 𝑰 𝒉𝒂𝒕𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒍𝒂𝒔𝒕 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝑰 𝒔𝒆𝒆 𝒃𝒆𝒇𝒐𝒓𝒆 𝑰 𝒈𝒐 𝒕𝒐 𝒔𝒍𝒆𝒆𝒑 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒇𝒊𝒓𝒔𝒕 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝑰 𝒔𝒆𝒆 𝒘𝒉𝒆𝒏 𝑰 𝒘𝒂𝒌𝒆 𝒖𝒑 𝒊𝒔 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒑𝒊𝒄𝒕𝒖𝒓𝒆 𝒐𝒇 𝒖𝒔 𝒂𝒕 𝒈𝒓𝒂𝒅𝒖𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏. 𝑰 𝒈𝒖𝒆𝒔𝒔 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒐𝒏𝒆'𝒔 𝒌𝒊𝒏𝒅𝒂 𝒎𝒚 𝒇𝒂𝒖𝒍𝒕 𝒇𝒐𝒓 𝒉𝒂𝒏𝒈𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒊𝒕 𝒖𝒑. 𝑰 𝒉𝒂𝒕𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒂𝒍𝒍 𝒎𝒚 𝒆𝒇𝒇𝒐𝒓𝒕 𝒉𝒂𝒔 𝒃𝒆𝒆𝒏 𝒇𝒐𝒓 𝒏𝒐𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒈. 𝑾𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝑰 𝒉𝒂𝒕𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒎𝒐𝒔𝒕 𝒕𝒉𝒐𝒖𝒈𝒉 𝒊𝒔 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒇𝒐𝒓 𝒘𝒉𝒂𝒕𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒓 𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒔𝒐𝒏, 𝒎𝒚 𝒉𝒆𝒂𝒓𝒕 𝒋𝒖𝒔𝒕 𝒄𝒂𝒏’𝒕 𝒔𝒆𝒆𝒎 𝒕𝒐 𝒍𝒆𝒕 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒈𝒐.

𝒀𝒐𝒖 𝒃𝒓𝒐𝒌𝒆 𝒎𝒚 𝒉𝒆𝒂𝒓𝒕 𝑪𝒂𝒓𝒎𝒆𝒏 𝑩𝒆𝒓𝒛𝒂𝒕𝒕𝒐. 𝑨𝒏𝒅 𝑰’𝒅 𝒍𝒆𝒕 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒅𝒐 𝒊𝒕 𝒂 𝒉𝒖𝒏𝒅𝒓𝒆𝒅 𝒕𝒊𝒎𝒆𝒔 𝒐𝒗𝒆𝒓 𝒊𝒇 𝒊𝒕 𝒎𝒆𝒂𝒏𝒕 𝒌𝒆𝒆𝒑𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒊𝒏 𝒎𝒚 𝒍𝒊𝒇𝒆. 𝑴𝒂𝒌𝒆𝒔 𝒎𝒆 𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒍 𝒇𝒖𝒄𝒌𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒅𝒖𝒎𝒃, 𝒅𝒐𝒆𝒔𝒏’𝒕 𝒊𝒕?

𝑾𝒂𝒏𝒏𝒂 𝒉𝒆𝒂𝒓 𝒂 𝒋𝒐𝒌𝒆? 𝑨𝒔 𝑰’𝒎 𝒘𝒓𝒊𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒔 𝒍𝒆𝒕𝒕𝒆𝒓 𝑰 𝒉𝒂𝒗𝒆 𝒐𝒏𝒆 𝒐𝒇 𝒕𝒉𝒐𝒔𝒆 𝒔𝒉𝒊𝒕𝒕𝒚 𝒄𝒊𝒈𝒂𝒓𝒆𝒕𝒕𝒆𝒔 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒍𝒊𝒌𝒆 𝒔𝒐 𝒎𝒖𝒄𝒉 𝒃𝒖𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈, 𝒋𝒖𝒔𝒕 𝒕𝒐 𝒓𝒆𝒎𝒊𝒏𝒅 𝒎𝒆 𝒐𝒇 𝒚𝒐𝒖. 𝒀𝒐𝒖 𝒎𝒂𝒌𝒆 𝒎𝒆 𝒇𝒖𝒄𝒌𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒑𝒂𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒕𝒊𝒄 𝑪𝒂𝒓𝒎𝒆𝒏 𝑩𝒆𝒓𝒛𝒂𝒕𝒕𝒐.

𝑰𝒕'𝒔 𝒏𝒐𝒕 𝒒𝒖𝒊𝒕𝒆 𝒇𝒂𝒊𝒓 𝒕𝒐 𝒃𝒍𝒂𝒎𝒆 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒇𝒐𝒓 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒕𝒉𝒐𝒖𝒈𝒉 𝒏𝒐𝒘 𝒊𝒔 𝒊𝒕? 𝑻𝒉𝒆 𝒃𝒍𝒂𝒎𝒆 𝒍𝒊𝒆𝒔 𝒘𝒊𝒕𝒉 𝒎𝒚 𝒘𝒆𝒂𝒌 𝒉𝒆𝒂𝒓𝒕 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒘𝒂𝒚 𝒊𝒕 𝒔𝒕𝒊𝒍𝒍 𝒃𝒆𝒂𝒕𝒔 𝒇𝒐𝒓 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒘𝒊𝒕𝒉𝒐𝒖𝒕 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒏 𝒂𝒔𝒌𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒊𝒕 𝒕𝒐.

𝑵𝒂𝒕 𝒕𝒆𝒍𝒍𝒔 𝒎𝒆 𝒚𝒐𝒖’𝒍𝒍 𝒃𝒆 𝒊𝒏 𝑪𝒐𝒑𝒆𝒏𝒉𝒂𝒈𝒆𝒏 𝒇𝒐𝒓 𝑪𝒉𝒓𝒊𝒔𝒕𝒎𝒂𝒔, 𝒉𝒐𝒑𝒆𝒇𝒖𝒍𝒍𝒚, 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒔 𝒈𝒆𝒕𝒔 𝒕𝒐 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒐𝒏 𝒕𝒊𝒎𝒆. 𝑩𝒆𝒇𝒐𝒓𝒆 𝑰 𝒈𝒐 𝑰 𝒋𝒖𝒔𝒕 𝒘𝒂𝒏𝒕 𝒕𝒐 𝒔𝒂𝒚 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒏𝒌 𝒚𝒐𝒖.

𝑻𝒉𝒂𝒏𝒌 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒇𝒐𝒓 𝒂𝒍𝒍𝒐𝒘𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒎𝒆 𝒕𝒐 𝒌𝒏𝒐𝒘 𝒚𝒐𝒖. 𝑻𝒉𝒂𝒏𝒌 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒇𝒐𝒓 𝒎𝒂𝒌𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒔𝒐𝒎𝒆 𝒐𝒇 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒎𝒐𝒔𝒕 𝒅𝒊𝒇𝒇𝒊𝒄𝒖𝒍𝒕 𝒚𝒆𝒂𝒓𝒔 𝒐𝒇 𝒎𝒚 𝒍𝒊𝒇𝒆 𝒘𝒆𝒍𝒍 𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒕𝒉 𝒍𝒊𝒗𝒊𝒏𝒈. 𝑻𝒉𝒂𝒏𝒌 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒇𝒐𝒓 𝒖𝒏𝒅𝒆𝒓𝒔𝒕𝒂𝒏𝒅𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒎𝒆, 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒊𝒏𝒔𝒑𝒊𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒎𝒆 𝒕𝒐 𝒃𝒆 𝒎𝒚𝒔𝒆𝒍𝒇 𝒓𝒆𝒈𝒂𝒓𝒅𝒍𝒆𝒔𝒔 𝒐𝒇 𝒘𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒂𝒏𝒚𝒐𝒏𝒆 𝒆𝒍𝒔𝒆 𝒉𝒂𝒅 𝒕𝒐 𝒔𝒂𝒚.

𝑼𝒍𝒕𝒊𝒎𝒂𝒕𝒆𝒍𝒚 𝒕𝒉𝒐𝒖𝒈𝒉 𝑪𝒂𝒓𝒎𝒚, 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒏𝒌 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒇𝒐𝒓 𝒃𝒆𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒍𝒆𝒕𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒎𝒆 𝒖𝒏𝒅𝒆𝒓𝒔𝒕𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒑𝒆𝒓𝒔𝒐𝒏 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒂𝒓𝒆. 𝑻𝒉𝒂𝒏𝒌 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒇𝒐𝒓 𝒂𝒍𝒍𝒐𝒘𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒎𝒆 𝒂 𝒓𝒂𝒓𝒆 𝒐𝒑𝒑𝒐𝒓𝒕𝒖𝒏𝒊𝒕𝒚 𝒇𝒆𝒘 𝒑𝒆𝒐𝒑𝒍𝒆 𝒂𝒓𝒆 𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒓 𝒍𝒖𝒄𝒌𝒚 𝒆𝒏𝒐𝒖𝒈𝒉 𝒕𝒐 𝒈𝒆𝒕.

𝑴𝒂𝒚𝒃𝒆 𝒐𝒏𝒆 𝒅𝒂𝒚 𝑰’𝒍𝒍 𝒃𝒆 𝒂𝒃𝒍𝒆 𝒕𝒐 𝒕𝒆𝒍𝒍 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒂𝒍𝒍 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔 𝒎𝒚 𝒉𝒆𝒂𝒓𝒕 𝒘𝒂𝒏𝒕𝒆𝒅 𝒕𝒐 𝒔𝒂𝒚, 𝒃𝒖𝒕 𝒎𝒚 𝒉𝒆𝒂𝒅 𝒘𝒂𝒔 𝒔𝒎𝒂𝒓𝒕 𝒆𝒏𝒐𝒖𝒈𝒉 𝒏𝒐𝒕 𝒕𝒐 𝒘𝒓𝒊𝒕𝒆 𝒊𝒏 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒔 𝒍𝒆𝒕𝒕𝒆𝒓. 𝑭𝒐𝒓 𝒏𝒐𝒘, 𝒆𝒏𝒋𝒐𝒚 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒑𝒊𝒄𝒕𝒖𝒓𝒆𝒔 𝑰’𝒗𝒆 𝒔𝒆𝒏𝒕 𝒕𝒐 𝒓𝒆𝒎𝒊𝒏𝒅 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒐𝒇 𝒉𝒐𝒎𝒆. 𝑨𝒍𝒔𝒐 𝒔𝒑𝒐𝒊𝒍𝒆𝒓 𝒔𝒐𝒓𝒓𝒚 𝑰 𝒌𝒏𝒐𝒘, 𝒃𝒖𝒕 𝑰 𝒌𝒏𝒐𝒘 𝒇𝒖𝒄𝒌 𝒂𝒍𝒍 𝒂𝒃𝒐𝒖𝒕 𝒌𝒏𝒊𝒗𝒆𝒔 𝒔𝒐 𝒂𝒕 𝒍𝒆𝒂𝒔𝒕 𝒑𝒓𝒆𝒕𝒆𝒏𝒅 𝒕𝒐 𝒍𝒊𝒌𝒆 𝒎𝒚 𝒈𝒊𝒇𝒕, 𝒑𝒍𝒆𝒂𝒔𝒆?

𝒀𝒐𝒖 𝒉𝒂𝒗𝒆 𝒎𝒚 𝒏𝒖𝒎𝒃𝒆𝒓 𝑪𝒂𝒓𝒎𝒚, 𝑰’𝒍𝒍 𝒂𝒍𝒘𝒂𝒚𝒔 𝒂𝒏𝒔𝒘𝒆𝒓 𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒄𝒂𝒍𝒍.

𝒀𝒐𝒖𝒓𝒔 𝑨𝒍𝒘𝒂𝒚𝒔,

Carmy let out a slight chuckle about your lack of knowledge in the culinary arts. He traced your closing signature fingers taking extra care when tracing over the longtime nickname in your sign-off. He allowed himself to let what he’d just read sink in, he was going to have to look for that article you mentioned. The tightness in his chest was ever present as he devoured every word you had written for him. He should’ve opened the letter sooner, he knew that now. He distracted himself from your words by digging through the discarded envelope fingers hoping to latch onto the pictures you mentioned.

He brought forth two aged Polaroid pictures. The first is a group photo of the five of you - Mikey, Richie, Sugar, You, and Carmy - all squished together in the photo. The date on Mikey’s hat reminded him exactly what the occasion was. The five of you were all huddled around The Beef’s booth, Mikey and Richie on the far left side, arms thrown over the other, big smiles directed at the camera. Sugar stood smiling in the middle hands placed on the cheap fold-out table in front of them. Carmy’s eyes drifted to the last two figures in the photo, the two of you taking up the right portion of the Polaroid.

There Carmy was sitting at the table relegated to manning the cash box because Mikey wouldn’t let him help with cooking. You were behind him, bending over to be at the same level as him, and your head sat comfortably next to his. Your arms were thrown around his shoulders, hanging off of him like a koala, your bright smile mesmerizing as it was directed at the camera. While you were looking at the camera, he was looking at you, head slightly turned in your direction, a small shy smile directed your way as he focused on you.

Carmy’s thumb came up to gently caress the 15-year-old versions of the two of you trapped in the Polaroid, the same small smile gracing his features as he remembered that day. He sat the picture in his lap before moving on to the next.

The second Polaroid was just the two of you. Dressed in your finest garments for senior prom, standing on the porch of the Berzatto home. He remembered that night, the night he took Claire to the prom and realized that no girl he took an interest in would compare to the way he felt for you. He focused on the old photo in his hand trying to ignore the lavish corsage your date had bought you.

The more he looked down at the photo, the more he decided it was his favorite of the two of you together. You and Carmy stood side by side, neither of you paying any attention to the camera, your body turned slightly into his as your right hand rested right where his heart was. His arm settled around your waist, both of you staring at each other, the picture capturing the moment Carmy knew he wanted more than a friendship with you. Right before the picture had been taken Carmy had whispered about how beautiful he thought you looked, he remembered the look in your eyes as his compliment caught you off guard, the way your eyes quickly flashed to his lips as he gave you his small shy smile.

Carmy patted his pockets before pulling out his wallet and slipping the photo into the clear partition. He collected the other photo and the letter you had sent him entering through the fire escape and heading to his kitchen. He found the random magnet that had been on his fridge since moving in and placed the group photo on his freezer.

He quickly maneuvered his way out of the kitchen, making his way to the closest in his bedroom. He rummaged through the mess looking for your designated box in his closet. Eyes finding the wrapped present he had meant to send you three months ago, even though it was April he was hoping you wouldn’t be too miffed about the lateness of your gift. He had tried to convince Mikey to send it for him but was called a “fucking idiot” before Mikey promptly hung up on him, and when he tried to ask Sugar for your address she told Carmy to ask you himself.

On top of not bringing you a present when he returned home for Christmas, it had taken a month to find a reputable seller for the specific vintage camera he was looking for. And another month on top of that to bargain with them and actually buy the camera, so Carmy thought he was doing a pretty good job for himself.

Making his way back into the kitchen Carmy sat the present on the countertop. He paced around the enclosed space, hyping himself up to make the call and ask for your address, and if he was lucky, maybe even invite you out to New York if you had any vacation days. He couldn’t help himself, although your letter to him was less than heart-warming, it ignited hope in him regarding you that he hadn’t felt in a long time.

Leaning against the countertop, Carmy slipped his phone from his pocket. Opening up his contact list he scrolled down to your name, he clicked on it momentarily checking the time. It was 10 pm where you were, he knew you wouldn’t have been asleep yet. Carmy took one last deep breath before pressing the call button.

Camry listened to the phone ring as he placed it against his ear, foot tapping rhythmically against the linoleum. Eyes focused on your present sitting in his kitchen.

The tightness in Carmy’s chest intensified tenfold as he listened to the automated voice streaming through his ear.

“We’re sorry; you have reached a number that has been disconnected or is no longer in service. If you feel you have reached this recording in error, please check the number and try your call again.”

a/n: tag yourself, i’m carmy x self-sabotage : ) i almost changed carmy’s gift because i forgot his knife (the one he gave tina) already has his initials, but then i realized baby wouldn’t even know that and since carmy seems like the type to not spoil himself baby will lol. i promise carmy won’t be an asshole forever he’s just stupid atm. also i don’t know shit about culinary tools and i got caught up looking at pretty knives so i just picked my favorite 😭

let me know if there are any questions regarding the timeline and i’ll make a post about it or something!!

taglist: @hawkins-2000 @elliesbabygirl @allbark-no-bite @anakinswh0re3005 @rexorangecouny @thecraziestcrayon @fruitcupsworld @nishinoyahhh @lilylovelyxo @ridingthehotmessexpress @noas-ark @jadeittic @hellokittyever @luvr-bunnyy @sxgees @fandomhopped @is-this-a-febreze-commercial @kravitzwhore @chanluuvr @readingwiththereids @chims-kookies @ladygrey03 @ferida-kahlo @wanderlustnightwanderer @how2besalty @armydrcamers @jointherebellion215 @jackierose902109 @blkbxrbie-esther @ajordan2020 @head-slut-in-charge @magnet-girl @thebookwormlife @yeehawbitchs @khena @kailyn-05 @ovaqma @fire-treasure-iii @frequentnosebleeder @gcidvrsh @awatt31 @cauliflowerpatch

#carmen berzatto x reader #carmy berzatto x reader #carmen berzatto angst #carmen berzatto x you #the bear x reader #the bear fic #all i ever knew only you ₊‧°𐐪♡𐑂°‧₊#[aiekoy] interlude 0 #[aiekoy]

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nsharks · 1 year

Text

bleeding blue | apocalypse au

part six —other parts

pairing: Simon "Ghost" Riley x fem!reader words: 3k tags: death. blood. zombies of course. reader menstruates. single dad ghost. there will be sex but it isn't here yet. slow burn!!! enemies to lovers. summary: After losing your companions, you run into a skull-masked man and his daughter. They are your last hope for survival. a/n: this was longer but i decided to break it up sorry :p

The last glimpse of civilization you had was a chaotic one.

