#sending love to anyone faced with their trauma today

[shibaraki]

happy holidays, my friends!! I hope you all get to eat some gorgeous food and spend time with your loved ones today!!! if you don’t celebrate or have company come round to mine I’ll get the snacks and bevs out, let’s marathon studio ghibli ~(‾⌣‾~)

#sending love to anyone forced to see people that hurt or harm them today #sending love to anyone faced with their trauma today #sending love to anyone feeling alone today #sending love to anyone that couldn’t make a big dinner today #I don’t do thanksgiving myself ofc but I’m thinking of you guys today #and will participate by donating to the warrior women project ^_^

[mediumgayitalian]

“Death Breath! Hey! Wait up!”

Nico bolts. He makes it about ten feet away from his cabin door before Will and his stupid long legs catch up with him, throwing an arm over his shoulder and then immediately tripping over his own foot and sending them both sprawling.

“I hate you,” Nico groans, curling up on the grass.

It’s too early for any of this. He was just trying to get back at Cecil for covering everything he owned in aluminum foil last week — and then he was going to go right the hell back to bed.

He knew he should have fucking shadow travelled.

“Aw, c’mon. You love me.”

Nico pretends to gag. The only thing he gets is Will’s crossed arms and raised eyebrow, so he doubles down and really starts to retch. Whatever. It’s eight thirty in the morning. He fell asleep at five. Rational thinking is a distant, distant memory.

“Whenever you’re done.”

“I will be sick at the thought for the next eight weeks,” Nico informs him. For dramatic effect, he looks up at Will’s face — which he cant even see, since the sun’s in his eyes — and shudders.

“You know, you have a genuine, beautiful talent for the dramatic arts, the likes of which I have never seen. Are you sure you’re not secretly an Apollo kid?”

I better not be, ‘cause then all the staring I do at your calves would be real weird, he thinks to himself, then considers whether he can convince Kayla to give him a lobotomy. He thinks she might like the opportunity.

“Piss off,” he says instead of that, artfully schooling his face into the aristocratic mask he’s perfected from his father, squaring his shoulders and looking at Will like he’s a pebble lodged in the flesh of his heel.

Will rolls his eyes. “Get up, Sharpay Evans. You’re gonna stain your shirt worse than you already have.”

Nico sniffs haughtily. “My shirt is perfectly fine, thank you very much. I order them in black for a reason.”

He notices a giant grass stain on the side when he stands. He ignores it. Will does not.

“Yeah, ‘cause you’re the Goth King.”

“Ghost King.”

“Right, right. That helps your case.”

Nico shoves him, fighting back a grin. “Whatever, Solace. What are you bothering me for?”

“Oh, yeah!”

Nico is a deeply cheesy person. Down to the core of him, past all the sarcasm and prickliness and trauma, or whatever, he’s made of fucking mozzarella, because what business does he have comparing Will’s eyes to the morning winter sky? Huh? That’s embarrassing. It isn’t even original. If Nico caught anyone saying shit like that out loud in real life, he’s collapse into the shadows from embarrassment. He needs electroshock therapy.

“I was thinking —”

“Rare,” Nico quips, just to watch Will’s eyebrow twitch. It does. Nico smiles.

“I was thinking,” he repeats, mocking glare in Nico’s direction, “that you and me go to the city this afternoon.”

“You chased me across camp for that?”

“Oh, please, Zombie Face. I chased you maybe twenty yards.”

“I think all that time sniffing rubbing alcohol has deteriorated your brain.”

“I think I’m going to shove you in the lake.”

“Feel free to try. You will not wake up the next morning.”

“Nah.” Will shoots him a smug smile. Nico trips over air. “I can be as annoying as I want and you still won’t kill me. I have impunity.”

Nico rolls his eyes, refusing to dignify that with an answer. The less he acknowledges his own shame, the more likely it will go away on its own. Probably.

“Anyways. Guess what Cecil told me today.”

“His last will and testament?” Nico guesses, suddenly remembering his reason for being up this early.

“No, no, not that.” Will pauses. “Well, I mean, he did. I passed it on to Chiron. He has requested that when you maul him, you avoid his face, because he wants to be a sexy corpse and he can’t do that if you destroy his prettiest features.”

“Noted. Please inform him I will come for him within a window of the next fifteen hours.”

Theres a very particular face Will makes when he finds something genuinely funny. A smile a little more crooked than his regular one, teeth working at his bottom lip to hold it back, left dimple appearing in his cheek. It makes Nico want to do stupid things like press his thumb into said divot. He instead shoves his hands deeply into his pockets.

“I’ll let him know.” He clears his throat. “Anyways. You know what day it is today?”

Nico squints. “Tues…day? No, Wednesday.” He glances at Will. It’s been maybe….three days since their weekly sleepover? No, fuck, four. He thinks. “Thursday. Final answer.”

“Monday,” Will corrects, “and, gods, you need to sleep more. And a calendar. But no, that’s not my point.”

“Feel free to get to it.”

“It’s Valentine’s Day,” Will finally explains. He tries for exasperated, but it doesn’t work — he’s clearly excited, bouncing on the balls of his feet and waving his hands. “And The Five Seasons is doing half off for couples, so you and I need to go!”

He waves his hands, as if tying off some grand reveal. His (blue blue blue blue) eyes are squeezed nearly shut by the force of his beam, which lessons slightly with every second Nico does not respond.

“William,” he says finally. He opens his mouth, then closes it again. “William.”

Will pouts. “What?”

“Explain how this is relevant to me, William.”

“Aw, c’mon, Nico! Don’t be difficult!”

“William,” stresses Nico again. “We are not a couple. Did you hit your head again?”

“Well, duh, Neeks, it’s about the scam!” He flaps his hand in a way Nico assumes is meant to convey something. “We’re gonna — eat! Cheap! By pretending to be a couple!” Now both hands are flopping, paired with wide, imploring eyes. “Obviously!”

“Obviously,” Nico repeats, slowly. He instructs one half of his brain to keep its focus on not melting into a puddle of blushing embarrassed goo, and the other to exercise restraint and not strangle the boy in front of him. A headache begins to press behind his eyes. “Will, what the shit.”

“You of all people!” Will throws his hands up. “You love scamming people! You hate corporate holidays! You frequently throw pebbles at people who look, and I quote, too obnoxiously happy! You’re the best hater I know! You should be on board!”

He makes a compelling point. Not that Nico is going to make that easy for him.

“You seem very invested in this,” Nico points out. He manages to keep his voice tastefully judgmental, which he’s very proud of.

“Of course I am! I want cheap Five Seasons food, godsdammit!” He pauses, switching tactics. “Nico,” he says softly. He puts a gently hand on Nico’s forearm, making him freeze. He is suddenly very, very close, and wow, did his hair always frame his face in gentle waves? Has that always been a thing? “I really, really want to scam a restaurant with you.” He smiles, small and crooked and gods, Will doesn’t look dangerous very often, but holy Hades when he does — “Will you make my Valentines, and scam a restaurant with me?”

His fingers begin to trace little circles in the inside of Nico’s wrist.

“Yes,” he squeaks, voice cracking.

“Yes!” Will cheers, pulling his fist. “Yes, hell yes, Nico! We are going to scam the shit out of this restaurant! Half off for couples? How about half off for heathens! Free money, baby! Fuck yeah!”

He turns back towards Nico, smile still wide and radiant, blinking eyes pools of sparkling excitement. Nico’s knees go a little weak. “I’ll come get you at 2! Thank you, Neeks!”

He runs off back to his cabin, only tripping twice. Nico watches him go, feeling a little like he’s tripping, too, with all the swooping his stomach is doing.

“Dude,” he mumbles to himself, shaking his head. “Be normal. Christo.”

It takes him ten straight minutes to get back to his cabin, even though he’s standing at the porch.

———

The obsidian handle of the Hades’ cabin door rattles.

“Neeks!” calls a voice behind the door, “you ready to go?”

“Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit.” Nico scrambles over to the mirror and stares at himself. He turns a little to the left. He scowls. “Shit!” Tugging the shirt off, he turns back to his closet, tossing the piece of clothing to join the rest of its brethren on the floor. “Shitfuck. Fuckshit. Shit.”

“Nico!”

“Coming!”

Tapping his foot rapidly, he looks harder, as if that will magically make the right shirt pop into existence, perfectly pressed, on a hanger. “Shit.”

“What could possibly be taking so long? You’ve had two hours!”

“I care about my appearance, Mr Flip Flops and Scrubs!”

“Bleh bleh! Hurry up!”

Nico bites his lip. It shouldn’t matter. It doesn’t, really. Five Seasons is not actually a fancy restaurant. He and Will just like to joke that it is, because it has tablecloths. They’ve gone there dozens of times before; they stop every time they’re in the city for supply runs or visits to Olympus or to harass their summer-only friends at school. There is literally no reason for Nico to be stressing about what stupid shirt he should wear. Gods know Will is wearing cargo shorts.

“Nico!”

“I’m coming!“

Scowling, he digs through the pile of discarded clothes until he finds the first shirt he’d put on — a dark green button up that was given to him, along with a bunch of other fancy clothes he never wears, by the Aphrodite cabin. He hastily shoves their buttons through their holes, cursing when he mixes them up and has to start over, and sprints over to the mirror to inspect himself.

The shirt looks good. It’s a little tight on the arms, which he suspects was on purpose, and the colour compliments his skin nicely. The buttons are a dark, shiny brown that match his eyes. They pair nice with his simple jeans and black vans, casual enough that he doesn’t look like he’s going to Prom, or anything stupid like that, but dressy enough that it looks like he put effort in. He runs his fingers through his hair, trying to make the staticky strands sit right, but gives up pretty quickly. It’s okay if one thing is a little messy, right?

“Finally,” huffs Will as the door swings open. He glances Nico up and down, then grins. “You look great.”

Nico was right. He is indeed wearing cargo shorts, although to his credit they are his one pair without various Head Medic stains. His sweater, too, is a pretty blue, V-necked, long-sleeved, and a completely different style than his shorts. It clashes horribly. His shoes are, for some reason, bright solid pink. Nico suspects Hecate magic. His hair is braided in two French braids, his favourite way to wear it. Nico believes he is also wearing a touch of sparkly eyeshadow.

“You look dorky.”

Will grins wider. “Thank you! I wouldn’t let anyone help me choose something.”