It was the first day of the outbreak.

Freshly infected running around. Bodies scattered in the streets like dead flies. Screaming. Paul grabbing your hand and tugging you towards the treeline. Your nephew shrieking in your sister’s arms. It’s funny how trauma likes to grab hold of the minute details. You can also recall seeing a bus pass by with an ad for some superhero movie. You had planned on seeing it. The bus crashed into a house and the ad was licked by flames.

Paul was always the one to make the trips to pharmacies and markets. He was the one who wielded a gun, not you. You were the one to stay behind, fortify the fence, and watch over the two broken members of your family.

Society's dust— that is what you leave Ghost’s territory for.

You know you need to.

You wait for your period to end.

Freshly spilled blood is not a scent you want to carry. Greys are drawn to it like flies to rot. Something you learned the hard way once during a hunt with Paul. They were able to catch your scent from a further distance than usual because of it.

To your relief, Ghost lets you look at his map.

Of course, you can’t take it with you.

“Jus’ memorize it,” he grumbles under his breath.

So the evening before you venture out, you study the map of Northern England. Ghost brought out a whole stack of them from the room you’re certain is his. You notice a map of the European continent on top, briefly catching a glimpse of a black circle drawn in the middle somewhere, but he is quick to move it underneath the pile.

You focus on the one you need.

There is a black dot to indicate where their camp is amid the forest. Some 20 kilometers south is the closest city. Or village rather. Ribchester. Maybe that is a safer bet than going by yourself to a big city like Manchester. You may have a bow and knife and some strength, but you don't have a car or guns like he does. Or companions coming with you.

Blue helps you turn your pillowcase into a strapped bag with some scissors. You need something to carry what you find. Ghost isn't willing to let you leave with his backpack. Bitterly, you get it. It’s a useful item.

The next morning, you feel as prepared as you can be. You wake up earlier than usual, before Blue has the chance to poke inside your shed with Grim. You eat a big breakfast of two dried squirrels. You have a third one to take with you.

"Are you sure this is a good idea?" Blue picks at her breakfast as she sits beside you at the table. Her lips twist around thoughtfully.

You glance between her and Ghost. His stare is unreadable like usual. Dark, stoic, and hiding under lowered brows. You wonder what he thinks— if he would be secretly relieved if you don't make it back alive. Probably. He could get rid of you without Blue pointing the blame at him.

"Medicine is important. I need to find my own.”

We can’t risk sneaking anymore, you would say if he wasn’t right there. But by the way she slides her blue eyes to discreetly meet yours, you think she gets the hint.

"Just be careful, okay?" You nod. "And remember—" she lifts a finger, "—you have to shoot those fucks in the brain."

"I know. I've been practicing my aim a bit."

The smile you offer is only half-there. The truth is, you are risking your life with this. Part of you wonders how deeply she has processed that.

Despite her lips appearing more chewed-through than usual, they give a wary smile in return.

“Yeah, we could hear you hitting the trees. Right, Ghost?"

He hums low, but characteristically, doesn't have much to say about you.

But when you head for the cabin door after eating, his firm hand surprises you, gloved and skeletal. It wraps around your bicep and brings you to a halt before you can step outside. Heat spreads through his glove and the layers of your clothes. You turn around just as a metal object is silently offered to your chest. Ghost holds your stare before you look down at what he is giving you.

It's the revolver. The one they collected from that man.

The gun with only one cartridge.

"Thanks."

You bite your cheek to hide the dry tone, slipping the revolver into your coat pocket. Maybe it will come in handy. At least he now trusts you enough not to immediately point it at him or her.

Blue is the one to follow you out to the gate of their camp.

"I hope you find something good."

"Me, too."

"You know, Ghost and I only went on one trip that I can remember," she says as she unlocks the bolts for you.

"Yeah?"

"To get him more ammo from a military base," she explains with a wave of her hand. "It was pretty close, though. He says that we went on one other trip back to Manchester when things first happened, but he carried me on his back the whole time so I don't remember much except for all the loud sounds.”

This part she adds quietly: "Think I closed my eyes for most of it."

"I would have closed my eyes, too, Blue.”

The next glimpse of civilization you get is a desolate one.

Again, you are on your own. Though, maybe you’ve been alone this whole time in a way.

It is that weird time between winter and spring when the air is crisp but the sun is bright. You hope to complete the trip in one day, which gives you about nine hours. You walk and walk, leaving Ghost's familiar territory behind until the trees become new to you again. You’ve never gone south before. You stop by a creek to drink some water along the way. By high noon, you exit the forest for the first time in five years.

You can see it. Overgrown shrubs and dry vines that crawl over cracked concrete. A road. A billboard arches over with a peeled ad for shaving cream, the woman’s face looking mangled. Your bow is poised as you follow the highway towards the village, recalling a time when you used to take the bus ride down this very route to visit your sister’s home. You liked watching the trees and rolling hills pass through the window as you tucked your ears under headphones.

It is so strange.

The air is quiet with abandonment.

Briefly, you ache for a world that once existed and the life you once lived. Car rides. Music whenever you wanted. Drunk outings on the weekends when you were supposed to be studying for nursing school. Hope for a family of your own someday.

But you have to ignore all that to stay focused on the present. Now, life is whittled down to basic needs and protecting yourself the best you can.

The village soon appears as stone buildings with unkempt wisteria scaling the sides. Abandoned cars haphazardly parked throughout the streets. You keep your guard up and your nose flared as you approach. There is a faint, awful scent that looms in the air, but it is not strong enough to cause concern. Not yet.

A pharmacy.

You need to find one.

If you want to make it back to their camp by nightfall, then you can only waste about an hour or two here. You could spend the night in a tree and trek the 20 kilometers tomorrow, but sleeping in a branch is even more unpleasant than your shed and it is risky. You were willing to do it when you had no other choice, but what if some unfriendly people find you this time? Perhaps even unfriendlier than the threat of Ghost's knife to your neck.

An hour is killed just searching for the pharmacy.

You roam the empty streets.

Finally, you catch sight of the faded sign and your heart leaps. But the excitement fades away when your nose and eyes detect the group of Greys just outside the building in an empty parking lot. Their pale eyes aren’t pointed at you yet, so you move behind a crumpled car for cover. If you had gotten any closer, they surely would've smelled your human flesh.

You take a deep breath. How many are there?

Carefully, you poke your head out just an inch to survey the threat. Six of those fucks. That is doable given the range.

The last time you ran into Greys, you had no choice but to run because of the bow Ghost stepped on. This time, you can kill them off with the bow carved by his hands.

You are quick with it. You stand and release arrow by arrow. Four of the six are headshots. You aren't perfect. The last two receive arrows through their shoulders, but this type of wound means nothing to a Grey. It is their brains that are infected with the virus, just like Blue said.

These two begin running towards you, now catching a whiff of your scent.

You climb on top of the car. Hitting a running target is far trickier. You go for the faster one first, using two more arrows before hitting the skull, grey chunks of brain splattering onto the concrete. The slower one just barely reaches the car before you finish it off, the closer distance sharpening this final hit.

The pharmacy is reachable now.

As you run over, you gather the used arrows. Precious ammo. You pull them out of their bodies with a twist and a putrid squelch.

When you push through the doors to the pharmacy, you almost choke. The shelves— they are empty. You breeze through every aisle, eyes and hands seeking anything that could be left, but there is nothing. You check the back. You check the shelves behind the counter.

Empty, empty, empty.

“Oh, fuck me,” you croak. Hot tears spill down your cheeks.

You half expected this.

But you’ve come all this way.

You need something.

There must be somewhere else you can look.

The cars maybe. Most people used to keep med kits somewhere inside. There is a slight chance that one could’ve been forgotten. It is worth a try.

You keep moving, not wanting to return with an empty bag. The white sun hangs high. The dry air turns your tear-stained cheeks sticky. You pick up rocks to begin breaking the windows of the abandoned cars, poking your arm inside to undo the locks, and rummaging through the glove compartments.

CDs, magazines, condom wrappers.

Nothing.

“Please, please.”

You make it down the street like this, checking every single one. Distracted, you shatter the glass of a white sedan without noticing the shadow laying in the backseat.

Fingers wrap around your wrist as you reach for the inner lock.

A maggot-filled mouth lurches for the flesh of your hand.

An arrow won't work here. With a cry, you use your free hand to grab the revolver from your pocket and shoot its head. The sound echoes. The single bullet burrows right between its eyes. The Grey writhes for a moment before going limp against the seat.

Panting, you have to pry the bony fingers off your wrist.

Again, you search the glove compartment. In this car where the stench is thick enough to sicken you, a med kit and a Twix bar fall into your hands.

“Fuck— thank you.”

You stash both into your homemade bag.

You could leave now, but you are itching for some antibiotics. The kit will help you clean wounds without Ghost's help, but it won’t save you if you develop an infection.

The next idea you have is to check a house.

By the look of the sky, you can fit in at least two quick searches. You run over to the next street and kick at the front door of the first one you see. Nothing but knocked-over furniture and torn wallpaper. The bathroom cabinet is empty.

The next one you fight inside is decorated with furniture that smells like faded perfume. The first room you check is a bedroom. In the center, a full set of bones lies on the bed, void of any meat after God knows how long its been there. You try not to look at it. On the floor lies a pile of clothes. You could use some more, still dressed in the ones Ghost found you in. You don't even look at them, just grab what you can fit in your bag and move on to the bathroom.

Here, beside a pair of molded dentures, you find two half-full bottles of pills.

Amoxicillin.

Paracetamol.

You cry some more.

It's not much, but it is enough for now.

Your muscles are fatigued by the time you make it back.

You reek of sweat. It is a long walk. You run into a few more Greys but manage them. You eat the squirrel you brought.

Darkness covers the forest just when you spot the camp's fence in the distance. Relief. You actually did it. Some pride breathes into your tired lungs.

As you get closer, you make out two silhouettes leaving the gate. One is a girl who you tiredly smile at the sight of, and the other is a bulky tank.

You leap over the trench.

But when your boots land on the other side, the end of a rifle pokes your breastbone and prevents you from getting any closer.

"Ghost."

You can't help but shout at him, eyes widening. He is pointing a gun at you? You were just beginning to think he could tolerate you enough to not threaten murder anymore. The memory of your first encounter resurfaces.

"It's just me! What the hell are you doing?"

Panic finds you once again. Your chest rises and falls under his gun’s touch. You glance at Blue, who tries to get near you, but he sticks out an arm to keep her away.

"Dad," Blue groans, "Do you really have to— ”

The tip of the rifle brushes up over your collarbone and toward your neck. Your nerves awaken under cold metal.

"Let me see." His voice is firm.

Oh. Bites. He wants to see if you have any bites.

"Okay, okay." You nod breathlessly.

Swallowing, you gather your braided hair in your hands as he clicks on a flashlight. You have not been offered string to tie them with so most of the hair has fallen out as always. You roll your neck to one side, and then to the other to show him the unmarked skin. But he is not satisfied yet.

He moves the rifle down to the hem of your shirt and uses it to lift up the fabric just beneath your breasts, revealing the skin of your stomach and ribs. You should feel exposed, standing here with your bare midriff under the light, but the two of them have already seen this much of you. You are more concerned about the fact that he could kill you if he actually suspects you could’ve been bitten.

The cold air invites a shiver. Your teeth clench as you stare at him. In the darkness, his eyes almost lean red.

He lowers your shirt.

"Roll 'em up for me,” he demands, now giving a nod to your trousers.

You bend over to roll up the pantlegs, all the way up to your knees so he can’t complain about it. All that is revealed are your unshaven legs and sweat-laced socks. You are sure they can smell them from where they stand.

"She doesn't have any stupid bites, Ghost, alright?"

Blue tugs at his arm with a huff. Finally, the rifle lowers. You straighten back up and exhale the short breath you were holding.

There is a silent moment where the three of you just stand there. An owl hoots. Ghost rubs at his masked jaw and looks you over some more, eyes flicking to the filled bag over your shoulder with a raised brow.

And then, something unexpected.

A small body whirls into yours and you almost stumble back in a step. Blue wraps her arms around your waist and excitedly breathes out, "I knew you'd make it back. Ghost said you wouldn't. I told him you would."

What?

It is a short-lived hug.

But still, the first one you have had in a long time.

After this tiring day, your eyes close with some more moisture. It is a strange feeling, her young embrace. Her palms spread flat against your back and she presses her forehead to your shoulder because she is tall enough to reach it. You are just about to hug her in return, move your arms around her shoulders out of instinct, but she is soon tugged away by a skeletal hand. Her blue eyes drift down to her boots. She looks a mix of irritated and embarrassed.

In a daze, you end up back in the warmth of the cabin.

Blue begs you to show her what you found. You dump the contents of your pillowcase onto the table. Her father’s shadow lurks behind you somewhere, always watching and taking up space, but for now, you ignore him.

You cannot recall a time when you were in this kind of mood. It is enough to surface the waters of your grief. Because now, your survival does not have to rely so much on Ghost's mercy or the risk of Blue’s sneaky hands. Food, a med kit, one type of antibiotic. It should all be enough to keep you alive - to take care of yourself - for at least however long you end up staying here.

"Shit balls." Blue rummages through the goods. "You did pretty good."

"Right? I can't believe it," you whisper numbly. You wipe your eyes.

She holds up the clothes first, starting with a large, floral blouse that looks like something an old lady would wear. Her head tips back with a giggle.

"This is way too big for you."

"I'll make it work," you say, shrugging, but almost manage a quiet laugh, too. You don't really give a fuck what the clothes look like. At least you can change finally into something else - something that didn’t belong to your dead companions.

Where you care about the medicine, Blue is far more intrigued by the candy bar she discovers. She holds it up, and inspects the wrapper with curiously wide eyes, shooting a glance at her dad.

"T-w-i-x," she sounds out with pinched brows. She looks back at you. "What's this?"

"It's like... chocolate," you tell her.

"Oh— no way. Could I try some?"

You don't really care about the Twix bar. You almost forgot about it since the moment you found it in the car. But before you can tell her she can just have it as a late birthday gift - because she has done so much for you - Ghost moves to take it from her hands.

He puts it back down on the table.

“What’s hers is hers, kid. That’s how it works here.“

#simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley x you #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley #ghost #zombies #cod #zombie apocolypse au

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unrefinedmusings · 1 year

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snooze

pairing: no outbreak!joel miller x f!reader

summary: after a few blissful weeks of dating, you meet the most important people in Joel's life in the worst way. part 1: sweet, sweet sugar (can be read as standalone)

warnings: allusions to smut, explicit language, age gap (reader is mid 20s, Joel is 36) smidge of nasty talk, one use of y/n

a/n: took ten years to write a sequel but the joel miller girlies are still going strong so who cares? thank you for all the support for part 1! btw this was inspired by the scene in gilmore girls the morning after luke and lorelai's first date hehe

---

The mid-morning light awoke you. You were surrounded by warmth, by Joel. He had you wrapped up in his arms, his chest acting as your pillow. The smile on your face grew bigger as you remembered where you were: in his bed, in his house.

Sleepovers happened less than often between you two, and up until last night they had been held exclusively at your apartment. But with Sarah staying over at a friend’s and Tommy staying over at a “friend’s”, you were finally allowed a bigger glimpse into your maybe boyfriend’s life.

You were tempted to stay in bed with Joel, even just to watch him sleep. However, you vaguely remembered the blaring sound of an alarm clock going off earlier. Your response had been to nuzzle further into the man next to you, and it seemed Joel’s was to turn off the clock entirely. Due to your busy schedules, you cherished your time together and did not want to waste any more unconscious.

Despite the sluggishness in your body, you trudged down the stairs to make some coffee for you and your still snoozing man. If you hadn’t still been so dazed from slumber, you would have registered the light noises of chewing and metal scraping against plates. Maybe then you wouldn’t have been standing in front of your maybe not anymore boyfriend’s brother and daughter in nothing but a precariously buttoned flannel shirt.

Your jaw dropped but no sound came out as you stared wide eyed at the two of them sitting at the breakfast table. Their faces glimmered with surprise and a hint of mischief. Tommy’s gaze met Sarah and he sent her an impish grin before turning back to you. Not that you were processing any of that right now. You were too busy silently praying that Joel’s shirt was long enough to cover the array of hickeys he left on your thighs last night. You knew it wasn’t covering the ones he left on your neck.

The man’s got a possessive streak.

Tommy cleared his throat before speaking.

“Hel-“

That’s all he could utter before you darted right back up the stairs to Joel’s room. You shut the door behind you before letting out a long, shuddering exhale and pacing the room.

A familiar groan caught your attention. “Baby, c’mon back to bed.”

There you were, trying to recover from one of the most mortifying moments of your life, and there he was, barely awake and looking delicious with the sheets lying dangerously low around his naked waist.

Ugh, men. It wasn’t enough to just be unhelpful. He had to be sexy and distracting right now too.

With heavy eyelids, Joel catches your form across the room. He lingers on your bare legs before meeting your glare with a suggestive grin.

“Think I need somethin’ sweet to start the day. Why dontcha come sit that pretty pussy on my face, sugar?”

For a second, you forget about everything but his tongue and all it was capable of.

NO!

“We’re not alone…in the house,” you said meekly.

Joel sat up in bed before replying, “What?”

“Tommy and Sarah are in the kitchen! I went downstairs to make coffee and walked in on them eating breakfast. I ran back up before they could even say anything.”

“They’re not supposed to be home until 10.”

You grabbed his watch from the dresser and tossed it at him. “It’s 10:30! We slept through your alarm!”

He let out a grunt of annoyance before getting out of bed and grabbing a pair of sweats off the floor.

“I’m sorry, sugar. We’ll explain it to ‘em and-“, he paused, turning to you. “Hold on now, did you go downstairs like that?”

“…Yes.”

“You’re not wearing any pants.”

“I know that!”

“You mean to tell me my brother saw you with no pants on?”

“Seriously? That’s what you’re focused on right now?”

“I don’t want Tommy gettin’ any ideas about what’s mine.”

His. His. His. He said I’m h—no!

You forced yourself to focus on planning an escape.

“Do you think I could climb out the window?”

He shot you a look. The look. “You are not climbing out the goddamn window.”

“Back door?”

Joel lets out a long exhale before walking over to where you’re standing. He pulls you into his chest and you melt into the embrace, his hands gently rubbing your back to comfort you further.

“Sugar, we’re gonna get dressed, go downstairs, say hello, and if you want, have breakfast with Sarah and Tommy. If not, I’ll take you out the front door and give ya’ a ride home.”

“…breakfast sounds good.”

You feel the rumble of his laugh before a press of his lips meets your forehead.

After finally getting some bottoms on, Joel leads you downstairs, undeterred by your dragging feet. You couldn’t help it, you were so embarrassed.

This plus the age difference…they probably think I’m some airhead.

As you reach the kitchen, Joel speaks, “Sarah, Tommy.” He pauses before turning to you, a small but proud smile on his face, and says, “I’d like you to meet Y/N. We’ve been dating a few weeks now.”

The two Millers at the table send you bright smiles and welcome you to their home. You give them a shy smile and a wave, slightly reassured by their hospitality. The two of them traded your plate back and forth across the table until it’s piled high with waffles, eggs, and bacon.

After a few minutes of pleasant small talk, Joel turned to Sarah and, in a more serious tone, spoke, “Now, I’m sorry I sprung this on you with no warni—“

“I already knew,” Sarah interrupted. “You were pretty insistent Uncle Tommy make plans once I told you about my sleepover at Hannah’s. Why else would you need the house all to yourself? Overnight too? Not to mention,” she paused to pop a blueberry in her mouth, “you’ve been bathing more often. Generally, looking less scruffy. I knew something was up.”

You couldn’t help but snort at her comment. Joel grumbled around a forkful of eggs, “Five minutes at breakfast and you two are already gangin’ up on me.”

Tommy rolled his eyes at his brother.

As if Joel minded that his two girls were getting along.

---

💕💕💕 Thank you for reading 💕💕💕

#joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller smut #joel miller x you #joel miller x y/n #the last of us #hbo the last of us #hbo tlou #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller fic #the last of us fanfiction #the last of us fic #joel miller imagine

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lxmelle · 5 days

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I wanted to make a post on the number of times Gojo and Geto “meet halfway” even beyond death. Just a complication of moments!

Spoilers if you’re anime-only.

Gojo Satoru stops in his tracks upon hearing something roll onto the floor; quickly followed by the voice of someone whom he killed with his own hands.

More under the cut:

Gate open!

The same words upon a 10-year separation. Not “hisashiburi ne” but “hisashi ne” (a shortened version):

(Worth noting: the flashback image of Gojo after killing Geto looks eerily like Toji upon death. There is a deliberate parallel.)

Gojo tries to make sense of what is happening and his six eyes registers the physical information that it’s really Geto.

In processing this he is momentarily flooded with memories of the best 3 years of his life - the Blue Spring 青い春.

Ironically like being flooded with information after being hit by unlimited void, as there have been others who pointed out.

He was rendered immobile with information on his precious memories and that’s what seals him.

His mind was matching up information from his physical senses (six eyes) and his soul (presenting as feeling).

And his soul refutes the information. His mind knows Geto wouldn’t do this. Thus, he knows otherwise.

Here is where he reverts back to “ore” 俺 as his raw and authentic self presents itself for a the moment where he is experiencing heightened emotions from the sacrilege before him that gets his trapped.

And it all kinda sucks because seems unfair that Gojo is going to suffer again for what seems to be a heavily one-sided pining for his best friend.

But then, Geto, who really is unable to react (because it isn’t Geto, as he is actually dead) ... still manages to do something.

Although like a dragonfly whose head has been cut off, it responds. His body appears to be imprinted with information despite his brain (mind) and soul not being there.

As someone pointed out on Twitter/now X, Gojo reacts to Geto’s words/presence and Geto react to his name being called (and possibly also from seeing Gojo in that position):

Gege, thank you for making this a reciprocal moment.

That smug lil smile from Gojo also kinda depicts a small victory that he made that happen. Something, as a reader, we appreciate that even the ancient Kenjaku has never encountered before - the vessel reacting whilst he is the host.

It’s poetic how they react to each other despite the situation where one is practically dead but can still depict sentiments of a strong bond.

Gege follows up on this with a moment between Toji and Megumi to illustrate another example of parallelism and emphasis, just 7-8 chapters later:

The narrator doesn’t finish the sentence, but it hints at how the remnants of a soul can still persist within the body if it’s important enough. Leading the body to react even if the brain isn’t there in Geto’s case, and the body in a vessel can still react even if it’s soul information wasn’t summoned by the curse technique user.

It also hints at the parallels between Geto and Toji who died after yielding and “burying” a part of themselves.

The reciprocal nature of Gojo and Geto extends to the afterlife scene.

Can I just add (again) that I love how they’re sitting closer together than compared with when the chapter began? 🤭 yes I like repeating myself because i dedicated a whole post on it before

And I like how they meet halfway there too.

Isn’t it romantic somehow? Last person Geto saw before his death was Gojo, and the first person Gojo saw was Geto in the afterlife.

I wrote this in another post but I’ll include that here too: the top bit is in reference to Geto’s death where his reaction acknowledges that he doesn’t feel he deserves the loving words, but rather a curse at the end.

Link: https://www.tumblr.com/lxmelle/748022415626567680/ah-this-makes-lots-of-sense-especially-that?source=share

And taken from my other whopper of a post on souls because I’m too lazy to write it all again:

The end.

Thank you for sharing in my satosugu indulgence.

Please feel free to share and reblog with other moments worth pointing out! ╰(*´︶`*)╯~♡

#satosugu brainrot #satosugu #stsg #gojo satoru #geto suguru #jjk analysis #jjk #jjk spoilers #jjk anime #jujutsu kaisen gojo #jujutsu kaisen geto #jujutsu kaisen satosugu #gojogeto #gojo x geto #jujutsu kaisen geto suguru #geto x gojo #goge gego

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wowowwild · 5 days

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Ace's All Time Best Fic Rec List (AATBFRL) April 2024: Ace Attorney

It's been a 6 months since my last list so here we go again! (I specified Ace Attorney in case I start doing this for other fandoms.) I originally planned to have all the old recs here as well but the list was too long so here's a link to the previous list. These aren't necessarily in any particular order, but if you can think of a good way for me to organize them, please let me know for future lists!

P.S. Anything rated over T mentions that immediately for your browsing convenience.

Doing more self promotion this year, so check out my pinned post or fic tag (desktop only)!

London, 2021- 7 yg Wrightworth hint of Krisnix. Phoenix is presently in London with Edgeworth. Phoenix is presently knowing that he knows about Kristoph but doesn't want to acknowledge it bc Kristoph has been really good to him and Trucy. But that doesn't matter right now bc they're going to the theatre.

if you leave the light on- 7yg Wrightworth. Nothing can happen until it's over but something Keeps happening. Miles will wait as long as it takes and Trucy decides he's part of the family.

In The Dead Of Night- During the 7yg Edgeworth invites the Wrights to Europe. Trucy has a nightmare and 'Uncle Miles' comforts her.

Phoenix's List- After getting his badge back, Phoenix has some regrets and sets about fixing what he can.

Perfect- I actually found this on another fic rec list and I can see why it was their favorite. Set towards the end of the trial of Bridge to Turnabout. TW if you have memory issues, it might be a little hard to get through parts bc of all the mindfuckery. I have to be really vague here so as not to spoil it. (Wrightworth)

Eo Nomine- Klapollo fake marriage turned real marriage but ig that's what happen when you get fake married while being real in love.

the best you'll never have- Rated M for sex reasons. I love the tagline: "Someone else's wedding is something that can actually be so personal". It's a Blackmadhi complicated relationship, what relationship, they weren't actually dating but also...

Apollo and the Artist (1975 - Oil paint, wax crayon, pencil, collage)- Rated M for mentioned sex reasons. Apollo is not an art person. But to Klavier he is art... and also a person. They've known each other for 8 years and it's probably been coming for just as long. It was a long time coming.

darling i'd wait for you (even if you didn't ask me to)- Wrightworth fake date bc Edgeworth needs a plus one to a wedding for some guy, it's not really important. But the cake sucks.

A Knight in a Loud Red Suit- oh my god oh my god oh my god Klavier gets shot and Apollo stabs a guy. And also love confessions at the hospital. They could have me also if they wanted.

Written- Rated E for sex reasons. Edgeworth moonlights as a Steel Samurai fic writer, and due to it being an obvious coping mechanism for his life and feeling Maya finds out... and accidentally sends a fic to Phoenix who... finds out. Half of the smut is Edgeworth's own fanfic, so we get like... fanfic-ception. That doesn't really work with more than one syllable words, huh...

Lover Be Good to Me- Rated M for implied sex reasons. 5+1 klapollo wooing each other.

Love Love Love- Rated M for implied sex reasons. klapollo is messy in a good way and takes wayyyy too long to call themselves boyfriends. Set from middle of aa4 to past aa6.

delicate- Rated M for sex reasons. klapollo is messy in a bad way (long distance is hard) and they break up but it works out, I prommy. If you don't like angst you'll want to skip this one, though.

(i was) enchanted to meet you- klavquill! I love them, I need to read more fics with them. They meet at the Prosecutor gala for the first time and sparks fly. Actually, they were fireworks, but that's not important.

Process of Elimination- Rated M for sex reasons. One day I will read a fic where Blackmadhi is not complicated as hell. Can they ever talk about their feelings? Apparently I like this, though, bc I keep reading and recc'ing them. Um, Nahyuta is looking for a fuck buddy and by 'process of elimination' ends up deciding on Blackquill but whoops! Feelings.

feel your skin- Rated M for one boner. Klavier is infuriating AND wearing lipgloss and Apollo can't take it. Cue making out in the janitor's closet.

moribund- I keep thinking about this one so I need everyone else to read and think about it with me. Pre Gant busting, POV Lana has to help clean up his messes. This a comedy, mostly of errors.

chronophobia- StarrSkye (AngelxLana) Be forewarned, you are going to cry. Lana has done her time and is trying to find a way to reconnect with the most important people from her past.

Crash! Landing- Junithena, fantastic traumatized autistic representation, if I do say so myself as a traumatized autistic person. It is very sweet and Juniper is a real one. I need me one of those.

In Pursuit of Justice- This one is not yet complete, but I preemptively j'adore'd it. It's a klapollo. Sebastian is great. He says Apollo looks like a frog (accurate).

Witcheln Woes- Secret Santa klapollo and they are cute and Clay is alive and it is sooooo fluffy.

Samurai Swear- Maya making besties with Edgeworth! Maya and Phoenix being besties also! Dash of mutual pining wrigthworth.

Missing You/Missing Time- Ok, hear me out, yes, the mystical bullshit tag is accurate, and de-aging is a weird concept, but !!! It actually serves this story very well! It is a fanfic that feels like a fanfic, but sometimes you want that, you know? Not every fanfic needs to feel like Little Women. Established klapollo first I love yous.

#aatbfrl #ace attorney #klapollo #wrightworth #narumitsu #blackmadhi #junithena #starrskye #klavquill #ace attoney #krisnix #i'm not listing individual characters but there are other things in here besides ship fics

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shaisuki · 10 days

Note

Hi, I just discovered your blog and I love it, we need more chubby readers! 💜

Can I request yandere Sanzu and Izana (separate) with a gender neutral reader? When they discovered that his s/o have really bad nightmares (maybe because is the first time sleeping together or because they are spying on them while they are sleeping, wharever you want I'm sure will be amazing!)

[hurt/comfort]

DON'T LET THE BED BUGS BITE

FT. SANZU HARUCHIYO, IZANA KUROKAWA

content warnings: stalking, mentions of murder and illegal activities, hints at noncon, dubcon, bonten sanzu, delusional thoughts.

synopsis: a nightmare, what kind was it or is the person watching you is the nightmare?

sanzu had barely the time to take sleep when the night comes. as an executive of bonten he's usually tasked in cleaning out the traitors and exterminating them out of their holes. one could say that it is too tiring but to sanzu nothing's too tasking when it comes for the sake of bonten. after all of that blood he will reward himself going back to you.

to his sweet darling.

residing into one of the most expensive penthouse he owns where he kept you captive and provided with your basic needs. he recently just moved you there where he can keep you under surveillance with multiple bodyguards at the door. your security is far above more important, second to bonten.

tonight is where he will have the time to be with you. bonten was taking much of his time and leaving you all by yourself and he shall make his presence known to you and he was brimming with excitement.

masking it with a cold hard stare as he passed the halls where your bodyguards are stationed and within a minute he's standing in front of your shared bedroom with him. expecting you would be asleep at this hour sanzu carefully steps in but only to find you awake.

gaze softening a bit when he sees you. shivering from what he knows as fear. “don't be afraid.” he mutters. a huge grin plastered in his face as he throws his vest followed by his gloves being removed.

you should be. you were taken away from home and you're in an unknown place with a stranger who claims to be your protector but you didn't need one.

“i need to go home please.” pulling the blankets and shoving them beside you. sanzu frowns. “nonsense. you belong here now and it's our first night. you don't want to upset me.” his voice dead calm and you bit your lips. finding there was no way you can reason with a man like him.

your body jerk before your brain could process what was happening. cold hands in your shoulder while you're being slowly pushed in bed. his smile offsetting by the scars in the corner of his mouth moving. “w—what are you doing?” you stammer out. heart beating a mile from the touch and the bells ringing in your head from what he's about to do.

“putting you to bed. you had a long day and i shall rest with you.” placing himself beside you and you were not sure what you are doing and he said to rest and so you complied but still scared to the bone with an unknown man forcing you to sleep with him.

your head hit the pillows and you were covered by the blanket you previously shoved. “sleep.” he orders. “aren't you going to sleep?” you ask him. he only shushes you however your mind and body isn't accustomed to being with him. part of you thinks that you need to follow him or else it's going to be bad. trying to ease your mind and relaxing your body, your eyes begin to get droopy and the last thing you see is his torso and the feeling of his hand gently petting your head.

a content stoic look graces sanzu's face. he didn't had the time to admire you closer and when you've gone to sleep, he sees all the blemishes decorating your face along what you hid underneath that pajama. it's been a month since he made you captive. obsessed with the idea of you being his and so he did.

your chest falls up and down with every breath you take. adorned with a soft body and although he's quite sleepy he resisted it. he wanted to take you this night but left the idea of it. he can do it the next time and you're looking much more tired than him.

tenderness isn't the no. two of bonten's executive greatest strength. used to the taste of ecstasy pills giving him the adrenaline along with the blood bath of traitors and enemies and yet he's capable of this to you along with the filth he wishes to do so.

his cold digits brushed over to the roundness of your cheek and before he could fully admire it, a whimper coming from your lips and your brows furrowing indicated that you were having a nightmare and in his sick mind enjoys seeing the look of terror in your face along with your body convulsing but haruchiyo can't be cruel to you for long.

he gently shake you up and when he got your body ridden with nightmare awake, he pulls you closer towards him. his thin arms wrapped around your shoulder while he whispers you sweet nothings until you're fully calmed down. soft pants coming from you and sanzu might discovered that you're prone to having nightmares and he feels a little bad. who would comfort you when he's not with you? it's not like he's permitting others to touch you cause he won't. a bullet would come for them before they can lay a finger to you.

“it's only a nightmare.” he whispers to you. your plush body cradled by him. you pursed your lips. as if a nightmare isn't bad enough not when your kidnapper is comforting you. playing along is what you can do and you manage to get yourself back to sleep. afraid of what the morning comes and what your brain might conjure up. it's the least of your worries, really.

it is nothing when your greatest nightmare is besides you.

IZANA KUROKAWA

the night is only reserved for the creatures like izana.

thin rectangular hanafuda earrings gently sways with breeze along with the strands of his white hair. his red gang uniform delicately moves with the wind. it's almost to similar to wind chimes tinkling with the summer breeze rolling.

that's why you weren't awoken up to his presence being near to your sleeping form. it would destroy his plans if you were to find him. izana doesn't like to make his appearance known to you. contented lurking in the shadows. ensuring his beloved is safe and away from the dangers of the streets and he could always admire you.

watch as you peacefully snooze under the covers of your room. soon to be terrorized of nightmares that awaits you upon descending in your wonderland. izana doesn't like that. it is bad to start when he can't comfort you. he needs to wait or it will just go down in the flames.

first time it happened, although he may not show it he's deeply worried about you. your angelic face scrunched up with sweat beading in your forehead and the small whimpers similar to cries. tossing back and forth and you wake up with terror upon your face. it hurts him. he wishes he was there to ease and tell you that it was fine and it's only a nightmare.

izana may be cruel and bitter but he can show compassion to his beloved. loved them dearly and he must work to fulfill his plans and achieved his goals and when all is on place, you would depend on him. find solace where him is only way to have peace.

and one day, you would regret when he's taking you away from your world and he would be the nightmare that didn't visit you in your mind but only to chain you with him.