“You should have.”

“I wanted it to be authentic, Nico. Also, got something for you.” From behind his back, he pulls out a handful of daisies, black dirt clinging to their roots, like he plucked them straight from the ground. Nico is inexplicably endeared by the image, and prays the smile on his face is less soft than he knows it is.

“You got me flowers?”

“Well, duh, Avril Lavigne. We gotta sell the scam.”

Nico brings them close to his face and inhales deeply. They smell fresh and earthy and sweet.

“That’s a stupid reason to bring someone flowers.”

“Give them back, then.”

“No. Fuck off. They’re mine.”

Will’s eyes twinkle. “Okay.” He holds out his arm. “Ready to go?”

The jump is close enough that Nico can convince him to shadow travel, and not just because he sadistically looks forward to the shade of green Will’s face will get after. As dangerous as he knows it can be, he misses it, sometimes. There’s something comforting about it, something soothing and familiar. Shadow travelling to the restaurant eases any lingering nerves.

“If you’re gonna throw up, do it somewhere I can’t hear you,” he says as they materialize in an alley.

Will’s cheeks puff out. “I’m gonna do it on your fuckin’ shoes.”

“I will leave your ass here, Solace, I swear to the gods.” Despite his grumbling, he rests a cool hand on the back of Will’s neck until he’s recovered. “Good?”

“Yeah.” He straightens, dusting off his sweater. “Let’s go.”

Nico follows him down the alley and onto the street, elbowing past the crowd of pedestrians until they approach the familiar glass doors. He rolls his eyes fondly every time Will apologizes to someone.

“You need to be meaner.”

Will sticks his tongue out and tries to trip him. Unfortunately, he only manages to throw himself off balance, nearly crashing to the floor of Nico hadn’t caught him.

“Good gods, Solace.”

“That was your fault!”

“Yeah, yeah.”

The doors of the restaurant are absolutely plastered in cheesy red hearts and bows and cartoon kisses. And, as promised, a giant sign promising couples a fifty percent discount on their meals.

“My love,” says Will dramatically, holding out a hand, “shall we?”

Nico sighs, resting his hand delicately in Will’s. It sparks with electricity, like it always does. “I suppose.”

“Party pooper.”

“I’m not hearing oh, Nico, thank you so much for doing this incredibly stupid thing with me, you are my dearest friend and I owe you one. Or three, for some reason.”

Will’s mouth twitches. “Oh, Nico, thank you so much for —”

Nico shoves him, laughing. “Shut up.”

They’re seated pretty quickly, server smiling when they take notice of their clasped hands. Will orders chicken tenders, like he does every single time without fail, and water. Nico orders from the adult menu and absolutely does not make any kind of show about it.

“There is nothing babyish about chicken tendies.”

“Oh, of course not.”

“Is this about you having a credit card? That does not make you more adult than me. It makes you a nepo baby.”

“Mhm. Sure thing.”

“Nobody likes a nepo baby, Nico.”

“Look, I think your drink comes with a complimentary sippy cup.”

Teasing and joking with Will is so easy that Nico forgets the core of their mission. The pink garlands hanging from the ceiling fade into the background — he’s too busy crying with laughter when Will nearly chokes to death on a french fry, too busy flicking a forkful of food at his shoulder just to make him shriek, too busy kicking his shin under the table. He catches Nico’s foot between his the fourth time he tries it, keeping it trapped for the rest of the meal. Nico finds he doesn’t mind.

“And your bill,” says their server when they’re done, setting down a slip of paper. “Forgive me if I’m being presumptuous, but do you two qualify for today’s discount?”

Will smirks widely. “We do,” he says, with no small amount of pleasure. He shoots Nico the least subtle wink of all time. Nico rolls his eyes, cheeks going a little pink.

“Great! You guys have a wonderful Valentine’s day.”

“You, too.”

The server hurries away, turning to their other tables. Will’s smile is wide and smug.

“I knew it would work.”

“Duh. Easiest scam in the world, Solace.”

He sticks his tongue out. “And thus the best payout. You’re welcome.”

“Blah, blah. Gimme the bill.”

“Um, no way, di Angelo. I’m paying.”

He opens his wallet before Nico can stop him, mouthing as he counts the bills.

“What? No! I’m paying.”

“Are not.”

“Am too!”

“Are not.” He sets down a couple twenties. Nico snatches them right back up. “You we’re just complaining about my credit card!”

“Exactly. Thus my need to continue to pretend you don’t have one, so we can continue our friendship.”

“Solace, I swear to the gods.”

“di Angelo, I swear to the gods.”

Nico stares him down. Will stares back. He doesn’t even try to hide his lazy grin, his laughing eyes.

“You’re not paying for this by yourself,” Nico says firmly. “You don’t have a job. My father invented being rich.”

“Sure, but I made you come with me.”

“Ugh!” Nico throws his hands up, imagining how satisfying it would be to wrap his hands around that long neck (followed by his teeth and his tongue and his —). “Why are you impossible? I would’ve gone with you no matter what, stupid!”

As soon as he says it he wants to stick his head in wet cement. For a brief second, something like surprise flits across Will’s face, before he schools it back into his teasing smirk.

“Well, obviously, Death Breath. I’m excellent company.”

“You’re literally the most annoying person I know.”

“And yet here you are, hanging out with me, of your own volition.”

“…I’m paying next time.”

Will grins. “Whatever you say.”

They walk around the city for a while before heading back to camp. Will says it’s because he needs the air, Nico knows it’s because he wants him to rest a little longer before trying to shadow travel again. He tries not to let himself get all melty inside.

(Nobody willingly hangs out around the city for the ‘air’. He’s a shit liar. Nico should be offended.)

It’s nearing curfew by the time they melt back out from behind Thalia’s tree, extra shadows of early evening making the trip easier.

“Those fries are going to make a reappearance,” Will grimaces.

“Not if you don’t want me to kick you in the face.”

“You’d never.”

He would indeed never. But he would rather pass away than admit it, so.

“C’mon, dot face. It’s getting late. You have a cabin to run.”

“Oh, Nico,” Will says in a breathy falsetto, “are you walkin’ me to my cabin? How chivalrous!”

“Nevermind.”

“No no no no no I’m kidding, I’m kidding!” Nico allows himself to be tugged, weak to Will’s giggles. “Walk me to my cabin. C’mon.”

Sighing, as if he’s so put out, Nico does. Some point in between Thalia’s tree and the amphitheater, Will’s hand slides down from around his wrist to tangled in between his fingers. Coincidentally, his mouth goes dry.

As they approach the Apollo cabin, Will slows to a stop.

“Hey.” He squeezes their fingers together, smile soft in the dying light of dawn. “I had fun today. Thank you for coming with me.”

Nico swallows. One day, those words will be said in a different context, if everything goes well for Nico, and he’s not sure how the hell he’s going to handle it without bursting into flame. “Yeah, well. Anything to scam a restaurant.”

“Right.”

They walk the last few steps to the cabin, rickety porch steps creaking under their feet as they approach the open door. Will doesn’t let go.

“Hey, Nico.”

“…Yeah?”

Quick as a flash, Will leans in and presses the softest of kisses to his mouth. The noise Nico makes is practically punched out of his lungs, spine going rigid in surprise.

“You can pay for our next date, okay?”

He’s gone before Nico can respond, ducking into his cabin with a small smile and closing the door behind him. Nico stands there, like an idiot, for three solid minutes at the very least, distantly aware of the giggles coming through the open window.

His hand comes up, fingers brushing his bottom lip.

“The little fucker set me up.”

Valentine’s day scam. Please. The only scam today was the scam of Will’s sneaky asking.

Nico smiles.

“You’re a mess, Solace!” he shouts, knowing damn well Will is listening.

He’s right. “Goodnight, Nico!”

Shaking his head, Nico runs back to his cabin, entire body tingling and cheeks aching with his grin.

#they should argue more actually it’s so funny #pjo #percy jackson and the olympians #hoo #heroes of olympus #pjo hoo toa #nico di angelo #will solace #solangelo #will/nico #nico/will #banter #valentine’s day #fluff #fic #my writing #longpost #not established relationship but it might as well be

[readychilledwine]

The Prettiest Fuck You

Summary - After the birth of Rhysand and Feyre's 3rd child, Tamlin sends a coded message with the help of his mate

Warnings - slight jealously, mentions of breeding, little IC slander, Tamlin is in a goofy mood

Prompt Day 3 - Mate/Flower Language

A/N - just a short little silly for @tamlinweek I'm so excited for the masterlist for today to pop up. I'm going to eat it all up. I fell in love with the idea of a fuck you bouquet after several reddit posts and a few on here, and Tamlin would seriously love to send one. I just know it.

Tamlin Masterlist

You blinked at Tamlin as you looked over the list of flowers that he had given you. Fox glove, yellow roses and carnations, Cyprus, babies breath, and marigolds?

Insincerity, congratulations, disappointment, death, and jealousy? You put the list down on your work table, silently hoping it would somehow magically disappear under the thousands of stems and ribbons from all the arrangements you had worked in today. “Tamlin-”

“Just do it.” He tucked your hair behind your ear and kissed your nose, trying to convince you with that signature smile.

“Tam-” You wanted to object to what the bouquet said, even if you would be able to make it absolutely stunning.

“It's fine.” Both hands were on your face as he kissed you softly.

“Ta-”

“It will look beautiful. You make everything so beautiful, dearest.” You couldn't help the soft smile. His words were not a lie. You were the most sought-after florist to the 7 courts for a reason.

You shook it off, focuing again. “Tamlin, this is-”

“Perfect to congratulate them with!” He walked away from you, chuckling as he did. You had little choice. It was a done discussion.

Your mate wasn't a bitter male all the time. Life shined in those bright green eyes, and they were always full of wonder, amazement, love, joy. But the Lord and Lady of Night announcing the birth of their 3rd child and waiting for the praise and attention that was bound to come with it? That made Tamlin bitter, sick, angry.

He had been too stuck in himself, too trapped in years of trauma, to offer Feyre the life he had offered you. One safe from any duties you did not want. One safe from politics. One where you were free to give him a child at any point. One where a family was wanted, but in due time, instead of an expectation to prove your court was moving on.