#♱ ⋮ shai's works⸝⸝#chubby reader #tokyo revengers x reader #tokyo revengers #tokyo rev x reader #tokyo rev x you #tokyo revengers sanzu #sanzu haruchiyo #sanzu x reader #haruchiyo sanzu x reader #izana x reader #tokyo revengers izana #izana kurokawa #tokyo

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cherry-holmes · 7 months

Text

Glimpse of a life with Javier Peña (series)

Chapter 2

MAIN MASTERLIST

Summary: Javi fucked up things with you.

SERIES MASTERLIST PART 3

Pairing: Javier Peña x Female Reader

Word count: +2.5k

Warnings: none. No use of Y/N.

A/N: Chapter 2 is here! As always I want to thank you for your support! I hope you like this one and be ready for moreeee!🫶🏻✨ I love reading your comments and reblogs, so keep the coming✨

I’m open for requests. Javier Peña, Joel Miller, Din Djarin, Loki, BBC Sherlock, Supernatural…😏

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Work made time fly quickly. You had a lot of paperwork to do every day, and it seemed endless – spending hours reading reports and files and then translating them on your typewriter. However, something had been making the last two weeks feel easier, or better to say, someone.

Every afternoon, Javier Peña visited your office to hand you his and Murphy's daily reports. You wondered when Messina would withdraw Javier's punishment, but you weren't sure if you wanted her to do it. You didn't have a lot of friends at work since your department consisted of only one employee – you. You had some conversations with secretaries and officers during your lunch breaks, but you always returned alone to your small office.

So, when Javier visited and talked with you for at least a couple of minutes, it made you feel less isolated in the demanding work environment. The couple of days when he didn't visit because he was on a raid out of the base, you couldn't help but feel a bit disappointed. You became accustomed to the smell of cigarettes and men's cologne that lingered in the air whenever he was around. Sometimes he also smelled like black coffee, and on his roughest days, even like whiskey.

It became a small but pleasant routine, these short daily visits from Javier. You'd sometimes share a funny story or a piece of office gossip, and occasionally, you'd laugh together. Those brief moments helped create a sense of camaraderie between you and the charming DEA agent.

Until one particular day, as Javier handed you the reports, he leaned casually against your office doorframe, a playful grin tugging at his lips. "You know," he began, "I've been thinking. Maybe you and I should grab a drink after work one of these days. Get to know each other a little better, outside of this crazy office."

His proposition took you by surprise. You hadn't expected this kind of invitation. Your mind raced as you tried to decide how to respond. Javier watched you intently, his eyes filled with a mix of curiosity and something else you couldn't quite put your finger on.

You were about to say yes immediately, but you knew better than to let yourself fall into the den of the beast so easily. You had heard a lot about Javier Peña and his charming ways, known to lead any woman to his bed. And although you had been enjoying the friendly conversations with him, you didn't want to rush into anything too quickly.

You met his gaze, your own eyes locking with his. "Javier," you began carefully, "I appreciate the offer, I really do. But, I have to be honest, you have quite the reputation, and I don't want to misinterpret our friendship."

Javier's smirk hesitated, as he tried to process your response. He looked like it was the first time he'd been rejected, and it caught him off guard. He straightened his back and moved his hand as if dismissing the importance of it all.

"Wow," he said with a touch of sarcasm, "I never thought I'd see the day when someone turned down a night with Javier Peña. Guess I overestimated our connection."

His words stung, and you could see a flicker of hurt in his eyes, even though he was trying to play it cool. You had unintentionally wounded his pride, and it seemed he was determined to strike back with a hint of meanness.

"It's not about our connection, Javier," you replied evenly. "It's about respecting boundaries and not rushing into something we might regret later."

«That I might regret later».

He sighed, his tone softening just a bit. "Fair enough. I get it. I won't push," he said, his playful charm replaced by a more somber demeanor. "Let's just forget I ever brought it up. We can stick to our friendly chats. No harm done."

The atmosphere in the room grew tense, and you both lapsed into an uneasy silence. It was clear that your rejection had affected him more than he let on, and you couldn't help but feel a sting of guilt for hurting his feelings.

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

He didn't mean it.

"I never thought I'd see the day when someone turned down a night with Javier Peña"?

What the fuck was that shit?

As Javier left your office, he felt guilty and embarrassment for saying that. He knew his behavior wasn't correct, but the disappointment he felt really took him by surprise. He had been rejected a couple of times, he was prepared for your possible refusal. But what he didn't expect was the heavy weight he would feel when he heard you saying no.

For weeks, he had been feeling increasingly drawn to you, always wanting to be near you. He even used Messina's punishment as an excuse to visit your office, even after she withdrew it. Javier had finally come to the disconcerting realization that he was infatuated with you. So, he thought that perhaps by taking you out for a drink and even having you in his bed, he would get over it.

But as he got into his truck, he felt truly disillusioned. His ill-advised words had driven a split between you, and he couldn't shake the feeling that he had ruined any chance of building something more meaningful. Javier's fear of commitment was something that never kept him awake at night, not even after everything that had happened with Lorraine. He felt genuinely sorry for leaving her at the altar thirteen years ago, but he always told himself that she was much better without him. She needed someone with a lot more commitment than he had. Now, the topic seemed to be haunting him.

He wasn't mad because you hurt his ego; he was mad because you hurt the feelings he didn't know he had.

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Javier didn't come to your office again the following week. It wasn't the first time a man stopped talking to you after you rejected him. You were used to it. The moment you made it clear you wouldn't give them what they wanted, they magically lost interest in you, sometimes even resorting to calling you boring or, occasionally, a bitch.

You could sense this double standard in society. On one hand, they encourage women to freely explore their sexuality, which is great, but on the other hand, if you prefer to wait for the right time and the right person, you get labeled as "boring" or "prudish." It's as if there's no middle ground, no understanding that everyone has their own path and timing.

You had always believed in waiting for the right person, the one you truly cared about, to share such an intimate moment. It wasn't about religion, you didn't even believe on the false concept of ''purity'' or ''santity''; it was simply your personal choice.

So you thought Javier was just another man like many. It made you feel disappointed because you really liked him, but there wasn't anything you could do about it.

As you entered the office dining room, you spotted your usual group of female friends. They greeted you, and you joined them. All of you spoke in Spanish.

"Hello" you smiled as you greeted as you took your seat. The chatter at the table was lively, filled with laughter and bits of gossip about the office. These women had become your companions, and you cherished the moments you spent with them during lunch breaks.

As the conversation flowed, one of your friends, Marta, leaned in and asked in a teasing tone, "So, we've been seeing Agent Peña hanging around your office quite often lately. What's the story there?"

The mention of Javier made you pause for a moment, and you glanced at your friends, slightly surprised that they had noticed. "Oh, that," you said, attempting to play it off casually. "It's because of Messina's punishment. She made him handed me his reports."

Ana raised an eyebrow, a mischievous glint in her eye. "Messina's punishment? Come on, you were chatting for like two weeks straight. That punishment lasts only a couple of days."

You felt your cheeks flush as you tried to maintain your composure. Your friends were sharp, and they clearly had their suspicions. "Well," you began, searching for words, "maybe he did something to bother her again. You know how bossy she can get."

The women at the table exchanged knowing looks, and one of them, Maria, couldn't help but tease, "Hmm, a bad boy indeed. He must really that bad."

You sighed internally. With a sheepish smile, you finally confessed, "Okay, fine. We've been talking a lot. But it's just work-related, I promise."

Marta grinned. "Work-related, huh? Well, you can't blame us for being curious. Agent Peña isn't known for spending that much time in one place, especially chatting with a colleague."

You shrugged, realizing that your friends had seen through your explanation. "I guess we've been getting along. It's nice to have someone to talk to during those long work hours."

Your friends exchanged knowing glances again, and Maria leaned closer, her voice hushed. "Come on, spill the beans. Is there something more going on between you two?"

You hesitated, then decided to be honest. "No, there isn't. It's just work and friendly conversations. Javier is a nice guy, and I enjoy our talks."

Maria leaned in again, her tone more serious this time. "That's good to hear then, because, you know, we found out that he slept with Kelly. You know her, didn't you? The blonde one."

You paused, your heart sinking at the revelation. It didn't surprised you, but you felt a hole in your chest.

"Oh," you tried to composed yourself, "Well for them."

Sofia chimed in, her expression concerned. "Yeah, we just don't want you to get hurt. These things usually don't end well. Men like him, they tend to move on pretty quickly."

"You don't have nothing to worry about," you tell them, mixing your food but you had lost your appetite, "There's nothing between us, so Javier is free to do anyone he please."

The conversation moved on to other topics, but you couldn't help but feel a ache of disappointment and confusion. Why did Javier's involvement with someone else affect you like this? You told yourself it didn't matter, that you had your own principles and choices to stick to. But deep down, something had shifted, and you couldn't quite put your finger on it.

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

You and Javier had crossed paths around the office a couple of times during the following days, but neither of you made the effort to talk to each other. It was a bit awkward, but nothing that you actually mourned. You had heard that he spent at least two more nights with Kelly, until apparently, as you heard from Martha, she asked him to be more than just friends, and he said no. It wasn't a surprise; he had done that to more women at work. Everybody knew him.

On the other hand, Javier was desperate to get you out of his dreams. He told himself that he couldn't put a name to what he felt toward you, but the reality was that he just wanted to accept it. He had feelings for you, more than just wanting to be with you in bed. He wasn't in love - yet - but he did feel something. Your refusal had hit him harder than he expected. He couldn't deny that he cared more about you than he ever thought he would. But he had no idea how to approach you now.

The dimly lit room was filled with the lingering scent of passion and cigarette as Javier stood by the window, staring up at the distant lights of the city. Helena, lying on his bed, propped herself up on one elbow.

"Javi, what's been bothering you lately?," Helena asked, her voice soft and concerned.

Javier turned his head to look at her, his dark eyes meeting hers. He sighed and ran a hand through his tousled hair. "It's nothing, Helena, just work stuff," he replied, trying to dismiss her question.

Helena wasn't convinced. She had known Javier long enough to recognize when something was troubling him. "You can't fool me, Javier," she said with a knowing smile. "I can recognize a heart that's burdened."

He looked at her, his guard dropping slightly. "It's complicated," he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper.

Helena knew better than to press him for more details. As she watched Javier's back, her feelings were a complex mix of desire, longing, and a touch of sadness. She had known for a while that Javier was not just her client; she had developed a connection beyond the physical, even though Javier didn't.

She felt a heartache, waves of jealousy running through her veins, knowing that she could never compete with the other woman in his thoughts. Helena understood the nature of their arrangement – she was a hooker, and he was a DEA agent. Their worlds were inherently different, and she had resigned herself to the fact that he would never see her as more than a source of pleasure and information. Yet, despite her own rationalizations, Helena couldn't help but yearn for something more with Javier. She had developed genuine feelings for him over time, even though she knew it was a one-sided affair.

After Helena left his apartment, the night grew darker, and Javier lay awake in his bed, his mind racing with thoughts of you. He couldn't deny the growing feelings he had for you, and he knew he needed to do something about it. The distraction had reached a point where he couldn't ignore it any longer.

So he had made a decision. Tomorrow, he was going to approach you. He would apologize for the way he talked to you the other day, ask you out for a friendly drink, and see where things could go. It was a bold move for him, someone not accustomed to such personal pursuits.

As he mentally crafted his approach, he couldn't help but smile at the thought of your bright eyes and the way your laughter rang in his ears during those brief conversations in your office. Javier was convinced that there was something special about you, something that drew him in despite his best efforts to resist.

In the morning, Javier waited impatiently during the usual meeting in the office. He couldn't concentrate even when it was his turn to talk about the recent capture of one of Escobar's hitmen. Finally, as they left the meeting room, Murphy approached him and patted his back.

''Everything okay, Javi?'' he asked. Javier tried to keep it cool and waved a hand like it was nothing.

''I couldn't sleep well,'' he simply said as both agents arrived at their workplaces.

Steve chuckled, sitting at his desk and starting to gather all his paperwork. ''You were thinking about her, weren't you?'' he dared to ask. Javier and Steve trusted each other enough to tease one another. They never crossed the line but considered themselves friends.

Peña looked at him with annoyance, but it wasn't deep.

''Shut up, Murphy,'' he groaned as he gathered his own paperwork but didn't sit at his desk.

Steve looked at him with a grin, knowing his partner well enough to guess his next move.

''Two weeks without seeing her, and now you'll use Messina's punishment again as an excuse just to see her? What changed, Javi?'' he mocked.

''I told you to shut the fuck up,'' Javi said as he turned back toward your office, and Steve laughed.

Javier tried to remember the words he had spent the night trying to formulate and memorize. He was actually nervous. But just as he reached your doorway, his heart sank. He saw you engaged in conversation with Diego, another colleague from the office. The sight of you two talking, sharing a moment he wasn't a part of, left him feeling like an outsider. You were smiling, and there was a slight blush on your cheeks.

But not as flushed as she was with me, an intrusive thought echoed in the back of his head. He quickly turned away, his plans disrupted, and retreated to his own desk. Javier couldn't help but wonder if he had missed his chance with you. The uncertainty gnawed at him, leaving him in a state of frustration and craving.

NEXT CHAPTER

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holllandtrash · 1 year

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better than words | lando norris, pierre gasly

pairing: lando norris x reader, pierre gasly x reader part 4 to better left unsaid (the better series)

slowly but surely, pierre washes away your doubts and makes you question why you were ever hung up on Lando in the first place...you're finally ready to let someone new in, right?

word count: 5.3k tags: 18+, minors do not read, smut, its cute and soft but its also smut

Pierre called you out on being distant the second you stepped into the motorhome on friday afternoon.

His pre race interview from last week was still stuck in your mind. That and everything Lando said had been eating at you. You weren’t sure where you stood with Pierre and the distance during the week didn’t help.

Pierre sat on the edge of the couch and reached for your hand, pulling you to stand between his legs. He tilted his chin up as his other hand rested on your waist, tugging you closer to ensure you wouldn’t just walk away from this conversation. Communication wasn’t something he shied away from.

“Chérie,” his tone was warm. He wanted to pry inside your mind, but just so you two could be on the same page. “What’s going on? Tell me what you’re thinking about.”

“That interview, Pierre,” you didn’t want to be so soothed by his touch, but you had been deprived of any physical contact and you missed him.

Pierre shook his head slowly, it wasn’t clicking for him, “What interview?”

“Last weekend,” you clarified. “The pre-race one? Come on, you said that you weren’t about to allow Lando to get ahead? You were encouraging him to fight but weren’t about to let your guard down? I mean, you weren’t just talking about the cars. Max said that it seemed like you were hinting about me. Like I was what you were fighting over.”

Pierre’s lips pressed together tightly as he stifled his laughter. You didn’t like that he wasn’t taking this seriously and you started to step away, only he didn’t let you. He tugged you closer, squeezing your hand lovingly.

“Hey, come on,” Pierre chuckled. He shook his head again, “I don’t know what you inferred from that interview, but I can assure you it was only about the standings. Whatever Max said, whatever he put in your head, it was misconstrued to fit Lando’s narrative. I know you’re not some trophy, Y/N, you can’t be won.”

Fuck.

You felt like an idiot.

You were so quick to believe what Max and Lando had said, that Pierre’s comments meant something more, but they really shouldn’t be taken for anything other than face value. Lando would hear what he wanted to hear and that shouldn’t have been your problem.

Pierre’s eyes darted around your features, still trying to get a read on you, “That’s not all, is it?”

You shook your head.

“Trust and communication,” Pierre said. He had yet to pull his gaze off of you. To him, you, this, was the most important thing in the room. “The two pillars of any strong relationship. Tell me what’s on your mind.”

Pierre wasn’t typically demanding, but he knew what he wanted and what he wanted from you was an open and honest conversation.

“I talked to Lando,” you admitted. Pierre didn’t flinch. He didn’t give you any indication that he thought you made a mistake, he waited for you to finish. “More specifically, he apologised.”

“You made up?” He asked.

That was a difficult question to answer, “We’re on better terms. I can’t just insert myself back into his life, but he’s not-”

“He’s not going anywhere,” Pierre finished your exact thought. When a sharp inhale passed through his teeth, you felt his grip on your waist loosen the slightest bit. Pierre licked his lips, taking a second to process what that meant for you two moving forward.

Pierre knew you had loved him.

Did you still love him?

You didn’t let yourself think about it. You wanted to push those feelings to the back of your mind, you didn’t want to love Lando. You wanted the man in front of you now.

If Pierre was thinking about asking what your feelings were for the McLaren driver now, he decided against it. Either he didn’t want to know the answer, or he was holding onto that small piece of hope that Lando wasn’t going to be an issue. You were here with him after all, that had to mean something.

He needed assurance.

“I want you,” you said, sliding your hands around his shoulders. You tangled your fingers through the strands of hair at the nape of his neck and Pierre let out a quiet hum of contentment. He liked when you played with his hair.

He tilted his head up even more, his smile shifting into a smirk, “You want me?”

It was hard to believe that he still hadn’t kissed you. After your time in Monaco, after you flew to Milan specifically for him, after you had literally spelled it out for him that he was the man you wanted, all Pierre did was look up at you with that damn smirk.

What the hell was he waiting for?

Maybe he would have kissed you then, you would never know because there was a knock on the door. Whoever was on the other side at least had the decency to not barge in, but they did politely remind Pierre that he had one last media obligation before calling it a night.

“Come on,” Pierre interlocked his fingers through yours and nodded his head towards the door, “After this I promise to be Milan’s best tour guide.”

“I’m holding you to that.”

Pierre held the door to the bakery open for you, taking your hand for balance so you didn’t trip on the step down. Esteban and his girlfriend followed behind, but kept their distance as they shared the cinnamon bun they had bought. The four of you had decided to explore Milan together, but you were about to head your separate ways and call it a night.

“I love this city,” you hummed, sliding your left arm around Pierre’s waist. In your right hand you held the remains of a cookie, a cookie that Pierre swore would change your life. Even with it being so late at night, the bakery still had fresh items and you had to admit, you weren’t disappointed with the selection. You finished chewing the bite in your mouth and tilted your head up at him, “What’d you call this?”

“Mandorlini del ponte,” Pierre draped his arm over your shoulder, but not before wiping away some powder that had stuck to the corner of your mouth.

“For a French boy, your Italian is impeccable.”

“French boy?” Pierre asked, mock offensiveness in his tone as he tugged you against his side. “Ma chérie, I assure you I am 100% man.”

You took another bite of the biscuit, leaning your head against his side as you walked slowly down the street of the city he called home.

You had been to Milan before, but you had never got to experience it through the eyes of someone who lived here. Usually your weekends kept you glued to the paddock and in the evenings you’d go to whatever restaurant Lando suggested. You never argued, figuring he knew the place best.

But Pierre knew all of Milan’s hidden gems. Like the bakery you had just left because it was family owned and they loved to experiment with new recipes while never wandering too far from Italy’s charming roots.

He had pulled you down an alleyway earlier and told you to wait as he looked up, confused, you did the same and a few seconds later, a row of twinkling lights flipped on. They sparkled amongst the masonry, but only for a short while before turning off again.

“There’s a malfunction in the lights,” Pierre explained, “but they remind of the stars, the way they twinkle and disappear and reappear in the blink of an eye.”

Pierre wanted to show you why he loved Milan. He wanted to share this city with you and you could easily see why he had fallen in love with this place. The people, the culture, the history, all of it was breathtaking and Pierre wouldn’t let you guys move on until you could truly appreciate the beauty in a location the way he did.

You wished that he didn’t have to race this weekend, that you could allow yourself to be swept away by his hospitality and finish the night by locking yourselves away from the city you had grown to love in such a short period of time. You didn’t want to have to set an alarm for the next morning and wait as the nerves slowly started in your stomach and worked their way up as you spent the day in the Alpine garage.

Pierre reached into his pocket and pulled out his car keys as you approached a crosswalk. Esteban and Elena said their goodbyes, Elena was sweet to give you a hug and tell you that she was excited to hang out with you tomorrow. Usually your only company in the paddock was Max, so another female would be a welcoming change.

You noticed that Pierre didn’t let go of you, even as you hugged Elena. He kept his hand on your back as you waved to the couple, watching them walk off. Pierre then took that opportunity to stand behind you and slid his arms around your waist.

You tilted your chin up, momentarily mesmerised by all of the immaculate details on Pierre’s face. Even with the only light coming from nearby street lamps, he seemed to glow before your eyes.

You let yourself relax in his hold and this was another one of those moments when you wished he would have kissed you. Instead, you found yourself watching his lips move as he spoke quietly, knowing he wasn’t about to close the gap.

“Ready to call it a night?” He asked.

Not really.

“I mean…I’m not all that tired.”

Pierre chuckled and pressed his lips to the side of your head, his nose brushing against your hair, “I didn’t say anything about sleeping.”

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It was a bold move, posting not just one but two photos of Pierre. You asked for permission, of course, when you were sitting in the passenger seat of his car. You didn’t want to overstep, especially seeing as you had no idea where you two stood.

But Pierre just reached across the centre console to place his hand on your thigh. His pinky and ring finger trailing close to the inside seam of your jeans.

“I’d love nothing more than for you to show me off,” Pierre told you. As he drove under the street lights, each individual lamppost highlighted the smile on his face.

Pierre had posted you on story dozens of times, only for it all to disappear after 24 hours, but there was only that one picture of you wearing his sweatshirt on his feed. That photo could have been seen as friendly, nothing about it indicated you two were spending quality time together.

But your pictures meant 1000 words. Not only did you manage to capture a (dare you say cute) shot of him mid-interview as he spoke about the upcoming race, but Elena had also snuck a photo of the two of you as you were walking. Again, it could have just been seen as friendly, but if people dissected it a bit, they’d see that you and Pierre were more than just friends at this point.

You weren’t spending your Friday night hanging out with Lando and Max like you usually would before a race weekend, you were with Pierre. You’d spent all day with him since you landed in Milan. And now you were pulling up into his driveway to spend the rest of the night with him.

As you stepped out of the car, you thought about the sleeping arrangements for this weekend. You had your own room when you were in Monaco, Pierre made sure of it. And you were certain his house had a spare room or two for you to claim if you wanted, but you didn’t know what he wanted.

Before Pierre could unlock the front door, you stopped him and grabbed his hand. God, were you really about to ask this?

“Why haven’t you kissed me?”

Pierre raised his eyebrows at your question that you were now wishing you didn’t ask. When the corner of his mouth turned upwards, a faint blush creeped onto your cheeks and your heart started racing.

“Why haven’t I kissed you?” Pierre repeated, slower, just to make sure he had heard you correctly.

“Yeah I mean-” you sighed, pulling your eyes off of him to look at the ground beneath your feet. “You could have in Monaco, but you didn’t. You could have when we were in the drivers room earlier and you didn’t and then all night you- you had the opportunity to but you just never did and I don’t know if I’m misreading the signals but you know that I want you and you just haven’t-”

“Chérie.”

Thank god he cut you off because you had no idea where you were going with that ramble.

Pierre stepped forward, taking your chin in his hand to tilt your face upwards. You were nervous and uncertain, but you finally met his eyes, recognizing that charming yet devious glint you had grown so accustomed to recently.

“Do you want me to be honest?” Pierre asked when he was certain you weren’t about to start on another tangent.

“Well I’d prefer that to a lie, yes.”

Pierre laughed softly and licked his lips. He gently traced his thumb over your jaw and you’d be lying if you said you didn’t notice the way he was looking at you, like he was finally going to kiss you.

“I had to make sure you weren’t still thinking about Lando,” Pierre explained. That sinking feeling in your chest came back as the face of your oldest friend appeared in your mind. You pushed it aside, wanting to focus on Pierre, on this moment. “I wasn’t about to start anything with you if I thought for a second you were still hung up on him.”

You couldn’t blame him for that. Pierre was smart, he wasn’t about to dive into any relationship headfirst without taking a second to read the warning signs. He wasn’t someone who was ever in relationships himself so the fact that he was taking his time before starting one with you said a lot. He wanted to get it right.

“I just want you,” you said. Pierre’s smile grew.

“I know that now.”

Pierre opened the door and you pulled your eyes off of him to look down the dimly lit foyer. Your jaw fell open, a faint gasp passed through your lips when you took in the sight of red and white rose petals scattered over the hardwood floor. Different sized candles were placed on every shelf and flat surface, lining the hallways.

He placed his hand on your back, gently ushering you in after you were frozen in awe of what he had organised. You took a few steps into his home, spotting a bouquet of roses on the coffee table, along with a plate of chocolate covered strawberries.

He reached for your jacket to slide it off your arms before leaning down and pressing a kiss to your bare shoulder. He collected your hair and let it drape down your back as you were still speechless, wondering what the hell you did to deserve something as beautiful as this.

The answer was nothing. Pierre was an angel. He just wanted to make you happy. He wanted to show you how you deserved to be treated.

“Pierre-” you could barely get a word out. You wanted to cry at how much thought and effort went into this. “When did you-”

“My assistant came by when we were exploring the city,” he answered, his breath hot against your skin. He pressed a second kiss to your neck, so gentle you could have imagined it. “Chérie, I have wanted you since the second I laid eyes on you, but I knew we couldn’t rush into anything. Trust me…” he kissed the spot below your earlobe and you pressed your back into his chest. “...if I had it my way, we would have done this a long time ago.”

Pierre suddenly turned you around so you were face to face instead. You placed your hands on his chest, staring longingly into his eyes before glancing down at his lips. Your hands slid upwards, one hand cupping his neck, the other threading through the hair at the nape of his neck, something you knew he loved.

You were leaning into him without even realising it. Pierre dipped his head, his nose brushing against yours as you held his face close. His breath was warm, he smelled like chocolate, his eyes were dark and all of this was making you dizzy in the best way.

His lips barely grazed yours, and he pulled back an inch when they did. Your thumb ran over his stubble, coaxing him to just kiss you already.

Pierre leaned in again. “Say it again,” he whispered so softly. You knew what he was asking for.

“I want you, Pierre.”

There was no hesitation. No doubt. No lingering fears in the back of your mind. No voice screaming at you that you were making a mistake and for once, there was no Lando.

Your heart was going a million miles an hour, you could feel the heat in your face and the nerves running through your body, but you didn’t pull away and you didn’t let him either.

Pierre smirked, “Good.”

And then he kissed you. It was soft at first but it took every last ounce of air out of your lungs. Your mouth was instantly open as his tongue fought against yours. His hands were everywhere at once. Your hair, your face, your waist, pulling you into him as much as possible. You were so focused on trying to take in this moment that you didn’t even realise he was moving you until your back hit the wall.

You licked his bottom lip before diving back in, your arms loosely draped over his shoulders, tangling your fingers through your hair. The second you heard a quiet groan emerge from the back of his throat you knew you were hooked. There was no going back.

You were up on your toes, trying to keep your mouth on his when you felt the hem of your shirt being pushed up. His fingers on your skin ignited a fire within you and as he trailed his hands up you finally pulled your lips away from his, your head hitting the wall.

“I think you should have done this a long time ago,” You swallowed heavily and looked up at him, your own breaths just as laboured as his. Pierre chuckled at your words as you cupped his jaw again, pulling him back down to your mouth.

You locked your arm around his neck to keep him from pulling away. You loved the feeling of his tongue against yours. Your lips against his, his teeth practically clashing against yours. The kiss heated up again, and you felt him licking at your bottom lip, his teeth just grazing it and causing your legs to shake.

“Y/N I don’t-” Pierre spoke against your lips, pausing midway through his sentence to kiss you again. “I don’t want to do anything you’re not comfortable with. We don’t need to take this further if you don’t want to.”

That shocked you, to say the least. This was not the Pierre you knew. The Pierre who would bring any girl from the club back to the hotel for a quick fuck without giving it a second thought.

And while you appreciated the concern, the last thing you wanted was for this to end.

“And what if I want to take this further?” You asked, your heart nearly falling out of your chest. He could probably hear how fast it was beating.

Pierre didn’t need to say anything. He just raised his eyebrows as if to ask if you were positive about this and the second you nodded, his lips were on yours once more.

Your fingers found the collar of his shirt and you fumbled with the buttons to pry them open, wanting to feel his chest. You got about halfway before giving up and just ripping the material, buttons landing on top of the rose petals.

He then reached for the hem of your shirt and you let him pull it up and over your head, leaving you in your bra. When you pressed your hand against Pierre’s bare chest, the heat from his body was enough to melt you into a puddle.

Pierre’s grip on your waist tightened and suddenly the floor had disappeared from beneath you. You locked your legs around his body as he carried you down the hall, reattaching his lips to yours as he navigated through the house.

His room was dark but it wasn’t like you were in the mood for a tour anyway. He placed you down on the edge of the bed and then got down on his knees in front of you. You couldn’t think straight, but you kept your eyes locked on his.

The sight of him between your legs set a fire ablaze in your stomach. Pierre took off your shoes and then went for your jeans. You lifted your hips so that he could tug your pants down your legs, quite literally throwing them across the room.

You shouldn’t have been surprised he was taking his goddamn time. It took nearly a month for this man to kiss you.

You tried to adjust yourself on the bed but when you knew you were soaking and it was all because of the man who was staring up at you like he was ready to devour you, it was hard to make yourself comfortable.

“You’re not patient, are you?” He asked, as if he didn’t already know the answer to that one.

“Not particularly.”

Lucky for you, Pierre was tired of waiting as well. He pulled your panties down your legs, his eyes dropping to your chest for a moment.

“Do me a favour, Chérie, and take that off,” he nodded towards your bra and you did not have to be told twice. You hurried to unhook the clasp and discard the last bit of material that you wore.

Pierre took a moment to admire your breasts, but that wasn’t where his priorities lied, he’d have to come back to them later.

He grabbed your hips and pulled you closer to the edge of the bed with a harsh yank, keeping your legs spread open for him. There was already a wet spot forming on the bed underneath you and Pierre loved knowing that he didn’t even have to touch you yet to have your body react this sort way.

He was careful as he grabbed your ankle to drape your leg over his shoulder. He left the softest line of kisses along the inside of your thigh and your entire body tensed the closer he got to your centre.

When he hovered just over your core, you could have died right there. His hot breath hitting your folds was enough to send you over the edge. You weren’t going to last long with Pierre, you just knew it.

Your breath caught in your throat when Pierre dived in, pressing his mouth against you. All you could do was fall back, your back arching as you relied on your arm to keep you upright, your other hand tangling through his hair to keep his lips right where they were.

You threw your head back, loving the way his tongue felt as it slid inside of you. Pierre wasted no time in finding a rhythm, his nose pressed against your clit. His stubble ticked your inner thighs and when his name left your lips you could have sworn he picked up his pace, thrusting his tongue into you faster.

Pierre took his time eating you out, wanting to enjoy every second of this and you couldn’t stop thinking about what he said earlier.

‘If I had it my way, we would have done this a long time ago.’

If you had known Pierre was this good with his tongue, you would have gotten over Lando a lot sooner.

He slid his tongue out, dragging it upwards to give your clit the attention it desired. The hand that wasn’t in his hair fisted at the sheets and you gasped when you felt two of his fingers tease your entrance, rubbing up and down your slit.

“Pierre,” you were breathless, desperate, you needed him to touch you. You were dying to feel his fingers inside of you.

Pierre kept his fingers pressed against you but didn’t move them, “Tell me what you want, Chérie.”

“You.”

That wasn’t the answer that he was looking for and Pierre pulled his hand back, pressing a kiss to the inside of your leg instead. You groaned and tried to yank his head forward, but your hand was nothing compared to the neck strength of a Formula 1 driver.

“I need more than that.”

“I want you,” you said again, your words followed by a whimper. “Please, Pierre-” you swallowed, God you didn’t think you were one to beg. What was this man doing to you? “Your fingers, Pierre. I need you to touch me.”

Your eyes were squeezed shut but you just knew he was smirking.

“Was that so hard?”

Pierre slid two fingers inside of you without so much as a warning. The moan that left your lips filled the room as he felt how soaked you were. His fingers curled deep inside you and you let yourself get lost in the feeling of them.

Pierre tried not to let his pride turn to arrogance at the sight of you quivering at his touch. His fingers hit a certain spot inside of you that made another animalistic moan leave your mouth as your back arched off your bed and your grip on his hair tightened, wanting to pull him impossibly closer.

Pierre attached his lips to your clit again, but most of his attention went to making sure he hit that spot inside of you again, and again, and again.

Your hips bucked against his face and with his free hand, Pierre slid it upwards until he reached your breasts, taking one in his hand and starting to fondle it. He pinched your nipple and your entire body shook.

Everything was too much for you, but you also didn’t want this to end. His fingers moving at a rapid pace. His tongue playing with your clit. His hand on your breast. Pierre knew exactly what he was doing.

His teeth grazed over your clit the same second he thrusted his fingers into you rougher than he had before and you knew you were done for. Pierre must have felt your body tense beneath him because it only encouraged him to keep moving his fingers at that strength and speed.

“Want you to cum, Chérie,” Pierre said, his own voice sounding hoarse as he pulled away from your centre. As much as he wanted to keep tasting you, he wanted to see your face twist in pleasure when he finally made you come undone.

It was only a few seconds later when you felt every muscle in your body tighten as your orgasm washed over you. You shook, practically screaming Pierre’s name as he fingered you through it all, a smug expression on his face the entire time. He didn’t slow his fingers down until your body went limp on top of the blanket and then slowly he pulled them out.

Pierre admired how you looked, panting and glistening with sweat. And he hadn’t even fucked you. He still had his trousers on but when your eyes flickered open, it was impossible to miss the erection beneath the material.

“You look gorgeous,” Pierre said, his eyes raking over your naked body. He lifted his fingers to his mouth and licked your juices off of him. That sight alone had you ready for another round.

“Taste even better,” he smirked and you gave a short laugh in response. Your cheeks were most definitely a bright shade of pink and you were too drained to even speak.

Pierre stood and slid his pants off and you opened your mouth, about to ask if he had a condom but he surprised you by taking your hands in his and pulling you up so you were sitting on the edge of the bed.

He stood between your legs, his fingers twisting through your hair as he craned your neck up to meet his eyes. You could feel how hard he was against your leg through the material of his briefs and it took everything in you to not reach for him.

“That’s it for tonight,” Pierre suddenly said.

“What?” you protested, eyebrows pinched together. You weren’t ready to call it a night. “Wait, no I thought-”

“No strenuous activity before race weekend,” he told you, as if he was reciting doctors orders. His thumb rested on your bottom lip, tugging it down, but refraining himself from sliding it past your teeth. “And I just know if we did anything more, I wouldn’t be able to stop until the sun came up.”

Fireworks exploded in your stomach. Something told you Pierre wasn’t exaggerating. He seemed like the kind of guy who could go for round after round after round.

You had to admire his will power though. You wouldn’t have been able to stop if the roles were reversed.

“That’s not fair,” you pouted, hoping that by widening your eyes and batting your eyelashes he would change his mind. Pierre only chuckled and pressed a kiss to your forehead, inhaling a deep breath.

“Oh it’s plenty fair,” he retorted. “Besides, you don’t know how much pleasure I get just from watching you finish.”

Of course he’d rather make you cum than worry about himself. Pierre was perfect.

“Come on,” he nodded his head towards the headboard. “Let’s get some sleep, Y/N. We both need it.”