You were not Tamlin's symbolic incubator. Your womb was not meant to be used to send a message. You were his wife, his love, the one he showered in red roses and baby's breath, a sign of his eternal love and devotion. You two would have children someday. You would have an army if he'd allow it. But for now, until this lingering bitterness passed, you two would just continue to learn and grow together.

You went back to the task at hand

Gathering the buds he had requested and inspecting each and every single one to ensure its perfection and beauty. If you were going to do this. You were going to do it so well that Rhysand would not come mist your mate and then trap you in that damned Stone City. Tamlin learned through you to speak through flowers when they were sent as gifts or placed in his home. He had learned to say congratulations, to say his sympathy, to say his love, to show support. He had learned a new form of expression through you, and as intricately laced and weaved the flowers he had picked into an arrangement, you realized you thought him too well.

The flowers were beautiful, varying shades of yellows, oranges, whites, reds, and you had mixed your favorite feather-like greens in. It seemed so innocent to anyone who didn't know what the flowers symbolized, the language they spoke. It said “Fuck you and die,” in the most beautiful way possible.

You signed as you picked the vase, enchanting everything to last and stamping the card with the sign of the Spring Court, a rose and thorns. You sent it, hugging yourself slightly before walking into your shared room. it was quiet behind that door, and when you opened it, you could not help but to smile.

Centered on your vanity sat a bouquet of White tulips, red roses, and red spider lily. You knew immediately who they were from, who had made the arrangement, and who may be missing her favorite flowers from her garden.

It was stunning. Shades of red and white mixed with greenery that it was so perfectly balanced. It was huge, occupying most of the corner it sat on. He had surrounded it with poetry and chocolates. "Tam," you took one of those soft roses in your hands, smelling that familiar scent and sighing so happily.

You jumped as arms went around your waist, and kiss was placed to the side of your head. “How did it turn out?” His voice was laced with pride over his own creation.

“Gorgeous. I wouldn't make it any other way. Regardless of what you wanted it to say.”

“Elain lives in Day now, right?” You hummed and nodded. “But she will come visit them, won't she?”

“Of course.”

“Perfect. Perfect. And how about your flowers? How did they turn out?” Your mate, so handsome and strong, tended to need those compliments, and you were eager to hand him praise.

You turned into him, pressing a soft kiss on his lips. “So beautiful. Thank you for including Spider Lilies. This has to be the most stunning arrangement you've made so far." You touched the spider lily, fingers lingering on the off shoots as you did.

“Growth and new beginnings,” he whispered the meaning to you and watched as you nodded, looking up at him through watering eyes.

“And purity and true love.”

“To symbolize us, y/n.”

“To symbolize us,” you repeated.

Rhysand placed the bouquet from Spring centered on his table. He always admired y/n's work. Yes, Elain did wonderful things with flowers, but centuries of practice and studying had allowed you to create masterpieces with the blink of an eye. He smiled before walking away. Leaving a stunned Elain and Lucien to silently laugh.

Her mate leaned into her ear, red hair falling over her shoulder. “He really out did himself with this one.”

Elain had tears forming, “She made it so beautiful.”

“Do we tell him?”

“No,” Elain fixed the flowers from where they had been resting on Rhysand's chest. “Let Tam have this. I have enjoyed him alive lately. His gardens are exquisite."

"You're exquisite," Lucien squeezed the now supple hips of his mate, loving their new plush. "We should really visit soon."

"We should."

General Taglist:

@hnyclover @glitterypirateduck @slytherinindisguise @mischiefmanagers @bloodicka @starsinyourseyes @the-sweet-psycho @mariahoedt @rinalouu @sarawritestories @starryhiraeth @starswholistenanddreamsanswered @cumuluscranium @loneliestluvr @eternallyelvish @azrielsmate3 @daughterofthemoons-stuff @meritxellao @aria-chikage @hungryforbatboys @lilah-asteria

#tamlinweek2024 #tamlinweek 2024 d3 #tamlin x reader #tamlin x you #tamlin x y/n #lucien x elain #elucien

[the-witty-pen-name]

Love is Blind (Part 3)

Eddie Munson x PlusSize!F!Reader

Summary: In a last ditch effort to evade the normal disappointments of dating, a group of misfits desperate to have someone see who they are on the inside volunteer for the most recent brain chemistry study at Hawkins Lab. 

Word Count: 2.9k

Warnings: 18+ ONLY, smut in later parts (part 4), reader has low self-esteem and struggles with self love/acceptance, anxiety/trauma related to bullying, tooth rot worthy fluff, Eddie being a major flirt, cursing, mentions of substance use, descriptions of bullying & people being jerks but like also very overdone tropes, mentions of smut

A/N: Please let me know if you liked it!! Feel free to send me an ask if you want to fangirl with me over these two because I cannot stand them at this point. LOL Or if you want to share any ideas/predictions for upcoming parts with me or other ideas for future stories with Eddie, I would love to hear them. Also, if I forgot to include a warning that should be included, please let me know!

Series Masterlist

“Eddie.” 

“Hey, Eddie.” 

“Earth to Eddie.”

“EDDIE.” 

“Shit! Sorry,” he says, breaking out of his thoughts and coming back to reality. He stares at his notes in his DM folder and he literally has no idea where the campaign has left off. He clears his throat and awkwardly flips through the pages. “Umm..”

“We just made it to the fishing town and we were tasked by a local merchant to kill a sea serpent that’s poisoning the local fish in exchange for..”

“Oh yeah,” he interjects, grabbing the correct script he needs to continue. “Uh, did you roll..?”

“Are you kidding me, man! What the hell?” Gareth exclaims, exasperated. “What’s wrong with you today?” 

Eddie’s face turns pink, shaking his head and ignoring the question. He was not going to admit to being distracted. He’s not embarrassed to talk to the guys about you, but he hasn’t told anyone he signed up for the study. He didn’t want to admit he was desperate or lonely, he’s too proud. He knows his friends don’t care, but it’s a mental block he can’t pass. 

“Nothing, I’m good. Just let it go,” he says defensively. 

“No way. Fucking spill it,” Jeff laughs. 

Eddie racks his mind for the most sane way to answer their questions. He sighs, pushing a mess of his curly hair out of his face. 

“Who is she?” Gareth asks, raising an eyebrow. 

***

DAY FOUR

“I’m mad at you,” Eddie says, and you roll your eyes. 

“What did I do now?” You ask, playful sarcasm evident in your voice. 

“You’re throwing me off my game”

“I don’t even know what you mean by that.” 

“Obviously because I’m really cool and popular,” he jokes, “I’m a Dungeon Master as you know.” 

“Yup, I’m familiar,” you toy. 

“My friends called my ass out so many times last night for not paying attention and I kept fucking up.” 

“I don’t appreciate you pinning this on me,” you chuckle. “I didn’t do anything.”

“Lies!” He says in a bravado. “You are the distraction! You have managed to weasel your way into every aspect of mind- I hope you’re proud of yourself. I’m probably going to be dethroned. My reign is over.”

You bite your bottom lip, to hold back the goofy smile you know is creeping over your whole face. Never before has anyone made you feel like this. The notebook to keep track of other “dates” is long forgotten. You only want to continue talking to Eddie. You wonder if any of the other people you spoke to felt a connection this strong. You’re dying to know if there are other people who feel as good as you right now. 

“What were you thinking about?” you ask shyly. You can hear the way it makes Eddie stop in his tracks. You assume he wears some sort of chain on his pants cause you can hear it when he paces, but suddenly, his end of the wall falls silent.

“How honest do you want me to be?” he asks, suddenly sounding shy. 

“What do you mean by that?”

“Well, I could go the cheesy, romantic, ‘I was thinking about you’ way- which is true. Or, I could be brutally honest because ‘I was thinking about you’ in this context has much more implications than that.” 

“You’re confusing me,” you laugh, “just tell me.”

“Do you ever fantasize about when we get out of here? In like, a you know-”

“Like sexually?” you ask, throwing him a bone. He was drowning. 

“Yeah,” he admits, and you can hear the chain on his pant leg as he fidgets. 

“Yes,” you answer honestly, “I do.”

“I think about it all the time,” he says, the confession spilling out, “The fact that I can’t touch you is driving me fucking insane. It’s not even like just like the thought of getting to fuck you- it’s like being close to you and like feeling your body heat, or like the weight of you sitting on my lap, what it feels like to just touch your skin- just everything that we’re being denied. I don’t even have a visual in my head to go off of it’s just like- I don’t know, man…”

You wince at the mention of sitting on his lap. “I don’t know if you’d want me on your lap for a long time..,” you sound defeated. 

“Um, don’t speak for me,” he cuts you off, playfully. “Any man who doesn’t want the full weight of his woman on his lap is a fucking idiot. Ugh, I don’t even think you understand just how amazing it is. I don’t care if you try to fight me on this, princess. You’re sitting on me, and I will love every second of it.” 

“I’m not thin, Eddie,” you whisper, feeling defeated. You hear him blow a raspberry and then he knocks on the wall. 

“I… don’t… care,” he emphasizes by drawing out each word. “You need to believe me. I couldn’t care less about your weight, your height, your hair… whatever  it is. I like you! And that means I like every part of you.”

His voice begins to raise, like he is yelling up, “If these fuckers would realize we’re done already and let me out.” He then lowers his voice like he’s looking back to the wall. “I want you. The experiment fucking works, I wish I could show you what you do to me cause maybe then it’ll finally stick. I’m going out of my mind that I can’t touch you and show you how much I want you, your body, everything. Do you need me to spell it out?” 

“Would you have still found me attractive if we met outside of this experiment?” you ask, “I bet you wouldn’t have even looked my way if you saw me at a bar or something.”

“Sweetheart,” he coaxes, “absolutely. I know that I would’ve been annoying the shit out of you for your number. You’d have been the one to reject me, I guarantee it.” 

“I would have never,” you reply. 

“So if it’s possible for you to know that you wouldn't have rejected me without seeing me,” Eddie muses, “why can’t you believe the same for me?”

“You haven’t asked me a single thing about my appearance,” he continues, “Do you care how much I weigh? Do you care if I’m short?”

“Not at all. I haven’t thought about it,” you admit. 

“I haven’t either. Now, please let me have my fantasy of you sitting on my lap please,” he whines, “I need something to get me through the day, Christ.” You laugh at his fake annoyance. 

You’re so happy at how he’s able to talk you down. It amazes you how he’s able to see through the insecurities and brings you back down to Earth. 