You wanted to argue some more, but Pierre was set in his ways. He took hold of your chin and kissed you again, it was passionate and forceful but it was also his way of saying that your fun was over for the time being.

He backed up and stepped into his closet, only to return with one of his t-shirts for you. You slid it on and pulled back the covers on his bed, only now noticing how soft his mattress was. You already knew that getting out of bed in the morning was going to be a challenge.

Pierre excused himself, telling you that he had to go blow the candles out before his house burnt down, but it only took him a few minutes to tidy everything up. He came back into his room and had to take a moment to pause in the doorway when he saw how comfortable and content you looked in his bed with the blanket pulled up to your chin.

A smile spread across your cheeks, “Are you just going to stand there or are you going to come to bed?”

“In a second,” Pierre answered, leaning against the doorframe. He crossed his arms over his chest, his own smile appearing on his lips. “I just want to look at you a bit longer.”

There were those fireworks again. You couldn’t find the words to respond. Pierre, for what seemed like the tenth time today, had left you speechless.

Your feelings for him were strong. They were new and terrifying and explosive, but they also gave you a sense of comfort and warmth. Something you had never felt before, something you had been dying to feel since you knew what it meant to give your heart to someone.

For years, you told yourself that eventually, you’d find what you were looking for with Lando, but maybe, just maybe, you were wrong.

part 5 here all parts here

948 notes · View notes

starsstuddedsky · 7 months

Text

Slice of Love

Haechan x reader

summary: birthday cake and boyfriend material

genre: fluff, non idol au, not really angst but haechan is so dramatic

warnings: swearing, food/dessert, i dont know anything about art, pls lmk if i missed any

wc: 1.8k (who is she???)

a/n: finally wrote something short and sweet :) it's been so long since i've done that lol. this is heavily inspired by 7dream cafe cake-making and my full belief that none of these boys should be unsupervised in the kitchen. thank you to @chocolatemilk139 for being my beta as always <3 (even though you didnt edit anything smh)

It’s not horrendous.

Donghyuck stares at the cake in front of him. The process started well: he made the tester cake last week week that the council (also known as his friends) approved with generous support (“wait, what’s actually kind of good,” from Jeno, “it’s edible,” from Renjun, “the hint of orange really sells it,” from Jaemin, “it’s not burnt so it’s already better than anything I could make,” from Mark, “you didn’t buy this?” from Chenle, and Jisung, who just stared at him with wide eyes).

No, the problem isn’t the batter. He slaved over it all last night and chose the two cakes that rose most evenly in the oven. Everything but his tears went into making them.

“Wow,” Renjun says, leaning over the counter. “You fucked up.”

Donghyuck smacks him, leaving a trail of lavender buttercream on the wool sweater.

“Hey, that’s going to be a bitch to get out!” Renjun cries.

“Cry me a river,” Donghyuck says, “which is a good song, but also, you deserve it. It’s not that bad.”

Renjun raises his eyebrows but Donghyuck raises a spoonful of extra frosting. Renjun backs off.

Despite his strong defense, Donghyuck fears Renjun may be right. Though the cake stands tall, crumbs mix in with the frosting on the sides. What was supposed to be an artistically plump edging around the base of the cake and around the top corner looks like it exploded out of the piping bag (because it did, popping the cap off several times). In his head, the center would be filled with flowers and hearts and all sorts of pretty shapes in all sorts of pastel colors—but by the time he got to the center, he’d fully given up on piping bags, meaning he had to get creative for the flowers. Instead of flowers, he made blobs of frosting pushed off a spoon. In some spots he accidentally mixed the colors together, a green one shade away from brown, not at all like the field in the pictures on his Pinterest board.

Jeno appears next, wandering out of his room. He misses Renjun’s warning glare, though Donghyuck doesn’t. He steps right next to Donghyuck, tilting his head. “What is this supposed to be again?”

“What do you think?” Donghyuck asks evenly.

Oblivious or uncaring, Jeno pauses to ponder. “A really ugly version of Shrek’s swamp?”

“Get out.”

“Get out of ma’ swamp!” Jeno attempts a Scottish accent, authenticity as questionable as the flower field in Donghyuck’s cake. Jeno retreats with Renjun on the couch, dodging Donghyuck’s frosting spoon. It would be a waste of the delicacy on his stupid dri-fit t-shirt, which he wears even when he doesn’t work out.

“It’ll be fine,” Jaemin says. “It’ll taste good, which is the important part.” He sits at the counter, the only one to offer moral support while Donghyuck decorated. But his attempts at comfort are in vain; Donghyuck doesn’t just want the cake to taste good, he wants it to taste perfect, to look perfect, for all of it to be perfect. It’s the least you deserve.

Donghyuck ignores the banging on his door, letting one of the guys let Chenle and Jisung in (no one else would threaten to break down a metal door instead of waiting the five seconds it takes to unlock the door).

“We come bearing food!” Chenle shouts, plastic bag singing in his hand as Jisung follows precariously carrying a stack of pizza boxes. Far more food than needed, but Donghyuck won’t skimp out on you. Chenle tosses his bag full of snacks on the table, crossing the room to see the ‘masterpiece’ Donghyuck spent the past week hyping up.

“Dude, are you seriously going to give that to YN?”

“Are you trying to get dumped?” Jisung asks. “Ow!” he cries when Chenle smacks him.

“Your welcome,” he says, “though he sort of has a point, that looks like literal shit.”

“Does it really?” Donghyuck pouts.

Chenle points at one of the browner spots. “You’re telling me that’s not a piece of shit?”

“They were supposed to be flowers.”

Jaemin, Renjun, and Jisung manage to cover their laughs as coughs but Chenle and Jeno let out a bark of laughter.

“Yeah, you’re screwed,” Chenle says, clapping him on his shoulder that sags even lower than his normal bad posture. “You could call Mark and get him to pick up a cake on his way.”

“He’s bringing YN,” Donghyuck says glumly. “Besides, I already told YN that I would make it myself. I’m not going to be a failure and a liar.”

“It’s really not that bad,” Jaemin says, ignoring the chorus of dissent from the rest of the guys. “It’ll taste good!”

Donghyuck shrugs. He can’t explain it, at least not so that they can understand him. He knows perfection is a subjective definition that he’ll never be able to fulfill but he strives for it anyway. If it isn’t perfect then why would he do it at all? Even if it’s his first time attempting this level of artwork, he should at least be able to make something that looks okay, or recognizable.

And you—you deserve more than a dry store-bought mess and more than a half-assed attempt at love. You’ve only been together for a couple months but he’s determined to prove himself. A birthday was the perfect opportunity, even when you’ve known him for years and spent plenty of birthdays with him. This was his chance to show you the boyfriend material he’s made of, except instead of black velvet or creamy silk, Donghyuck thinks this cake is the work of a neon yellow polyester shirt worth less than $2 at the thrift store.

“Mark just texted that he just parked,” Jaemin announces. He glances at Donghyuck. “You ready?”

Donghyuck glances at himself. His hands are covered in frosting that’s dried and crusted, spread up his arms. His Kiss the Chef apron protected his shirt and most of his pants from the damage, but the mess is the least of his concerns. There’s nothing he can do about the disaster (he’s given up calling it anything else) in front of him. Shrek’s Swamp or a toilet bowl, it’s definitely not a flower field and it’s definitely not what you deserve. But it’s all he’s got.

The final punch hits with a gentle knock at the door. Donghyuck crosses the room to his doom, stepping past his silent friends who bow their heads in respect for the walking dead. He pulls open the door slowly. He sees your shoes first, white sneakers you spent three hours with a Sharpie decorating, full of hearts and stars and unmistakable flowers—daisies and chrysanthemums and lavender, more than he can name.

You wear your favorite jeans, loose bootcut that tighten at the thighs, hugging you in all the right places. A loose shirt hangs from your shoulders, one of the bands you always play for him with lots of bass and visceral lyrics that romanticize suffering. A family of silver earrings dangle from your ears, and he recognizes each of your favorites, the miniature swords, sparkling star shaped studs, a curly twist of metal that wraps around the higher part of ear. You look perfect.

Donghyuck has always loved the way you smile, a gentle turn of your lips, like the happiness belongs to only you. You lean forward, pressing a short kiss to his lips, a peck more than anything. Donghyuck stares at you, eyes wide. You gesture to his apron. “Just following the rules.”

He smiles though it fades as soon as he sees the frosting–no, the evidence of his failures, spread down the black fabric. “Happy birthday,” he says, wishing he could put more heart into it. A tiny frown furrows in your brow but you don’t question him.

He steps back to let you walk in, trailing behind you as the rest of the guys wish you happy birthday. Mark catches up easily, clapping a hand on his shoulder, whispering, “Jeno sent me a picture.”

Renjun hugs you, which Donghyuck belatedly realizes he never did.

“I brought the food,” Chenle announces. “Don’t go thanking anyone else for my efforts.”

“Our,” Jisung corrects. “You barely even carried anything.”

“That’s because I had to drive,” Chenle says, waving his hand. “And don’t even get me started on the pizzeria, you better appreciate every molecule because—”

“Thank you, Chenle,” you say.

“Thank me,” Donghyuck says. “It was my detailed instructions that perfected absolutely everything about today, which reminds me, did Mark behave?”

You turn back to face him, linking your fingers with his. “Yes, babe, he followed your script. He almost cried because the barista messed up the order and he didn’t want to be annoying but he said you said ‘if anything goes wrong, I’ll kill you,’ and meant it.”

“And I did,” Donghyuck says. He nods at his best friend for his service.

“Now.” You squeeze his fingertips. “Where’s this cake you’ve been so excited about.”

Donghyuck doesn’t try to hide his face. There’s no use delaying the inevitable. He lets go of your hands, leading you to the crime scene to lay the final verdict (the judicial system of his brain is in need of some reformation).

You reach the counter and freeze. A list of concert dates greets Donghyuck, your back facing him while you study the cake. There’s no name for the opposite of a masterpiece, no artist that wants their worst creation recorded in history.

He inches closer to you, peeking at your face. He recognizes the expression, the narrowing of your eyes, the way you flatten your lips. He’s been to enough art shows and spent enough time with you studying for art history to know what you analyze art.

“It’s not Van Gogh or Monet,” he says, “it’s not even that asshole guy who made the Bean.”

“Mm,” you hum, “no, you’re not any of them.”

“It’s an ugly cake,” he says, “I know. I tried, I really did, but apparently you actually do need a decade or two of experience to make a decent cake, which is totally unfair, like, I spent more time on it than my research project, and this only looks marginally better than that.”

“It’s amazing,” you say, “reminiscent of the expressionist era.”

“Really?”

“No,” you say, turning to grin at him. “But you made it, so none of that matters. Maybe it doesn’t look like what you thought, but seriously.” You rest a hand on his arm. “It’s perfect.”

He meets your eyes, sees sincerity and not an ounce of teasing. No, it wasn’t what he wanted for you, but that doesn’t really matter. Perfection is subjective and to you it’s perfect—why did he ever think it wouldn’t be?

He grins. “Perfect?”

You step closer to him, wrapping your arms around his waist and pulling him into a hug, ignoring the frosting that must be smearing across the band member’s faces.

“Perfect.”

a/n2: thank you for reading! as always, i appreciate any feedback :)

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sergeantelvis · 8 months

Text

"I'm Sorry"

SUMMARY: After following Elvis throughout his career and being there for him, he seems to forget what's most important... you.

warning: ANGST, hurt to comfort?, shouting, miscommunication, insecurity.

A/N: This is my first ever post on Tumblr I've been on here a while so I thought why not give a shot at writing, please keep in mind English isn't my first language :)

Pairing: Elvis x reader (can also be Austin elvis!)

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As the sun set over Memphis, the vibrant city whispered tales of heartache and passion. Among the countless souls navigating the streets, a young woman could be found strolling the dimly lit pathways with what seemed to be a small frown perched upon her face.

That woman also happened to be one of the worlds most talked about people in this current moment, yet she felt like she was the only one talking and no one was listening. That woman was who teenage girls could only dream to be, yet she didn't want to be herself in the very moment. Why would she?

Today was supposed to be different she told herself, he would actually remember, she really tried to believe her own husband would be there to support her during one of the biggest achievements of her life, just like she had done for him the last seventeen years. You see she had been there for him through all walks of life, since he was a tiny little blonde haired ray-of-sunshine and when he dyed his hair black and decided to switch up his style, she was there. And he couldn't even show up for one stupid court-case?

God she felt pathetic, she knew he wouldn't come, so why did she think this time it would be any different. But what could she do? She was Mrs Presley, and thats all people would see her as. As she walked along she moonlit streets she became more wary that she had been pushed aside by her husband, she had made a fool of herself letting him walk around with his wedding band off and acting like a single man with women surrounding him. People warned her about marrying Elvis but she would never listen to them because he was her Elvis and no one knew him like she did, and for a while that was true... until it wasn't.

Her beautiful Navy suit had been especially picked out for this trail, hoping that people would see her, hoping that He would see her. Thoughts swirled in her mind as she tried to process why she had let herself go so far as to have to beg for his attention, she was not some groupie he had picked up from his concerts or some teenaged fan that adored his music, she was his wife.

And she had enough.

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The night air clung to her like a heavy shroud as she approached the hallowed gates of Graceland. The moon hung low in the sky, casting a pale glow over the sprawling estate that had once been her sanctuary. But tonight, it felt more like a prison.

The grand entrance of Graceland loomed ahead of her, its ornate ironwork giving way to a long, winding driveway. As she ventured further in her green Beatle, the faint sound of music reached her ears, weaving its way through the evening breeze. Laughter, muffled and distant, hinted at a revelry she was not a part of.

Stepping across the threshold she had first hesitated towards, she entered the foyer. Dimly lit chandeliers bathed the room in a warm, golden glow, casting intricate patterns onto the polished marble floor. The air was thick with the mingling scents of expensive perfume and the anticipation of a vibrant gathering, yet it only deepened her pit of despair that was building inside of her.

Through the open doorways, she glimpsed the living room, ablaze with colour and movement. Lavish gold accented decorations adorned the walls, reflecting the vibrancy of the party within. The room seemed pulse with energy, the laughter and voices of the guests hanging in the air like an invisible veil.

In the midst of the festivities, Elvis stood at the centre, a star among the crowd. His charismatic smile drew people to him, their adoration evident in their eyes, but as her own guys met his, he remained transfixed by the merriment, not even batting an eyelid in her direction.

Her heart sank the steps, becoming slow and weighted with the sorrow she could no longer bear. She carved attention, his understanding of this passing sea of celebration. She appeared to be nothing more than a ghost existing in the peripheral of his attentions.

There, at the centre of the circle of vibrant guested, Elvis, his charm radiating like an Ethereal light. He was locked in at dance of words with a fan Her face flashed with the light basked on his attention. She observed the ease with which he engaged in stranger, his smile more genuine than she had seen in months.

The woman's voice, light and melodious, carrying hints of infatuation as she flirted shamelessly with Elvis. Hello, after accompanied by the soft music in the background seem to melt with the rhythm of his wife's own shattered heart. She could hardly fathom have someone. He didn't even know how to more sway over him, and she is devoted wife.

As she watched her husband, his eyes, twinkling with amusement, she felt an indescribable pain gnaw at her chest. She had dedicated her life to him, bent over backwards to keep their love and life. I need to find herself reduced to an inconsequential presences.

As she leaned against the wall, her tears subsiding, but her pain still palpable. Elvis's eyes flicker towards her. His eyes lingered for a moment before realisation, dawned on him, and with Swift footsteps, he crossed the room to reach her side.

"Hey, baby," He drawled, attempting to dismiss the intensity of the scene, she had just witnessed. His voice infused, with a southern twang still sent shivers down the spine, had once been the balm to her weary soul, but now it only served as a reminder of the golf at grown between.

Her eyes, once filled with love and admiration, now held a mix of sadness and anger. She took a deep breath, collecting the fragments of her resolve, before confront the man she had given her heart to all those years ago.

"You've missed my court case, my own battles and achievements, all while you were caught up in this whirlwind of adoration from strangers," She finally blurted out.

Elvis blinked, his azure eyes mirroring the confusion in his voice. "Satnin? Why didn't you say anything?" He cooed, attempting to soothe her. "You know I've got a lot on my plate."

The word "Satnin" would have once brought a smile to her face, an endearment she cherished, due to Elvis's late mother Gladys who was her second mother growing up in the small area of Tupelo. She shook her head, causing her locks to cascade around her like a waterfall of frustration.

"How can you think we are okay?" She exclaimed, her voice quivering. "

"Elvis, I can't help but feel pushed aside. It's not just about this one encounter; it's about so much more. You've missed my court case, countless family dinners, and it feels like our connection has dwindled to empty conversations. I've been left here, alone, while you bask in the adoration of fans."

Elvis's brow furrowed in confusion as he attempted to grasp the gravity of her words. He had been so immersed in his own world that he failed to recognize the depth of her emotional turmoil. "Satnin, I didn't realize you were feeling this way. I've just been caught up in the whirlwind of fame. Ya know it's not personal, right?"

y/n's frustration simmered beneath her surface, threatening to erupt like a dormant volcano. "How can it not feel personal, Elvis? We used to be each other's entire world. Now, I'm just an accessory on the fringes of your life while you play the role of the adored superstar."

Elvis's eyes widened, a mixture of surprise and offense clouding his features. He tried to interject, but her pent-up emotions poured out like a torrential rainstorm, unable to be contained any longer.

"You think this is all about my support? It's not about that, Elvis! It's about feeling invisible, unappreciated, and alone. I've offered my unwavering support, but what have I received in return? Empty promises and missed moments. Is this how our love is supposed to be?"