“Okay, okay,” you say, settling back into the couch and getting comfortable. You rest your head back. 

“I don’t know, basically, we’re in the middle of the campaign- I literally spent weeks writing it,” he continues, “and I literally just can’t stop thinking about how amazing it would be if you were there. I’m just sitting there, thinking about what it would feel like to just have you sitting on my lap while we’re playing and then I’m thinking about how I want to feel lean back on me and I’d have my arm around your waist holding you, and maybe I’d rub little circles on the side of your thigh and I thought about how soft you probably feel and then suddenly I’m sporting the most embarrassing boner which thankfully no one saw- Fuck, this is what you’re doing to me.”

***

“Is there any way to end the trial early?” Eddie asks, sitting in the interview room. There’s a man putting a pulse oximeter on his right index finger and another testing his blood pressure with a monitor on his left side. 

Two other technicians sit across from Eddie, taking notes from Eddie’s answers on a clipboard. They have tested his levels of dopamine and norepinephrine. They’re taking extensive notes on Eddie’s physical reactions to you, and the same is done to all of the candidates- including you. They continue to ignore Eddie’s questions as they ramble on about his levels of oxytocin. 

“In order for us to gather all of the information necessary, this isn’t possible,” one of them finally answers. 

“But I’m telling you how I feel- I’m telling you it works,” he insists. 

“Mr. Muson,” one says, closing a file folder that contains his charts. “This is a study in brain chemistry. You agreed to participate for the designated number of days and in exchange you’d receive compensation. Your conversations between yourself and the other candidates is not our business, nor what you choose to do afterwards. Our job here is to collect data, not the details of your personal life.” 

“I can’t believe this,” he scoffs, rolling his eyes. He pulls off the oximeter and grabs his jean jacket. He walks out, despite their protests, flipping them off as he goes. He couldn’t care less about the lousy $200. As far as he was concerned, they poked and prodded the two of you enough. 

Of course, he did show up the next day. Promptly with a big grin on his face, he walked in with a happy go-lucky attitude that the entire lab team was secretly sick of dealing with. These sudden outbursts and dramatic tirades were becoming a staple of Eddie’s interviews and they equally couldn’t wait to be done with him. 

***

DAY FIVE

“Are these dice?” You ask with a chuckle, opening the small, black velvet bag that’s been left for you on the table in the room. You empty the bag out into your hand and watch as the dice roll into your palm one at a time. They’re all red and shimmer as you move them around in your cupped hand. 

“Well, I wanted you to have them,” you hear his voice explain from the other side of the wall. You’re beaming as you carefully pour them back into the bag and tie it off. 

“This is so sweet, Eds,” you marvel. “I love them.” 

“I also brought my guitar and like in a non-douchebag way I was kind of hoping to play something for you,” he says, his guitar perched on his lap. “I’ve just been working on this song and I wanted your opinion on it.” 

It's surprisingly soft sounding. You were expecting heavy guitar, something really metal based on what Eddie has told you about his music taste and his band. It’s slower paced, like a dreamy, slow rock ballad. 

You wished you could see him, observe how he looks when he’s concentrating or how his fingers look strumming against the cords. You just know he has the most beautiful hands. You imagine his fingers and try to visualize them flexing as he strums. You’re so distracted by it that you almost miss him singing a verse. 

“It’s not done yet,” he prefaces, still strumming. “I’m still working on the lyrics so don’t think too much about them, just like the meaning and the melody you know?” 

“Yeah totally,” you hum in agreement. “I think it sounds great.” He smiles at the praise. 

***

Before

You anxiously sit by the front window, peeking out between the blinds occasionally. You smooth out the skirt of the new dress your mom bought you, and you make sure your hair is still how you requested. Your mom let you wear makeup and you picked eyeshadow that matches your dress and you feel like a million bucks. It’s your ninth grade formal, and the star of the JV basketball team asked you to be his date. 

The minutes tick by and the time changes from reasonably late to stood up. You still hold out hope, and reject your parents' offers to just drive you to the dance. It’s been 45 minutes now, and you still hoped he’d be there. It was long past an hour that you admitted that he wasn’t coming. 

The following Monday you learned the whole thing was a prank, and he never wanted to ask you to the dance. It’s in the school paper that he’s at the dance, dancing cheek to cheek with one of the cheerleaders, who you can’t help but compare yourself to. 

***

Eddie is sitting at the middle school cafeteria table alone. He’s about a hundred pages into the Hobbit and the crusts of his peanut butter sandwich are forgotten about on the crinkly brown paper bag Uncle Wayne packed his lunch in. He’s long forgotten he’s sitting alone, far too engrossed in the story to care, when suddenly his head is yanked back by someone tugging on his t-shirt. 

“What’s up, Freak?” the voice asks before shoving Eddie back towards the table. He catches himself on the edge before his head comes in contact with the surface. He winces as anger boils up inside him. The three jocks laugh amongst themselves until a familiar voice shoos them away. 

“Sorry about them,” she says apologetically as Eddie looks to see her. Chrissy. He notices how she glances from him to the cafeteria table where the cheerleaders sit, and Eddie knows she doesn’t want to be seen with him for too long. 

“You can go, I’m fine,” Eddie says, forcing a laugh to make her feel better. “But, uh, I wanted to ask you-” 

“Okay, thanks,” she says, cutting him off and practically skipping to sit next to the prick who shoved him. Eddie recoils as the jock’s arm wraps around her. Eddie rolls his eyes and gets up to have lunch outside. Along with the remains of his lunch, he shoves the necklace he meant to give her in the bin. He’d stayed up past his bedtime, Wayne showing him how to drill a small hole into the top of one of his guitar picks to put a metal jewelry loop through so it could be put on a silver chain. 

***

You’re sitting at the table in the dimly lit restaurant and sipping on your cocktail when you see him walk in. He matches the description your friend gave you, and you feel yourself smile at how cute he is- definitely living up to the hype. Your friend spent weeks convincing you to go out on this date- one of her boyfriend’s best friends. They’re in the same fraternity. 

You can see as he walks into the dining room, he’s looking around trying to find his date. You offer a smile when he makes eye contact, and you offer a small wave. 

“James?” You ask, “you’re exactly like how Donna described you.” He offers a polite closed lipped smile, and a nod, taking a seat across from you without saying anything. 

As the date continues, you notice you’re doing a lot of the talking. You ask him questions and you’re met with a lot of one word answers. He looks detached, checking his watch and his attention seems to be wandering throughout the restaurant at anything but you. By the time your entrees arrive, he yawns. 

“I’m sorry, did I do something or say something?” you ask, hesitantly.

“No, no you’re good,” he says, straightening his posture like it would correct the behavior he’s been exhibiting. 

He pays for dinner, and you ask if he’d like to do this again sometime (just to be polite, you knew it was going nowhere). He sucks in air from between his teeth, and lets out an exhale. 

“You’re a nice person,” he says, putting his hands in his pockets as he waits for the valet to bring his car. “I’m sorry, but you aren’t really my type. Tom didn’t tell me anything about you really. I just felt like we didn’t click.” You notice the way his eyes scan your body, the unspoken awkwardness of you knowing what he isn’t saying. You nod, and say strained goodbyes as he gets in his car. You wished you were more surprised. 

***

Eddie is met with dirty looks when he approaches a girl at the bar. He feels her eyes on his tattoos and on his clothes, judging him. He sees her friend, who's also looking at him, lean in and whisper something and they both laugh. He knows the joke is on him, yet again. 

He opts to hang where he is, leaning against one of the high top tables, when he watches another guy approach her. He’s muscular, of course he is, and Eddie looks down at his own torso in comparison as this guy’s abs strain his shirt. Eddie scoffs, but now feels incredibly insecure at how his own shirt hangs loosely on his figure. 

***

DAY SIX

“Are you still worried about tomorrow?” Eddie asks, playing haphazardly with his rings as he sits with his forearms rested on his thighs. 

“A little,” you admit sheepishly. “Are you?” 

“More excited than nervous,” he replies honestly. “This whole thing has been fucking wild,” he chuckles, shaking his head. 

“Insane,” you agree, laying on the couch, staring up at the ceiling. 

“I just wanted to ask, no pressure,” Eddie says, clearing his throat, “Uh the other day, when we talked about, you know- what’s gonna happen when we see each other…”

“Yes?”

“You said to not hold back, I don’t remember exactly what it was but along the lines of ‘I don’t want you to hold back. Just whatever feels right to you in that moment, do it. Kiss me, touch me, I’m down for everything.’ Or something. I just want to make sure…”

“You don’t remember exactly, huh?” you tease. 

“Is that still what you want?” he asks earnestly. 

“Without a doubt,” you smile.

PART 4

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[jarofstyles]

Ultramarine- Indigo 7

Hello! Here is a cute part of Indigo, I'm sorry she's a slow burn but I really love them so I don't wanna rush them <3

Check out Patreon for early access to the next part and 150+ Exclusive writings

Indigo Masterlist

WC- 2.8k

Warnings- mention of trauma and bullying (brief) and sexual tension ;)

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

Y/N was grabbing lunch with him. 

Harry’s hand ached, the 5 hour session being particularly grueling regardless of how used his muscles were to the gun. He used arthritic cream on it and his wrist as he took a break in his office, finally checking his phone. As impressed as he was with the woman who had come and sat for 5 hours, he’d wished she wanted a break when he felt his phone buzz in his pocket. H was giddy and anxious to see what Y/N was saying- she was the only one who texted him during the day besides Niall with stupid tiktok links and his Mum sending photos of her cats. 

When he’d opened it up to see her question, he didn’t hesitate to agree. It didn’t matter if he hurt, he wanted to take any excuse he could to see her. 

Y/N; Hiiii! I know this is super last minute so do not be afraid to say no but did you want to grab lunch at around 2:30? 

H: Absolutely I do. Sorry for the late reply, I was finishing a tattoo. It isn’t too late to say yes, is it? 

Y/N: Oh, amazing :) And no, not too late. I’m kind of bored today, I finished a project and told myself I needed to relax but… I feel restless and I missed you a little bit.

Harry felt himself flush at her response, knowing if anyone saw him at this moment they wouldn't recognize him. His smile was wide and face as pink as he collected himself, grateful that he was in his own office so he could freely feel. 