A flicker of realization darted across Elvis's face, but his natural stubbornness lingered. "Satnin, I've been trying my best, but I can't be in two places at once. This music, these fans, they're a part of me. You knew that when we got married."

Her voice reached a crescendo, her frayed patience snapping under the weight of Elvis's dismissive attitude. "I didn't expect you to choose, Elvis. But I did anticipate that you would make an effort to make me feel like a priority in your life. Instead, I feel like I'm a distant second to the screaming crowds that cheer you on night after night."

Elvis, his patience waning, raised his voice in frustration. "Listen, baby, I have responsibilities, commitments. This is the life I've chosen. Can't you understand that?"

She gritted her teeth, her frustration boiling over. "Understand? I understand that you're using your fame as an excuse to neglect your responsibilities as a husband. You blame me for not understanding, but what about the countless nights I've spent alone, waiting for you? What about the promises you've made and broken?"

Elvis's expression turned defensive, his charm morphing into frustration. "You're being unreasonable, Y/N. I can't be at your beck and call all the time; I have a career to manage."

Y/N's voice trembled with anger. "Unreasonable? You have the audacity to call me unreasonable? All I wanted was a partner, someone who would be there for the important moments, to listen and support me. But you're too wrapped up in your own fame to even notice."

Elvis's obstinacy overshadowed any semblance of understanding. His tone hardened as he lashed out, trying to deflect his own guilt. "Maybe it wouldn't feel so empty if you were more supportive, if you understood the sacrifices I have to make!"

Her patience snapped, her voice resonating with a mix of fury and hurt. "Sacrifices? Where do my sacrifices fit into this equation? I've sacrificed my dreams, my desires, to support you, to be the wife you needed. And all I ask for in return is a fraction of your attention, your time."

Elvis and Y/N stood face to face in their lavish Memphis mansion. The room crackled with tension as their argument escalated, both parties unwilling to back down. Her eyes were brimming with tears, reflecting her hurt and frustration, while Elvis stubbornly refused to see his faults.

"You just don't understand, Y/N! I give you everything, I give you this beautiful home, luxurious cars, and all the fame you could ever want. Why are you so miserable?" Elvis exclaimed, his voice filled with disbelief.

Y/n took a deep breath, trembling with the weight of her emotions. She knew this was her moment to speak her truth and reveal the depth of her pain. "Elvis, material possessions and fame aren't enough for me. I want emotional connection, intimacy, and a partner who truly understands me. But lately, it feels like I'm living in your shadow. You're so consumed with yourself that you've forgotten about our marriage."

Elvis's eyes widened, struck by her heartfelt words. For the first time, he began to truly comprehend the gravity of his actions. "But Baby, I don't mean to neglect you. I love you more than anything. How can I make it right?" His voice wavered, a mix of desperation and regret seeping through his words.

Her gaze softened, her love for Elvis still evident despite the pain she felt. "It's not just about apologies, Elvis. It's about changing your behavior, showing me every day that I matter to you. I can't keep living like this, always feeling secondary to your career."

A mixture of guilt and sadness washed over Elvis as he realized the damage he had caused in their marriage. He reached out, gently cupping Y/Ns face in his hands. "Baby, I never intended to hurt you. I know my words haven't always been kind, but you're the center of my world. I'm sorry, sweetheart. I'm truly sorry."

The air hung heavy with silence as she contemplated his words. She searched his eyes, seeking a sign of sincerity. Slowly, she nodded, tears streaming down her cheeks. "Elvis, I want to believe that you mean it, but forgiveness doesn't come easy. We need time to heal, to rebuild the trust that has been shattered."

Elvis nodded, his heart sinking as he realized the consequences of his actions. They moved towards the hallway, away from prying eyes, their voices lowering to whispers. "Mama, please don't leave me. I can't imagine my life without you. I'll do whatever it takes to make things right."

She looked into his eyes, her pain alongside her love for him evident. "Elvis, the road to forgiveness will be long and arduous. I need you to understand that. It will take more than just words to mend what's been broken. We both have work to do."

Elvis took a trembling breath, feeling the weight of his past mistakes. He gently squeezed her hand, a solemn vow crossing his lips. "I promise you, Satnin, I'll do whatever it takes. I'll be a better husband, a better man. Just please, don't give up on us."

As they stood there, enveloped in the intimacy of their private moment, Elvis and Y/N knew that the journey ahead would not be easy. But their love, their shared history, and the desire to rebuild what was lost provided a glimmer of hope. Their path to healing had just begun, one step at a time.

･♪’ﾟ｡.*#:･’ﾟ.:*♪:･’.:♪*:･’ﾟ♭.:*♪*:･’ﾟ♭.:*･♪’ﾟ｡.*#:･’ﾟ.:*♪:･’.:♪*:･

A/N: I got a bit carried away! But I'm also looking to make more friends in the Tumblr/Elvis community and would love to follow people or have proofreaders :) thank you <33

#elvis presley #big daddy elvis #elvisaaronpresley #elvis angst #Elvis smut #elvis presley x reader #elvis the pelvis #elvis fans #elvis imagine #50s elvis #memphis mafia #austin butler #austin butler elvis

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mysterious-moonstruck-musings · 12 days

Text

Closed Position: Extra

Closed Position Masterlist ||| Main Masterlist

Dieter Bravo x OFC (Katarina)

I haven't done any writing on Closed Position this week. I know! I'm sorry. There were a few details I was still thinking through that happen later on and I wanted to be sure I was on the right path to get us there. However, I have been working to nail down those details and fill in my outline with the important stuff. I think I have a pretty solid path set at this point, so I feel a little more confident going forward with writing.

Since I don't have any snippets to offer this week, I bring you a mood board of things to come. Each image represents an event that aligns with some part of the plot.

👉🏻 It’s time to start throwing out your conspiracy theories based on the mood board! Let me have them!

Behind the Scenes

In addition to working on my outline, I've also been doing A LOT of research, as I always do. That includes details on hotels and prep/filming schedules for tv shows to really nail down the 'behind the scenes' aspect of things. I'm even making song choices for Dieter & Kat’s performances based on the beat count required for each dance.

Believe it or not, these types of details do help form the plot of the story. Sometimes those small details will spark an idea for putting the characters in situations I wouldn't have thought of otherwise. While it does seem a little crazy to do, it does actually help me in writing...but it does make me a little slow sometimes. 😬

So what have I researched this week? Here is a running list...that may offer some hints of what's to come:

Flight Times

Directions & travel times

Hotels in NYC (that meet certain criteria)

Rehearsal/filming schedule for a certain show that's filmed at 30 Rockefeller Plaza.

Kinesiology and Physiotherapy

Hydrotherapy and Electrotherapy

Alcohol and Drug Recovery

Codependency/Relationships in Recovery

Dance positions, counts, terminology, etc.

What have I recently watched for research?

Dirty Dancing (I hope you’re ready for some references and jokes… because nobody puts Bravo in a corner.) 😉

Dirty Dancing: Havana Nights

Take the Lead

Dance with Me

Lots of Dancing with the Stars videos on YouTube and the last two seasons that are currently available on Disney+.

A shit ton of instructional videos for ballroom dance.

That all seems very random, doesn't it? This makes me wish I would have done this for Destiny & Deliverance, because that would have been wild research topic list. 🤭

No ETA on the next chapter, but I can say it’s probably going to be another long one since I am doing it by the show ‘week’. Some weeks there is a lot to squeeze in. 🤷🏻‍♀️

Until next time,

💜Mysty

Series Summary: Dieter Bravo, now sober, was looking to change his bad boy image after hitting rock bottom. His team hoped that having him join the nationally televised family friendly dance competition would be a good first step, if they can keep him out of trouble.

Katarina Stamos expected her last season as a professional dancer on Dancing with the Stars to go the same as it had for the past thirteen seasons. That all changed when she was partnered with the infamous Dieter Bravo.

Dieter and Katarina are reluctantly thrown into their partnership and must learn to work together to succeed in the competition. In the process they form a deeper connection beyond the dance floor that neither anticipated.

👉 Warnings: Themes dealing with intimate partner violence, past alcohol abuse, and past drug abuse. There will be fluff, tears, spicy language, and smut. This will be a slow burn. Read at your own risk. Dieter Bravo comes with his own warnings.

CP Taglist: @secretelephanttattoo @titlee78 @maggiemayhemnj @legendary-pink-dot @morallyinept @survivingandenduring @wannab-urs @harriedandharassed @hisandsnakes @misstokyo7love @readingiskeepingmegoing @runningmom94 @sin-djarin @cakipy-blog @missladym1981 @guelyury @weho2kcmo @alokaerza @girlofchaos @trulybetty @rhoorl @bitchwitch1981 @madnessofadaydreamer @darkheartgatita @jazzloveslatte @timpletance @musings-of-a-rose @samiamproductions @myloveistoolittle @for-a-longlongtime @copperhalfcent @auteurdelabre @drewharrisonwriter @burntheedges @stevie75 @bunniboo0015 @quicax3 @jackie923 @sherala007 @pastelnap @angelofsmalldeath-codeine @jessthebaker @rebel-held @gwendibleywrites @senorabond

#dieter bravo #dieter bravo fic #pedro pascal #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal fanfic #dancing dieter #soft dieter #sober dieter #closed position extra #closed position series

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sidekick-hero · 4 months

Text

💫 Sandy, she/her, 30s, Europe 💫

writing tag ✍️ My AO3

🌈 Multichapter Fics 🌈

Suitcase of Memories (55k | explicit | co-written with @legitcookie)

Boy meets boy. Boy meets boy again. And again, so they decided to go on a date about it. But as they grow closer, Steve's insecurities threaten to pull them apart before they can even begin. Will fate intervene?

I wore his jacket for the longest time (58k | explicit | co-written with @legitcookie | Sequel to we pass the ghosts that haunt us later)

Steve has made some bad choices in the past, choices that have cost him his marriage, and even worse than that, Eddie. The man he didn't realize he was in love with until it was too late. Now Steve must pick up the pieces of his life and figure out how to become the man he wants to be.

It's a story about love lost and love found, about the importance of friendship and family, and most of all, about second chances and how it's never too late to change.

I’m tired of asking to settle the debt (18k | explicit)

5 times Eddie warms Steve's hands and that one time Steve returns the favor.

Or: What if Steve and Eddie had met before the events of season 4? What if they kept bumping into each other because it was meant to be?

hold me close (I’m shaking apart) (WIP (2/3) | 15k | explicit)

It all came down to one simple truth: Steve Harrington was not at all what Eddie expected him to be, and it was confusing him to no end.

Or: Steve asks Eddie if he wants to experiment. Eddie wants so much more, but he takes what he can get and tries to not let it break his heart.

tangled with what I never said (4.1k | mature | angst with a happy ending)

And they were roomates.

🌈 Series 🌈

Modern AU - Teacher Steve and Musician Eddie (11k in 5 parts | rated T to explicit)

Just some snippets from the life of Teacher Steve Harrington and Wedding Band Singer turned Rockstar Eddie Munson.

Runner Steve Verse (14k in 2 parts | explicit)

Steve starts running to get out of his head. He finds that maybe he's been running towards something (or someone) all along.

🌈 One-Shots 10k+ 🌈

to the rhythm of eternity (18k | explicit)

The last two years Steve and Eddie have been doing the long distance thing when Steve visits Eddie in London for Christmas and falls in love with the city as well.

Emotional Motion Sickness (16.5k | explicit)

Steve's first night at a gay bar turns into something he never expected. He accidentally stumbles into a theme night - Kink Night - and discovers something new about himself.

🌈 One-Shots 5-10k 🌈

Would you fall for me? (8.8k | explicit | Porn with plot)

One-sided enemies to lovers au inspired by that cake scene in red, white and royal blue.

Will you cleanse me with pleasure? (8.4k | explicit | PWP with tentacle love making)

Steve thinks it’s safe to say that he knows everything important about Eddie when they finally decide to move in together.

Everything, it turns out, except that Eddie sneaks out of the house in the middle of the night at least once a week.

he's all that I've got (don’t take that sinner from me) (8k | explicit | open but hinted at happy ending)

Eddie is on the run after still being blamed for the murders in Hawkins, but he can't run away from Steve.

Part 2: take you with me (mature | 2.1k)

The way you touch, the way you taste (7.1k | explicit | PWP)

Gareth, Jeff and Freak hire Steve to take Eddie's virginity on his birthday. Eddie takes Steve's heart in the process. Entry for the sub Eddie week.

You know I'm a show off (I would let you get some) (6.4k | explicit | PWP)

Eddie's neighbor is the hottest man in existence, so when he finds him washing his car in the shortest shorts known to man he can't stay away.

Love from the other side (6.2k | mature)

Steve works in the emergency room, where he has lost several patients with gaping wounds on their necks, the blood drained from their bodies. It's only because of Eddie, who is a vampire himself, that Steve doesn't end up like them, but what will he do when it's Eddie who needs help?

Part 2: sink you teeth

we were meant to be (we live happily in my fantasy) (5.6k | explicit | PWP)

Eddie is a Big-Shot-Rockstar and Steve is the escort he hired to get people off his back. Too bad he fell in love with him.

When I open my eyes to the future I can hear you say my name (5k | explicit | PWP)

Even after almost a decade together you can still discover new kinks.

Will the man become the monster, or the monster become man? (5k | explicit | PWP)

Beauty and the Beast AU with a twist: What if, once a month, the prince turns back into the beast?

🌈 One-Shots 1k-5k 🌈

I’ve got to get you out of my mind (and back into my arms) (4.7k | explicit | PWP)

Every once in a while, Steve and Eddie like to spice up their sex life and go out to play.

Lay all your love on me (4.6k | explicit | porn with feelings)

Steve feels lonely on Valentine's Day '87 and a certain metalhead sets out to change that.

wear me like a locket around your throat (4.5k | explicit | PWP co-written with @yournowheregirl)

It doesn't really matter why, the fact remains that Eddie is making Steve a little bit feral, and the animal part of his brain demanded that he do something about it.

And that's why he bought Eddie a fucking collar, of all things.

tell me it's love, tell me it's real (4k | explicit | PWP co-written with @yournowheregirl)

The infamous piano scene from Pretty Woman (1990).

Carry You (4k | teen)

Written for @steddielovemonth, prompt: Love is letting someone take care of you.

Eddie is living the rockstar life, but it comes with a prize. When he reaches a point where he can't go on like that, will he finally let Steve carry him?

Part 2: Dear Steve (teen | 2.3k)

we tangle endlessly like lovers entwined (3.4k | explicit | Porn with feelings)

It's canon Steve likes to hold hands during sex.

Safe Haven (3.2k | teen)

Eddie finds a hurt wolf in the woods and takes him home. He has no idea that there is more to this particular wolf than it seems.

Part 2: Eat you alive (wc: 1.8k | mature)

Drowning In You (3.2k | teen | co-written with @legitcookie)

Steve and Eddie spend some time swimming at the quarry. At night. In just their underwear. As you do.

on the tip of my tongue, on top of my thighs (2.8k | explicit | PWP)

Eddie may be a little obsessed with Steve's chest. Okay, drop the a little.

He was sweet like honey (2.7k | explicit | PWP)

Steve loves mint chocolate chip ice cream. Eddie loathes it. But Steve has an idea how he can change Eddie's mind.

will you take me home (2.7k | teen)

Robin wants to adopt a cat, so why does Steve end up with one, too?

Rooting for you (2.6k | explicit)

Steve screwed up, no way around it. Fucked up big time.

In his defense, he didn't know that Eddie was in love with him. How could he have known? For all intents and purposes, they were just two horny guys hooking up.

safe & sound (2.5k | teen)

What happens when Steve meets Eddie Munson, who has just failed his senior year for the first time, during one of his nightly drives?

are you still mine? (2.4k | teen)

"He kissed me," Steve blurts out, and to Robin's credit, she doesn't react except for her hand on his to twitch in surprise. She makes a questioning sound in her throat, clearly waiting for more.

So much (for) Stardust (2.3k | teen)

A scene from an upcoming fic Pickup Note with @thefreakandthehair and art by @firefly-party. Steve can't sleep and Eddie takes him stargazing.

the past, the future, through death my arms are open (2.1k | mature)

second part to are you still mine? where Steve remembers another moment from their shared past where Eddie has been there for him even when he didn't ask for it

will you find me in the stars (2.1k | mature)

In every life, in every universe, they will find each other again. What’s a lifetime if you measure it in eternity?

true colors (2.1k | explicit)

Eddie's heart is beating for Steve but it takes Steve a bit to understand what it is saying.

Slaying Dragons (2.1k | gen)

Eddie was six years old when he first met Steve, not that he would remember it until much, much later.

Blinded by you (2.1k | teen)

The one in which Eddie is a hot mess but Paramedic Steve doesn't mind.

Crutch (2k | mature)

Steve loves Eddie, he really, really does. He just can’t say it.

Louder (2k | explicit | PWP)

While laying in bed, the two of them can't help but overhear their upstairs neighbors going at it rather loudly. Eddie turns to Steve after a while, and asks, You wanna fuck louder than them to establish dominance?

(I just) died in your arms (1.9k | teen | co-written with @legitcookie and @yournowheregirl)

"Hey, Steve, hi. You're probably wondering what I'm doing here." Eddie smiles nervously. When Steve just blinks at him, he takes that as a cue to continue.

"Funny story, actually," He laughs. The lack of sleep must be kicking in, which always makes him feel a little drunk and giddy. "There's this really annoying pipe in my room that's slowly driving me crazy, and I really, really, really need to get some sleep, man. I might even start crying if I don't get some soon. So, I was wondering... Could I crash in here?"

Someone New (1.7k | teen)

After Vecna, Eddie thinks he lost something vital, the one thing that made him Eddie. Steve teaches him that that's not true.