H: Only a little bit? X 

Y/N: Well if I said I missed you a lot I’d be a weirdo, wouldn't I? We just saw each other. 

H: Well call me a weirdo too then, I suppose. Because I did. 

H: A lot, if you couldn’t tell. 

Y/N: You are very cute. I’ll be there in a few :) 

—-

“Yeah, it’s kinda fucked.” Harry sighed as Y/N took his hand into her own from across the little table. “Usually I love a long session but I’ve been doing them a few days in a row. S’my own fault, but I was hoping for a tap out for once.” He laughed through his nose before it turned into a groan, feeling small thumbs begin to rub over his palm. Y/N pouted ever so lightly, moving in slow circles on the skin and digging in slightly before meeting his eye. 

“You’ve got to take care of yourself.” The scold was lighthearted but he could see it on her face. She meant it. It made his chest flutter a little that she cared enough to do that. He was used to basically being on his own, mostly by choice but because it was easy for people to fake concern to get gossip- but he knew Y/N meant it. Her gentle massage on his hand, trying to ease his aching was a nice touch. Her half-drunk smoothie was in front of her, leaving her fingers cool to the touch and another nice addition to the soothing touch. “Shouldn’t wait for them to tap out. You should schedule them in smaller increments so you don’t put too much strain on your poor hands.” Y/N’s eyes met him for a moment before looking away. “They’re too pretty to be hurting.”

He had been surprised by the gall, if he was honest. Y/N had been a bit more shy when coming to this sort of thing but he was mentally preening, not able to hide the smile curling on his lips as he flexed his hand in her grasp. “Yeah? Think I’ve got pretty hands?” He hummed. “Got a bunch of calluses. Some scars. My nail polish is chipped.” Was he fishing for a compliment? A little bit. He wanted a few of them, especially when she had seemed to like his best tools. 

“Of course. Just shows you work with your hands, know how to use them.” She stated. “It’s something a lot of people don’t know how to do anymore. The scars add character, and the nail polish is cute. It can always be redone.” She flipped his hand over but continued the slight massage, looking at his long, nimble fingers stretched over her wrists. He had a few rings on them which she knew he took off while tattooing, his fabric bracelets slightly worn besides the silver cuff on the non tattooed wrist. Harry liked to decorate his body and that was obvious. He’d told her he sometimes struggled with expression verbally, so she had a hunch that he used this to express himself. “And I also love the eyeliner thing. It’s attractive too.” 

She tacked on the compliment and his smile grew into a grin, shaking his head as he squeezed over her hands with a laugh. “Laying on all the compliments today, yeah? D’want something from me?” All she had to do was ask. The shivers in his body made him more than willing to hand shit over on a silver platter. His eyeliner had been a few years ongoing, a simple charcoal pencil smudging around his eyes. Apparently it brought out the green even more and he did have a few colors. Perhaps one day Y/N would want to do it for him. 

“No, no. Just figure people don’t do it as often as they should.” She sighed, dropping one of his hands to take a sip of her smoothie. The contact felt good. Especially since he kept a grip on her hand and swiped his thumb over the back of hers, the gentleness a stark contrast to the chain around his neck, metal on his face and ink on his skin. He was the opposite of what someone would expect, and somehow that made Y/N yearn for even more of him. 

“Well.. Thanks. But I’d prefer you to be the one doing the compliments. I know you’re not full of shit.” His smirk made her scoff but she merely continued sipping before moving on. Surely many people meant the compliments they gave him but she knew that he wouldn’t believe them regardless. That was the thing about growing up with that sort of trauma. When you were bullied growing up, seen as a butt of a joke, it was harder to accept people’s genuine kindness. It saddened her immensely, but this wasn’t the place to unpack that. 

“You’d have to be dead to not see how attractive you are, H. But I don’t want to give you too much of an ego boost or you’ll leave me in the dust.” Her foot nudged him under the table. “I wanted to ask if you wanted to come over this weekend? I was thinking of trying out a few cookie recipes and I need a baking assistant- or at the very least, a taste tester.” She offered, trying to hide her nerves. They were at a weird crossroads of developing relationships. Not official, not exactly fully comfortable enough to be shooting plans the day of but still craving their company quite strongly. They weren’t seeing anyone else, at least she hoped so, but they didn’t have a label. 

“Are you kidding?” He barked out a laugh. “Of fucking course I do. Used to help my nan back in the day in the kitchen. Christmas breads and sweets galore. You’ve got an old pro on your hands.” Was he vastly overvaluing his kitchen skills? A bit. He knew his way around decently enough, but he wanted to get that smile on her face- which succeeded. 

“Oh, lovely.” She chirped. “Then yes, I’d love for you to come over. We’ll get something to eat because m’not sure either of us are going to want to be in the kitchen for more than the cookies.” He watched her nose wrinkle making his heart skip a beat. There were tiny Y/N mannerisms he wanted to get to know. This one in particular he found to be stupidly cute, each time it happened making him smile internally. 

“Mhm. I understand. We’ve got a kitchen quota we don’t want to max out.”

—

“Where do you think you’re going?” A hand on her waist stopped her from taking another step further, Y/N grinning to herself as she paused in her step. She had done it just to see what Harry would do, and so far she had been correct. Her hopes had been granted. 

“Hm? Home.” She grinned up at him, eyes not able to hide the mischief in them as she moved back towards him. “Is there a problem?”

“I think we need to establish a few things.” His voice dropped, crowding her back against her car. Y/N had started this but felt the air get sucked from her lungs as her back pressed agaisnt the cold metal of her door, eyes widening slightly as she was peering up at him with far less smugness as before. “I don’t like leaving without a proper goodbye, hm? And you know what I’m missing, yeah Darling?” of course she did. She had been aching for it just as badly, the tiny one she got in greeting not even half of the one she needed now, but she wanted to make him work for it a little bit. 

“What’s that?” She hummed, biting her lower lip to try and control the grin threatening to break out on her face. The uncontrollable urge to giggle as he seemed to clock the look on her face, shaking his head at her and clicking his tongue while tilting her head up to meet him. It was the closest she could get to a swoon, sure there were little hearts in her pupils as he tapped the bottom of her lip and tugged it from her teeth. 

Christ. 

“I think you know.” He muttered. “Cruel, cruel little angel. What d’want from me, hm? Do you want me to beg?” His eyes scanned her face. “M’not one to get on my knees for that reason, but I think I could do so for you.” 

Y/N’s knees felt weak as he pinned her with his stare, a quivering in her stomach making her blink rapidly at him. Get on his knees? She could only imagine what he did on his knees and the image of him peering up at her with his mouth tucked between her thighs and her knee over his shoulder, working to get his tongue up inside her made her feel hot all over. The mental image was precisely his goal, she found, as his grin rose back and morphed into a smirk as she barely held back a whimper when her lip was stroked by the thumb in question. She had played with the lion as a sweet little lamb, and found herself right in his jaws. 

“N-No. Don’t have to beg, but I think it would be cute.” She cursed internally at the stutter, showing her weakness front and center as his face got a bit closer to hers, nose brushing the bridge of hers before moving down to the tip. Being this close made her dizzy, the sweet spice of his cologne and the mint of his gum overwhelming her. The man trapped her against her car, getting closer than she had been to a man in public, but she was pathetic. Internally she was gagging for it, tilting her head up to try and catch his mouth-

Only for him to pull back just enough to miss. A spark in his eye made her want to stomp her foot, the man teasing her more than she had anticipated. Y/N had tried to get the upper hand but it was obvious that the more comfortable he got, the more power he would wield with her. She had been a bit of a fool for thinking that a man like him wouldn’t turn this over, but she had felt like trying her luck. 

“Cute? Think it would be cute?” He muttered under his breath. “Well, I’m glad you think so. But I know what this is, little angel. Prettiest little Sunflower, trying to tease me.” Realistically, Harry knew she hadn’t a clue about the true power she had over him, but he would let that remain a secret for a bit longer. “What I meant, by a proper goodbye… Is that I’d like to feel these pretty lips before you leave me.” There was an audible hitch in her throat, making him hold back the smile, ghosting his lips against hers. “You did something to me… m’convinced. Put a spell in your lipgloss or somethin’ like that. Made me crave it. I’m more of a gentleman these days, because the first thing I wanted to do was lick into this pretty little mouth when I saw you today. I controlled it, but I can tell it’ll be a problem later on down the line. I need something sweet to hold me over, y’feel me, doll?” He tapped her lip with his thumb, gently tugging it down before it snapped back up. 

Y/N could barely breathe. Sometimes, she found, Harry had these bursts of being pure sex appeal. It was broken up by cute, soft and shy boy, but when he got in this sort of mood she found it hard to keep her vision from swimming. A floaty feeling, making her swallow thickly and nod in a jerking motion as she tried to get up on her tiptoes to catch his lips only to be deprived again. This time she did make a noise of frustration, brows furrowing as she looked at his hooded eyes. It wasn’t fair! 

“Oh, m’sorry Sunflower. Couldn’t let you have it that easy when you were about t’leave me without a kiss. Got a mean streak in you, but I’ll take it. You’re sweet and tart, like a Cherry.” He laughed, leading her arm to loop over his neck. “If you’re good to me, I’ll be good to you. Give you what you want, maybe even more.” She was rewarded, finally, with a tiny kiss to her pout before pulling back.  “But if you want to play games… You’ve gotta remember that m’a nasty competitor.”

Y/N could believe it. Harry oozed ‘win or nothing’ energy and she had tested it now, feeling how quickly she was going to fold. That didn’t mean she wasn’t going to test this out when she had more resolve, but she had felt similarly to him the whole time. She wanted him just as badly, and playing with fire wasn’t cutting it right now. The only burn she wanted from him was a big of beard burn between her thighs. “M’sorry.” She whispered. “I’ll be sweet.” 

“I heard a silent ‘for now’ after that, but that’s good enough for me.” He rewarded her heavily. Kissing her fully, capturing her lips between his own and pulling her into him as he did so. Harry kissed just how he looked. Intense, hot. She let out a little noise feeling his tongue brush past and the cool metal of his tongue piercing hit hers. It was another reminder of how he would definitely be one to blow her mind when he got on his knees for her, because Harry didn’t seem like the type to do anything half assed. He had the ability to make her feel like she was boiling inside and the only thing that could cool her down was his touch. 

It was over too quickly, her thighs clenching together hard as she looked at him with bleary eyes. His face was self assured, a little smug and she was trying to recover. A squeeze was given to her chin, making her clear her vision as she was left a little unsatisfied. But would she ever really be truly satisfied when he took away his mouth? She could kiss him for hours and still feel like she wanted more. Their date was proof of that. 

“See? I can be sweet when you are. Rewards.” His confidence blew her away, barely able to recover when he pressed another firm kiss to her mouth without giving her time to react. “Now go on and go get some supplies for our cookies, yeah? Text me when you’re there and when you’re home safe. I’ve got another two appointments.” He wished he could cancel them and just go with her but he didn’t want the rep, and also didn’t want to cling to her. As tempting as it may be, he wanted to start this right. 

Y/N’s kiss still tingled on his lips as she drove away. He knew he was deep in the inky indigo waters of infatuation, but he didn’t think that was a bad thing. He’d learn to breathe underwater.

#jarofstyles #harry styles one shot #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fanfic #harry styles smut #harry writing #harry styles imagine #harry drabble #harry styles blurb #harry styles writing #indigo #indigorry #tattoo artist harry #harry styles tattoo artist #harry styles fanfics #harry styles fic #harry one shot #harry styles angst #harry styles fluff #harry styles au #harry smut #harry fluff #harry angst #dark harry styles #soft Harry

[shadowtriovibes]

‘til we get the healing done

Pairing: Sebastian Sallow × f!MC

Rating: E

Word Count: 3.5K

Warnings: 18+, aged-up characters, mentions of blood and injury, explicit sexual content, fingering, unprotected PIV sex

Summary: post-hogwarts AU where reader/MC is a Healer at St. Mungo’s and Sebastian is a Gringotts Cursebreaker ✨ pretty much porn-with-little-plot, but mind the mentions of blood/injury!

“Wiggenweld ought to take care of this, for the most part,” you tell him. “You’ll probably still have a scar.”

“S’alright,” he murmurs. “You witches love wizards with scars, or so I’ve been told.”

You pointedly ignore his comment as you return to your potions cabinet to start assembling a salve.

It’s barely half past nine in the morning when one of your fellow Healers lets you know that you’ve been requested in the reception area.

“Already?” you smirk. “I haven’t even checked on the Dittany stores yet.”

“I’ll take care of it,” she says easily. “Your favorite patient is here, he’s insisting he won’t see anyone else and he’s bleeding all over the floor.”

Bleeding? Merlin.

You curse under your breath as you quickly make your way to the reception area, where a surly-looking Welcome Witch is scowling as Sebastian Sallow leans against one of fellow Cursebreakers for support. He’s drenched in blood, but mercifully he’s still standing.

“Morning, miss,” his coworker says politely. “Apologies for the mess.

You sigh wearily and wrap one arm around Sebastian’s waist so his companion can shift the deadweight of his body onto you.

“It’s not a problem,” you insist. “I can take him from here.”

“Tell them I’ll be right back,” Sebastian slurs tiredly. “She’ll fix me right up.”

“He will not be back today,” you insist sharply.

Sebastian’s coworker chuckles as he wipes his bloody palms against his pant legs. “I assumed as much. I promise, we’ll send him right home if he tries anyway.”

“Thank you,” you murmur. “I sincerely appreciate it.”

The older man pats Sebastian encouragingly on the shoulder before Apparating out of the lobby, and you motion for another Healer to assist you in walking him away from the gawkers lingering in the reception area once it becomes apparent that his left leg is entirely unusable.

“Mister Sallow,” you drawl as you slowly walk him back to one of the examination rooms on the trauma floor. “What in Merlin’s name have you gotten yourself into this time?”

“Classified,” he insists, but you’re sure he’s just being cheeky.

Once you arrive, you and your coworker inelegantly wrangle him onto the sturdy wooden exam table in the middle of the room. He quickly lets himself out once you assure him you’re able to tend to Sebastian alone — you’re always swamped at St. Mungo’s, and you’re sure his assistance is needed elsewhere.

Sebastian, with that ever-present smirk still on his face, manages to hold himself up even as a slow stream of blood trickles down his calf.

“It’s good to see you too, by the way,” he drawls.

You roll your eyes as you pull the exam room door shut, casually turning the lock and pulling the privacy divider across the window. If Sebastian notices, he doesn’t say anything.

“You look positively dreadful,” you tell him.

It’s not untrue. He’s several shades paler than usual and there’s blood smeared all across his chest where his shirt has been sliced to ribbons, and the left leg of his trousers is in a similarly poor state.

However, even what would otherwise be a mortal injury can’t tamper his good-natured expression, nor does it cause his warm brown eyes to sparkle any less when he sheepishly meets your gaze.

“I swear, this time it was not my fault,” he begins.

“You say that every time,” you remind him. “Eventually, I’m going to stop believing you.”

He laughs and then winces, pressing a hand to the deep laceration he must still be concealing beneath his shirt, given the bloodstains.

“Go on, Seb,” you sigh. “You know what I’m going to ask you.”

“Why, are you suggesting I should take off my robes?” he asks teasingly. “A bit forward of you, mind, but I’ll abide.”

“We’re well past modesty at this point,” you remind him.

Nevertheless, you turn your back — ostensibly to prepare a tonic for him — while he undoes the buttons of his shirt and gingerly pulls the tattered remnants of it away from his bloodied skin.

He makes a pained noise when he attempts to do the same with his trousers, so you quickly turn and rest a hand on his thigh.

“Let’s get you fixed up here first,” you offer softly, gesturing to the nasty-looking gash across his ribcage. “Then we’ll get to your leg.”

“You’re sure that I won’t bleed out in the meantime?” he asks, only half joking.

“I’m positive,” you say reassuringly. “But I’ll have you slowly sip this while I take a closer look.”

You pass him the glass of tonic and nudge his free arm to the side so you can dab at his injury. You’ve become quite used to seeing blood in your line of work, but something about seeing Sebastian take slow, careful breaths as you trace your fingertips over his broken skin makes your stomach lurch.

You’ve been practicing as a Healer at St. Mungo’s for several years now, and not a month goes by without Sebastian limping (or occasionally being hauled) into the reception with some sort of bizarre injury he’d earned as a Cursebreaker at Gringotts.

At first you’d worried after him. He’d always been a brilliant student, so you weren’t quite sure how he managed to harm himself so frequently without putting his employment in jeopardy. But eventually you learned that Sebastian was, in fact, an excellent Cursebreaker.

…He just also happens to be the most reckless.

When you glance up at him to check his face for any signs of pain, you catch him staring at you.

“Drink that,” you remind him, nodding at the dark-colored liquid in his glass. “You’ll feel better.”

Carefully, Sebastian lifts the glass to his lips and takes a small sip. Immediately he makes a face.

“That’s foul,” he sputters. “What is that?! It tastes like metal.”

“It’s a tonic for blood loss,” you explain with a wry smile. “It’s packed with iron. Trust me, you’re going to need it.”

He grumbles under his breath as he takes another sip. You wait for him to swallow before you press firmly against the wound — you’ve learned the hard way that neglecting to do so would result in your being sprayed with tonic.

“Wiggenweld ought to take care of this, for the most part,” you tell him. “You’ll probably still have a scar.”

“S’alright,” he murmurs. “You witches love wizards with scars, or so I’ve been told.”

You pointedly ignore his comment as you return to your potions cabinet to start assembling a salve.

“Anything else I should know about your wounds?” you ask him over your shoulder. “Nothing venomous or toxic to be concerned about?”

“No,” he says, pausing to exhale before admitting, “It’s from a dragon.”

You nearly drop your bottle of Wiggenweld. “A dragon?!”

“See, now, I knew you would be upset when I got around to telling you,” he says with a grin that looks more like a grimace.

“What were you doing with a dragon?” you demand. “They’re not supposed to be kept anywhere near you!”

You’ve heard quite a bit about the inner workings of Gringotts since Sebastian joined the Cursebreaking department. The two of you never did seem to be able to keep secrets from each other — ever since you were teenagers, you’ve been nothing but honest, sometimes to a fault.

(…Well. You suppose if you were truly being honest, you’d tell him that you can’t stand hearing about the witches he dates whenever he pays you a visit. But you don’t like to examine precisely why that is.)

“Like I said, it wasn’t my fault,” he insists. “They brought in a young one from Romania that’s still in training and it got loose.”

You tut under your breath and mix in your highest concentration of Wiggenweld with a basic topical salve. The scent of Dittany is strong, but you know it’ll do the trick.

“Suppose I’m lucky it was a small one,” he continues. “If it had been one of the fully-grown ones they keep down below, I’d be in a box by now.”

“Hush,” you murmur distractedly. “I don’t want to think about that.”

“No?” he teases. “I suppose you wouldn’t. I’m your only friend in London, you’d be hopeless getting on without me.”

You roll your eyes and return to the exam table with your salve.

“You are not my only friend,” you argue.

“Even so, I’m still your best friend,” he replies, nonplussed. “…What have you got there?”

“This is to close the wound,” you explain. “It will sting, so I’ll count to three and then I’ll go as fast as I can, alright?”

“You’re going to go on one just like you always do,” he sighs.

“Am I getting that predictable?” you ask coyly.

“Actually, ye— Merlin’s bloody beard!”

With no warning, you scoop up a glob of salve and start to paint over Sebastian’s jagged wound, the tips of your fingers glowing a soft, cool blue as you channel a bit of your magic into the gash in his side. Before your eyes the torn skin starts to knit closed. Like you suspected, the reformed skin is pink and tender as is any new scar, but at least it looks completely healed and not at risk for reopening when Sebastian inevitably goes right back to work tomorrow.

“You’re a menace,” he grits out. “Honestly, that was cruel.”

“Come off it, you’re fine,” you tease him. “And it’s always easier if you don’t see it coming.”

“For you,” he grumbles.

You trace your fingertips over his fresh scar a few times to confirm that you’ve fully covered the would in salve. You force yourself to remain professional, but it’s extremely hard not to get distracted by how much muscle he’s built up here in his core since your days at Hogwarts.

“Let’s let that sit while I have a look at your leg,” you eventually say. “Think you can lift your hips up for me?”

Sebastian leans back on his hands and lifts himself up so you can tug his shredded trousers off, letting them fall to the floor in a bloody, rumpled pile.