Butterfly Effect (1.5k | mature)

Eddie Munson is bad at feelings, but Steve makes him talk about them anyway, at least in metaphors.

Your scent (it clings to every blanket, sheet and pillowcase) (1.5k | mature)

Life after March '86 is very different from life before. For one thing, he never almost died before. Nor did he ever have anyone accuse him of murder, never mind murders, as in plural.

But then again, he didn't have Steve Harrington before either.

Until I found you (1.5k | mature)

Steve reminds Eddie that you can't buy happiness, you find it in each other.

You got a fast car (1.4k | teen)

"If we leave now, we can be in Indiana before midnight," Steve hears himself say, the decision already made, because the alternative is blood and pain and sorrow.

something about us (1.4k | teen)

What starts out as one of the worst nights of his college life turns into something else when Steve meets Eddie while being banned from his dorm room in the middle of the night thanks to some asshole setting off the fire alarm.

when we were made it was no accident (1.2k | teen)

Steve and Eddie just started dating, it's all new, it's all fragile and most of all, it's still a secret. So when they have a soundcheck coming up, they can't both be late because they can't make themselves to leave the bed, can't they? (part of @thefreakandthehair and @firefly-party and mine project pickup note)

we can be heroes (1.2k | gen)

Love makes Steve brave. And Steve loves fast and hard.

Once those two things become a certainty in Eddie's mind, other things fall into place.

only soul I ever saved (1.1k | explicit)

With Steve, Eddie can be soft. Obediant and sweet. With Steve, Eddie can be a good boy.

hate to be lame (1.1k | mature)

Eddie and Steve are spies working for competing agencies. They make it work.

Somehow, I just want you more (1k | teen)

When Chrissy sets Eddie up for a blind date he did not expect to find a ghost from his past waiting for him.

🌈 Drabbles (<1k) 🌈

I want you to want me (921 | teen)

let the impulse to love and the instinct to kill entangle to one (918 | teen)

Connoisseur of Comfort (652 | gen)

Grow back your sharpest teeth, you know my desire (548 | explicit)

Show them (Baby I'm yours) (534 | explicit)

Sugar, I got a taste for you now (480 | explicit)

Okay, so I'm the dragon. Big deal. (442 | gen)

always on the tip of my tongue (387 | teen)

Deflated. Devoured. Defiled. (311 | explicit)

hole-in-the-wall (404 | gen)

love bites (404 | mature)

mine (404 | explicit)

Ahoy Sailor! (404 | mature)

My arms belong around you (509 | mature)

Like real people do (846 | gen)

that ultra-kind of love (you never walk away from) (509 | teen)

Let Go (509 | explicit)

Anything for love (790 | teen)

moonlit bonding (388 | teen)

blow my candle (290 | explicit)

Strangers Passing (380 | teen)

#steddie #steddie fanfiction #steve harrington #eddie munson #steve x eddie #steddie fanfic #steddie fic #steddie fluff #steddie ficlet #steddie smut #steddie au #eddie x steve #my writing

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sweetbbyshion · 4 months

Text

Eros' song

-> Shinichiro Sano x Reader (no pronouns or descriptions)

characters: Shinichiro Sano

genre: fluff

summary: you write a poem as a way to confess to your best friend

warnings: childhood friends to lovers, i wrote the poem so please don't be too mean or i'll cry, also DON'T STEAL THE POEM FOR THE LOVE OF GOD it will be my last reason, the reader is into books, first quote is from Kafka's Letters to Milena and the second is Edgar Allan Poe's Annabel Lee

network: @eveningatthemoviesnetwork

Shinichiro has been your best friend since your first memory surfaced. From the moment you could process thoughts and emotions, the man has been close to you. Truly, it was a matter of time until one of you fell in love and you happened to be the (un)lucky one.

You were no older than thirteen when the infamous incident happened. Shinichiro (also thirteen and with a really, really ugly hairstyle) looked at you and gave you a big toothy smile, like he always does whenever a cool bike passes by you. Suddenly, flowers exploded behind him, angels sang, the sun shone brighter than it had all day and you found yourself almost squinting and on the verge of throwing up because of the butterflies in your stomach. Metaphorically, obviously.

It was a shame, really. You nearly yelled at the universe for not giving this evil curse to Shinichiro instead but, apparently, the entities above also doomed Shinichiro to a life of rejection. So, you suffered because your best friend didn’t look at you and the man suffered because no girl wanted him.

At thirteen you turned into poetry and all kinds of literature, finding pieces that you related to a bit too much and, eventually, writing things yourself. Shinichiro didn’t understand most of the stuff you read, always questioning what words meant and what was so special about those poems that had you tear up so often. You shared that part of your life with him as well, showing the poems, drabbles, verses you came up with that were messily written in your journal. Fortunately for you and your weak heart, Shinichiro didn’t really understand that most of the things you wrote were about him.

It stayed that way until you were twenty three. You were less naive, more in tune with the feelings that made you want to throw up years ago and definitely in love with your best friend (who kept getting rejected even after changing the horrible hairstyle; the Gods really hated you both). Shinichiro had his own bike shop, a gang that supported him through everything and you. He still happily reads whatever you wrote in your journal and he still doesn't understand half of the stuff you have there but the honest praise and support makes your heartbeat a little bit faster. Shinichiro is there when you publish your very own poetry book, his name deservedly on the first page. To Shinichiro, who was always there for me. As Franz Kafka said “In a way, you are poetry material; You are full of cloudy subtleties I am willing to spend a lifetime figuring out.”

So, maybe, you were a bit too obvious with the whole ‘I love you’ deal but Shinichiro didn't seem to understand all the hints you dropped. Everyone around you seemed to find out about your little secret and some of his friends even went out of their way to let you know he felt the same but you weren't so sure.

“What you writing over there?” the smooth voice of Shinichiro pulls you back to reality, the noise in the shop coming back in an instant. It was almost dinner time and you came into the shop hoping to have a meal with your best friend before going home. Deciding to entertain yourself, you pulled out your notebook and a pen from your bag and wrote some ideas that popped in your head as you stared with heart eyes to the object of your affection.

“Nothing important.” A lie. The words that stared back at you formed, yet again, another finished love poem that you dreamed of showing to Shinichiro in hopes that he would read it and return your feelings. Shinichiro knew you were lying. Somehow he always knew. You refuse to return eye contact when he grabs your pen and doodles mindlessly next to the verses, a routine he acquired when you whined about the pages of your journal being too boring with just words in it. You look at his hands gently drawing small hearts (Shinichiro couldn't draw a heart even if it was to save his family but you grew to love the blob shapes) and a random dog with stars surrounding it.

“Can I read it?” You meet his eyes, tender and sweet, which were already looking at you. Your heart flips, turns and does cartwheels when Shinichiro gives you that toothy smile that makes him close his eyes and you can only let out a small “Sure.” before closing your mouth so you don't accidentally confess.

My soul holds a secret that my pen

Now wishes to share.

In ink-stained lines, my feelings find a home:

Untold to anyone but the Gods from above,

As I convoke Eros to help me compose a piece

That will reach your heart.

But do I dare?

Do I dare trouble the deities with a greedy tone

When I can’t gather the courage

To whisper confessions when we’re alone;

The only witness to my love

Being the moon shining high up

And the paper getting stained with passion.

So sure of my affection yet,

I hesitate.

Do you dare reciprocate these heavy feelings

That only keep me awake at night or

Am I merely a friend that consoles your ego

When things fall apart?

But it’s okay,

For I have accepted the possibility

The harsh, unwanted probability

That I’m doomed to an existence of unrequited love

And a lifeless life

Without the muse who inspires me

To write the most loveful poems and

The most sorrowful verses.

You nervously glance at Shinichiro while he is reading, noticing how his eyes squint and his nose scrunches from time to time (he does it when he doesn't understand something that is written). You pay close attention to his face, the poet in you wishing to remember Shinichiro until your last day if the worst was to happen. A part of you hopes the man will finally understand all of the things you wished to say but weren’t strong enough to. You pray that your poem reaches his heart and soul, that he sees you not only as a longtime friend but a life partner. “Wow.” He sighs, lifting his eyes from the paper to settle on you again. “I’ll never get tired of saying you’re really good.” Shinichiro stands back at his full height, murmuring about back pain after leaning down for so long. You look up at the man who has your world spinning around him, waiting to see if he says something more. He doesn't.

“Is that all?” You ask, playing with the bracelet on your wrist (a gift from Shinichiro when you turned 18). He looks at you confused. His eyes scan the paper again, rereading the verses to figure out if he missed anything. He still looks lost so you grab the pen and, in a moment of courage, you write a few words at the bottom of the poem. For Shinichiro, who I “loved with a love that was more than love”. The handwriting is shaky, giving away the anxiety exuding out of you. Shinichiro reads the additional words, then stops, then looks at you. You get up, not being able to have his body towering you that way. He is standing next to you and, for the first time, you’re not sure about the emotions revealed by his eyes. You wonder if you made a mistake confessing out of nowhere, in his shop, while his siblings and friends are hanging out and the last customers exit. You should have eased your way into the subject but what’s done is done and all you have left is to wait.

“I know I’m not the smartest person…” Shinichiro’s eyes are on you, reading your every move. “But does this mean what I think it means?” You nod, not trusting your voice. His eyes widen and, in a sudden movement, Shinichiro is even closer to you. His hands are on each side of your face, forcing you to look at him. “You wrote a poem for me. A love poem.” You nod again, your movements a bit restricted by the big hands holding your face in place. “I’m going to kiss you.”

Shinichiro gives you five seconds to step back before his lips are crashing against yours. You don't think any poem, book, word could describe what you felt the moment your lips met. It’s fast and a bit clumsy but you couldn't be more happy this happened, unable to control the smile when Shinichiro stops the kiss to look at you. You want to giggle like a young teenager when Shinichiro gives you that smile you love more than anything. “Does this mean you feel the same?”

“Yeah. Have for a while. Couldn't stand the thought of getting rejected by you though.” His thumb caresses your cheek and you find yourself leaning to the touch.

“I would never reject you.” You murmur, embarrassed at such revelation. “You know there’s a quote from Emily Brontë-”

“Tell me about her in a bit.” Shinichiro interrupts you. “I want to kiss you again.”

The next time you write a poem isn't about Shinichiro, your best friend. Instead, you dumped all of the new (reciprocated) feelings about Shinichiro, your boyfriend, and the experiences you get from living with him by your side. Most of your poems were and will probably always be about Shinichiro Sano, no matter the status he holds in your life. You get to love your muse and your boyfriend gets a lifetime supply of romantic poetry dedicated to him (as well as quotes that fit each situation).

#shinichiro fluff #shinichiro x reader #tokyo revengers fluff #tokyo revengers x reader #tokyorev fluff #tokyorev x reader #shinichiro sano #kora posts!

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bunnakit · 5 months

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last twilight e2 thoughts feelings etc

As always, I'm just some dude on the internet. I could be way off base with some of this but I just think it's fun to think about. Night asking Mhok to make him a cup of coffee was very interesting. Mhok is not there as a general staff, cook, etc. He's there to help Day and only Day and Night is fully capable of making himself a cup of coffee. Curious if this is a hint at Night helping himself to things intended for Day, coveting things Day has, etc. It definitely didn't feel like a throw away action.

I appreciate Porjai very, very gently reprimanding Mhok for being nosy in cleaning up Day's room. It was a bit of a misstep for Mhok and he needed to know that. It's important to let us disabled people ask for help when we need it and not assume we always need help. While the state of Day's room was very likely a concern for safety reasons and general health he should have been asked at the very least if it should or could be cleaned. It's not unlike grabbing the handles of someone's wheelchair and pushing them when they didn't ask to - You don't know what Day has a system for, you don't know what paths he's memorized, or even what obstacles he may have set up for himself intentionally to guide himself to different parts of the room. While it seems difficult for Day to ask for help it is something he's going to have to get accustomed to and he will with time, jumping in and making changes without his consent robs him of more of his already so very scarce agency he's been allowed.

Aon telling Day he needs to be patient and learn to talk to sighted people is huge. I made a post last week about my favorite thing being Day's anger and this is absolutely true, however, it can be so very easy to wallow in your grief and anger if you let yourself. It's important for Day to be angry, it's important for him to be impatient, but it's also important for him to push past those things and grow. Day needs to reevaluate his interpersonal interactions, he needs to relearn how to socialize especially without social queues from body language (something we often process subconsciously and take for granted.) All Day has now to go off of is voice inflection and his own critical thinking skills. He's going to have to be patient with people, he's going to have to adjust, and he's going to have to give Mhok a genuine chance. It's easy to isolate yourself when you're disabled, far too easy, and it's so much harder and scarier to try.

In the same vein as my first comment, the fumbled eye drops scene is so important, I loved it so much. It's Day realizing his limitations, coming to terms with them, and accepting that he needs help - he can't do everything on his own and that's okay, there are people there to help him if he just asks. And Mhok just does it. He doesn't make him feel silly or stupid or feeble, he just looks for the eye drops and hands them over. It's not A Thing, it's not anything more than just helping someone. It's easy, and it should be.

The Boob Grab sure is something. I did not know Jimmy was built like that. I'll talk more about this later.

"Living alone in a small fish tank is lonely, right?"

Oh fuck me UP. Living alone in this tiny bedroom is lonely, isn't it Day?

"Goldfish have a short memory. It can't be lonely."

Perhaps the goldfish's memory is so short because no one has ever taken the time to stick around. No one was worth remembering. And maybe the goldfish wishes he remembered some things less.

The fish is dying, suffocating in it's own filth and loneliness, suffocating from a lack of consideration and care. But suddenly the goldfish goes outside, it breathes fresh air, smells the blooming jasmine, and suddenly it doesn't feel like it's suffocating anymore. Things are a little clearer - not literally but it no longer feels like it's swimming through a miasma. (The goldfish is Day, btw.)

FUCK. ME. UP. I'm eating all of this like the delicious anniversary dinner I had tonight.

So lunch. I noticed this at the beginning of the episode but it's really driven home here. Zero accommodations have been made for Day in the span of a fucking year. There's been no safety measures made, no pathways made more accessible, and even more frustrating they've reorganized the fucking kitchen. It's like they sealed Day in a tomb and are just waiting for him to die so they can move on with business as usual. I would ask 'how is Day supposed to do anything for himself' but it's very clear no one thought of that. They all thought of him as this shambling shell of a man that couldn't possibly do basic tasks like find the soy sauce for himself, they didn't consider him even as an afterthought when rearranging everything. It shows Day's fall from grace within his own family in such a brutal way and it makes me so angry with his family.

The scene with Night and his friends is a lot. Day's anxiety is so palpable and the comments made make me wonder if Day's condition has been kept under wraps as some sort of shameful secret. I would be interested to see if there was an NDA in Mhok's contract.

And then we get Mhok's anxiety and raw fear. Mhok's worst nightmares came to fruition and he knows what hopelessness, frustration, and despair can do to a person. He knows it only takes the smallest thing to push someone into the unthinkable and he can't allow that to happen again. He failed to see it last time, failed to answer a call for help. He won't ever miss that call again.

Here's where we're going to come back to the boob grab and here's where I could be WAY FUCKING OFF BASE. I know we all love it, Jimmy boobie stress ball teehee, but there's also a moment of shock on Day's face when it happens. He's alarmed and taken aback and rightfully so because what the fuck this man is half naked in his room??? Then we come to this point where Mhok has just burst into his room while Day is naked and vulnerable and he knows Mhok has seen him. His reaction might seem harsh or impulsive but here's the tragic thing - A painful, horrible amount of caretakers in the world take advantage of their charges monetarily, sexually, or otherwise. (It's something I've personally seen happen to friends and family.)It's not the rule, but it happens enough to be notable.

It would not be difficult for Day to be taken advantage of and this is only his.. third? fourth? day with Mhok who is still very much a stranger to him. Mhok was completely justified in his reaction (and realistically should have a key for Day's room for emergencies only because God forbid Day fall in the bath or something) but Day's reaction is every bit justified as well. But I don't blame Day for his reaction because he very likely was afraid and his emotions were already so heightened from the mess with his brother, and I applaud Mhok for just leaving and leaving it at that. They both needed to calm down and Mhok leaves. He respects Day's decision, his agency, etc. He walks away from a job that could change his life.

Once again The Little Prince narrates the lives of these two perfectly. No notes, perfect, beautiful, muah.

The fucking slippers. Finally, someone has taken the time to understand. It was a simple solution to a large part of Day's frustration and pain. It has given him some of his agency back, taken away some of his fear. These stupid ugly goldfish slippers have given him so much and perhaps Mhok understands far more than Day gave him credit for because finally someone is listening to him, listening without him having to beg.

And Day going to see Mhok? That's huge. He could've asked Porjai to bring Mhok or ask him to come by but no; like The Prince he approaches the untamed fox.

And Mhok's desperation to understand. Fucking hell. He's gone above and beyond just being a caretaker and the way he says 'the way people look at us.' Because it's an us now, he wants to stand right by Day's side and shoulder this journey with him, to hold his hand and tell Day 'I'm here with you, you aren't alone.' I'm gonna chew my fucking upholstery.

This is only solidified with the addition of Big Mhok. Little Day isn't alone anymore and Big Mhok might be scary and intimidating but not for Little Day, never for Little Day. And then Day uses some of his precious ten fleeting seconds to see Mhok, to put a face to this insane, caring, brusque, ridiculous man that would live his days blindfolded just to understand someone else's perspective. Because Mhok is worth seeing.

Anyway they make me fucking insane, your honor. I don't know if I'll do this for every episode (if people like it enough, sure) but this one in particular had me feeling a lot of things.

#last twilight #last twilight the series #ltts meta #reposting bc i misspelled some names and wanted to add some comments and tweak some wording #bunn meta

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