(Thank Merlin he hadn’t foregone undergarments today.)

“Oh, Seb,” you murmur.

His thigh is mangled. Three long, angry-looking slashes run from below his hip to just above his knee, each still wet with blood.

“It looks worse than it feels,” he says under his breath.

You sigh and reach for his hand, squeezing it reassuringly.

“Drink the rest of your tonic and I’ll patch you up,” you tell him. “…I’m glad you came to me. This is beyond what a typical Healer is equipped for, Sebastian.”

“I know,” he admits. “But you’re the only witch I’ll see regardless.”

You blush a bit and turn away, reaching for your pot of salve.

The two of you are both quiet while you work. Sebastian occasionally bites back a curse or a low groan while you work the salve into his wounds, forcing himself to chug the rest of his regenerative drink.

(…You feel horrifically guilty for how your body is reacting to his sounds.)

“How are you feeling?” you ask him, your voice barely above a whisper.

“It aches,” he tells you transparently. “But — but like it’s healing, not like it’s getting worse.”

“That’s how it’s supposed to feel, unfortunately,” you explain. “Even healing comes with its own set of aches.”

“Trust me, I’m well aware of that,” he mumbles. “Honestly, it reminds me of how I felt when Violet and I ended our courtship.”

“O-oh?” you stutter.

“Well, I suppose she’s the one who ended it,” he says with a wry grin. “She said she was sick and tired of me showing up on her doorstep with a new injury each week. I don’t blame her one bit.”

“Seb, that’s horrible,” you coo. “How heartless.”

You’re just finishing up applying salve to the last few centimeters of his wound when Sebastian gently tips your chin up so you’ll meet his gaze.

“Do you want to know what else she said to me?” he asks softly.

You swallow nervously and whisper, “What?”

“She said that it’s pathetic that I keep offering to put myself in harm’s way on the offchance I’ll get to visit my Healer,” he tells you.

His gaze dips down your mouth and you inhale sharply as he drags his thumb across your lower lip.

“That’s — that’s not true, is it?” you whimper.

“Of course it’s true,” he confesses. “The thought always crosses my mind. Whenever I offer to take a crack at opening a surrendered vault or unraveling a protective jinx on one of the new deposit boxes, I always think, ‘If I’m hurt, at least I’ll get to see you.’”

Suddenly you feel like you’re the one who’s lost several pints of blood — dizzy, flushed, not quite sure if you’re imagining all this or not.

“Sebastian,” you murmur. “…You have to promise me you’ll stop.”

“I don’t know if I can,” he admits earnestly, tilting his hand to gently cup your face and coax you into leaning closer. “It’s all I can think about anymore — the next time I get to see you, and feel your hands on me.”

Instinctively you reach out your hands to steady yourself, propping yourself up against the tops of his thighs.

“S-sorry,” you quickly stammer. “I didn’t mean to—”

“It’s okay,” he breathes. “Just… come closer.”

He cups both hands around your jaw to bring your face to his, gently pressing his lips against yours.

“Seb,” you breathe against his mouth.

“We should’ve done this so long ago,” he murmurs. “Please, love. Say you feel the same way.”

“I… Sebastian, of course I do, but—”

He hauls you against his chest before you can even steady yourself. You’re thankful your work on his wounds seems to be holding steady as you shamelessly climb into his lap, testing the support limits of the wooden examination table.

“Let me touch you,” he whines against your mouth. “I need it, I need to feel you.”

All this time, it’s always been your hands on him — pressing closed his wounds, extracting nauseating curses and beastly venom from his body, infusing your unique magic with traditional Healing techniques to restore him to himself.

Now he’s begging to put his hands on you, and you find yourself powerless to resist.

“Yes,” you breathe. “Anywhere, just — touch me.”

He desperately tugs on your unflattering lime green robes until they fall to the floor until you’re left with just your fitted blouse and skirt. As far as propriety goes, you’ve never been this underdressed in one of your exam rooms.

“Take this off,” he growls, bunching up a handful of your blouse in his fist.

“We — we shouldn’t do this here,” you weakly protest.

“No one’s going to come in,” Sebastian counters. “We have all the privacy we need.”

(Damn him, now you’re positive that he’d seen you lock the door.)

“I — I shouldn’t,” you whisper.

Sebastian leans in and presses his teeth against your neck.

“How long have we already made ourselves wait?” he reminds you in a low voice. “I could’ve died today and we never would have had the chance.”

“That’s not fair,” you whine. “You’ve been hauled into St. Mungo’s on death’s door a dozen times, it doesn’t mean we should have sex at my place of work.”

“Love,” he croons, and you feel all your resolve melt away.

With a frustrated groan, you hastily tug your blouse free from your skirt and wrestle with the buttons while Sebastian unhelpfully runs his hands all across your body.

Once you’re rid of your shirt, you tug your skirt up so he can slide a hand between your thighs.

“Gods, yes,” he moans. “This is what I’ve been wanting, darling. I needed to feel you right here.”

You whimper softly as he grinds the heel of his palm against your aching core.

“Can I go inside?” he asks softly, and you aren’t sure if he’s merely asking to move your panties aside or if he’s suggesting something more, but either way the answer is a fervent yes.

With one deft hand he tugs the soaked fabric between your thighs to one side and traces two fingertips along your slit. You’re scandalously wet already, just from his ardent confession and his eager hands on your body.

Then Sebastian easily presses those two fingers inside you and you hunch in toward him, resting your head on his shoulder.

“That’s it,” he whispers in your ear. “How does that feel?”

“G-good,” you stutter.

“Just good, hmm?” he inquires. “Should I give you more, then? I need you to feel great.”

It’s no surprise that Sebastian would be a skilled lover, but what really has you trembling in need in his lap is how clearly he wants to make you feel loved, and not just serviced himself.

You can tell that this gets him off; that tonic of yours has certainly done its job, if the rigid hardness between his thighs is any indication.

“I w-want you,” you manage to force out. “Quickly, I just — I don’t care if it’s rushed, I need you inside.”

Sebastian curses against the hinge of your jaw and carefully extracts his hand from between your thighs so he can pull his cock out of his undergarments, stroking himself with his still-wet hand.

“Like this?” he asks you. “I don’t know if I’ve got the energy for much else.”

“Yes,” you breathe. “Just… let me.”

Now that you can properly see him, you realize he’s, er, gifted, and he’ll be a lot to take in this position. But you want him, you want to make him feel good just as badly as he wants the same for you, so you steady yourself as best as you can on your knees as you hover over him. With one hand you keep your panties pulled to the side and your skirt tucked away, and with the other you hold him steady as you sink down.

“Gods,” you whine. “I — I can barely…”

It’s nearly impossible to get the leverage you need on a table this narrow. As you take him in, you feel driven through, practically impaled by him as you cling desperately to his shoulders.

“Go on,” he grunts. “Take me, love, you can.”

“I can’t,” you nearly sob.

But then you realize you’ve done it. The insides of your thighs are flush with the tops of his, the remaining traces of salve on his skin making it all too easy for you to grind forward until you’re completely seated on top of him.

“That’s it,” he groans. “You’ve got it, you’ve taken me so well.”

It’s shameful how little praise from Sebastian makes you squirm and keen in his lap like a simpering fool.

He leans in close to your ear and asks you, “Do you think you can ride me?”

“Y-yes,” you whimper. “Yes, I want to.”

As soon as you start to move, the filthily wet sounds of your skin smacking against his makes you blush all the way down to your chest. It’s lewd and raunchy in a way you’ve never felt with any man with whom you’ve been intimate.

(Those men weren’t Sebastian, you think helplessly.)

“Fuck,” Sebastian growls in your ear. “Don’t stop, please, love.”

There’s absolutely nothing that would stop you now, you think. The Minister of Magic himself could come in and fire you on the spot and it simply wouldn’t matter. You feel incredible — it’s been so long since you’ve been touched like this, and never by a man who you’ve truly loved like Sebastian.

He seems similarly overwhelmed, his hands mindlessly traveling over your waist, your breasts, and even up to your face so he can pull you down and messily kiss you into delirium.

“Please,” you whisper. “Please, please…”

“What?” he pants. “Anything, love, tell me.”

“Touch me,” you plead, and then his hand is between your legs right where you need it. His thumb grinds against that sensitive spot that brings you to the edge, over and over in tight, determined circles until you’re burying your face in the crook of his neck to dampen the desperate sounds you let out as you climax.

“Perfect,” he breathes. “That’s — you’re perfect, fuck.”

Sebastian’s undoubtedly weakened and exhausted, but he nevertheless manages to find the energy to grind up into your wrung-out, languid body until he finds his release. He stays buried inside you afterward, fighting through his sensitivity to keep you close and murmur soft words of praise into your hair.

When you finally summon the strength to climb off of him and tug your skirt back into place, you mumble, “We cannot let this happen again.”

“Just at St. Mungo’s, right?” he asks with a suggestive smirk. “Because I, for one, would very much like it to happen again.”

You say nothing as you button up your shirt, but you eventually allow yourself to be pulled into a slow, fervent kiss that lets him know he’ll be getting his way.

#hogwarts legacy #hogwarts legacy fic #sebastian sallow #sebastian sallow x mc #sebastian sallow x reader #sebastian x mc #sebastian x reader #healer au #cursebreaker au #formatting this was a NIGHTMARE bc i only have my phone with me #pray for me also it’s obviously extremely unbeta’d so i hope it’s coherent #my fic

[scoonsalicious]

Unwanted: Chapter 24, Undercover - Pt. 3

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Avenger!Fem!Reader

Summary: When your FWB relationship with your best friend Bucky Barnes turns into something more, you couldn’t be happier. That is, however, until a new Avenger sets her sights on your super soldier and he inadvertently breaks your heart. You take on a mission you might not be prepared for to put some distance between the two of you and open yourself up to past traumas. Too bad the only one who can help you heal is the one person you can no longer trust.

Warnings: (For this part only; see Story Masterlist for general Warnings) Language, mentions of drug use, human trafficking, car accident.

Word Count: 806

Previously On...: You woke up to some unsettling news.

A/N: Bye bye, Ole Sammy :(

I'm just messing with you-- he leaves, but nothing bad happens to him! I love him too much!

NOTE! The tag list is a fickle bitch, so I'm not really going to be dealing with it anymore. If you want to be notified when new story parts drop, please follow @scoonsaliciousupdates

Banner By: The absolutely amazing @mrsbuckybarnes1917!

Thank you to all those who have been reading; if you like what you've read, likes, comments, and reblogs give me life, and I truly appreciate them, and you!

Taglist: (Sadly, tag list is closed; Tumblr will not let me add anyone new. If you want to be notified when I update, please Follow me for Notifications!) @jmeelee @cazellen @mrsbuckybarnes1917 @blackhawkfanatic @buckybarnessimpp @hayjat @capswife @itsteambarnes @marygoddessofmischief @sebastians-love @learisa @lethallyprotected @rabbitrabbit12321 @buckybarnesandmarvel @fanfictiongirl77 @calwitch @fantasyfootballchampion @selella @jackiehollanderr @wintercrows @sashaisready @missvelvetsstuff @angelbabyyy99 @keylimebeag @maybefoxysouls @vicmc624 @j23r23 @wintercrows @crist1216 @cjand10 @pattiemac1@les-sel @dottirose @winterslove1917 @harperkenobi @ivet4 @casey1-2007 @mrsevans90 @steeph-aniie @bean-bean2000 @beanbagbitch @peachiestevie @wintrsoldrluvr @shadowzena43

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“Why didn’t you try to follow them?” Sam asked back at the apartment, once you’d told him about Kozlov’s visitors. He was so pissed at you for being out all night without sending word, but his anger quickly turned to concern once you had explained what had happened to Chloe.

“I wasn’t there when they took her,” you told him, which, technically, wasn’t a lie. You weren’t there mentally at the time. “I only heard about it this morning from another girl who saw her leave with them.

You were perched in front of your laptop, running through the club’s security feed that you’d managed to hack into. You were looking for any shots of Chloe, your hope being that, once you had captured her image, you could run it through facial recognition software. Hopefully, she’d been caught on a surveillance camera at some point after she’d been taken. If you were lucky, you might be able to narrow down her location based on what cameras she’d been seen on. It was a long shot, but it was the only one you had at the moment.

You’d been staring at the screen running the facial recognition for about an hour when Sam’s phone rang. Your stomach twisted, and you were worried it might be Bucky calling again. 

“Relax,” said Sam when he saw you tense at the sound. “It’s just Sarah.” He accepted the call and brought the phone to his ear. “Sister!” he greeted cheerfully. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

You watched Sam’s face fall as Sarah talked to him, morphing into deep concern. “What?! When? … Who was he with? … Well, is he alright?” You sat up straighter. You instantly felt a sense of deja vu, bringing you back to when Tony had gotten the call about Rhodey, and you knew something was terribly wrong. “Which hospital? … No, I’m gonna fly straight down. Today. … Don’t worry about that, Sarah. … He’s my nephew! Of course I’m gonna be there! … I’ll call you when I get to the airport. … Be strong, okay? He’s gonna be fine. You gotta have faith. … Love you, too.” He turned to face you, anguish written across his features.

“What is it?” you asked, heart racing with fear. “Is it one of the boys? What happened?”

“It’s A.J.,” Sam said, his voice cracking. “A friend’s dad was bringin’ him home from soccer practice and they got into an accident.” Your hands flew to your mouth. “He’s alive,” Sam clarified, before you had the chance to ask. “But he’s unconscious; hurt real bad. They had to airlift him to the trauma center at Ochsner LSU in Shreveport.”

Sam began moving through the apartment, collecting his belongings and stuffing them in his go-bag. “I’m so sorry, Pocket.”

“Sam, don’t,” you said, making him pause for a moment by putting a hand on his shoulder. “He’s your nephew. You need to be there. I’ll be fine.”

“I don’t wanna leave you with the mess all alone,” Sam said. “‘Specially now that there’s a new missing girl.”

“It’s okay,” you told him. “I’ve got no leads right now, and only a miniscule potential breadcrumb trail to follow with the facial recognition. If anything starts to heat up, or there’s new info, I’ll call Tony, make him come down, okay?”

Sam studied you, as though he wasn’t sure leaving you was the right thing to do. “The second things get even a hint of dicy,” he said, “you’ll call Stark? You won’t play hero?”

You held up the three middle fingers of your left hand. “Scouts’ honor,” you told him.

“Baby Girl, I know you ain’t ever been any kinda scout,” Sam gently teased.

Once he’d finished his rushed packing, he pulled you in for a tight hug and kissed you on the temple. “I’m so sorry,” he reiterated.

“Stop apologizing and go be with your family,” you said. “Do you need me to drive you to the airport?”

Sam shook his head. “Nah; too far outta your way. Besides, I already ordered an Uber while you were looking for my phone charger.”

“Give my love to Sarah and Cas,” you told him as you walked him to the door. “And let her know A.J.’s in my thoughts. When he wakes up, give him the biggest hug from me, okay? But don’t hurt him!”

Sam smiled at you. “Will do, Baby Girl. Don’t forget, you call Stark the second you need anything, right?”

“Right,” you agreed. And with that, he was out the door, and you were alone. With a sigh, you turned to face the now empty apartment. This was fine. A.J. would be fine. Everything was fine. You would be fine.

Well, you’d be right about one of those four things, anyway.

<- Previous Part / Next Chapter ->

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky x you #bucky x reader #bucky fanfic #bucky barnes #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky x female reader #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes fanfiction #james bucky buchanan barnes #james buchanan barnes #mcu bucky barnes #james barnes

[mycenalucentipes]

You Won't Understand || Draco Malfoy x GN!Reader

Summary: Where, you stumble upon Draco mid breakdown in a secluded part of the library. Draco hisses for you to go away, believing that you’ll never understand his problems. You scoff, saying, “try me”, thus starts a newfound companion. 

Word count: ~2.5k

Warnings: Swearing, angst, some comfort towards the end?

a/n: Hi, I just wanted to write a fic in where, the reader also struggles with not being good enough, and finally, maybe, someone will understand what they’re going through. I might’ve self projected all of my worries and trauma from my high school days lol. There's a longer explanation for that at the end if anyone wants to read xD

But anyways, please enjoy

A deep sigh escaped your lips as you made your way to the library. It was lunchtime, and you were supposed to be in the Great Hall with your friends. However, earlier that day, you received a Howler from your mother. 

“Y/N L/N. YOU HAVE BEEN SLACKING OFF IN YOUR STUDIES AGAIN HAVEN’T YOU!? YOU ONLY RECEIVED AN EXCEEDS EXPECTATIONS ON YOUR LAST EXAM. HOW COULD YOU!? DON’T EXPECT TO COME HOME WITH THOSE GRADES. IF YOU RECEIVE ANYTHING LESS THAN AN OUTSTANDING ON THE REST OF YOUR EXAMS, DON’T EVEN BOTHER COMING HOME.”

Thankfully you were in the privacy of your dorm room when you received this. Everyone had already left for the day. Your mother, a proud Ravenclaw, was deeply ashamed that you were sorted into the Slytherin house instead of hers. So to compensate, she relentlessly tortured you to always achieve the highest marks possible. After graduating Hogwarts, she attended the University of Oxford and ended up working for a different prestigious university as a researcher in neurology. 

Your father on the other hand was not a wizard. He was a muggle that your mother had fallen in love with while she attended regular university. He was also a neurologist, a man of science. He despised the magic part of you. It was a rude awakening when you got your letter from Hogwarts and your mother had to explain everything about her world. She fought him hard and long to send you to Hogwarts, so you couldn’t completely despise her. However, since they both wanted the best of their worlds for you, their expectations were too high in the sky for a mere sixteen-year old. Your father wanted you to attend the most prestigious university for med school while your mother just wanted you to be the top of your class. She figured you could become a healer at St. Mungo's or gain a high position in the Ministry of Magi. (She might be trying to live vicariously through you, as she gave up any jobs involving magic.)

As a result, you weren’t sure what you wanted anymore. For now, since you and your father weren’t exactly on speaking terms, your mother was the only one who even seemed to care. Thus, you focused all of your attention on your studies within the past month. Often skipping meals or falling asleep during them. Your friends began noticing the toll it took on you–your face grew paler and more tired, your hands shook, and dark circles formed under your eyes from countless all-nighters. Needless to say, you were incredibly freaked out for your next exam.

 If you didn’t receive an Outstanding, you would not have anywhere to go for the summer. Maybe you could spend it with the Weasleys? You managed to befriend Ginny, Fred, and George. Ron was a little harder to get him to come around, just because you were a Slytherin. 

On your way to the library, you nearly ran head first into Ginny. Oh, how coincidental. Before you even had a chance to apologise, she started rambling. 

“Oh hey, Y/n! I was just looking for you, I haven’t seen you at any meals today,” She said with worry evident on her face, “Are you alright? Please, come back to  lunch with me. I miss you, Y/n. We're all worried about you.” You cast her a guilt-ridden look. 

“I’m just heading to the library. I need to perfect my knowledge for the next exam,” You sighed defeatedly with a small chuckle. 

“But, Y/n–” Ginny began, concern lacing her voice. This time, you wore an apologetic expression. 

“I’m sorry Ginny, I just can’t. I–uhm, can I ask a favour from you though?” Avoiding eye contact out of shame, you looked away, unable to hold her gaze any longer.

“Of course Y/n, anything.” Ginny reached out and rubbed your arm in an attempt to comfort you.

You let out a heavy sigh. “Could I possibly stay at your place over the summer?” You hung your head down, eyes filled with unshed tears. You couldn’t bring yourself to meet Ginny’s gaze. “My mother owled me to say: If you don’t get O’s on the rest of your exams, don’t even think about coming home, child!” Ginny gasped softly, eyes widening at the words that stammered out of your mouth. 

“Oh, Y/n, of course you can stay with us. I'm sure you'll be alright, but you're always welcome to stay with us,” She replied, her voice brimming with sympathy. You gave a short nod of thanks, unable to speak or your tears would escape your eyes. “I suppose I’ll see you later then? Please, come to dinner at least.” You once again nodded, giving her a small smile. She smiled back as well, then turned and left you once again. 

You let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding. The exhaustion and tiredness from it all was creeping in, eating away at you slowly. 

You were so tired. When would it get better? When would it end?

As you entered the library, your eyes scanned the endless rows of books, searching for a quiet place to study. That’s when you noticed a figure hunch in a cushioned chair by a window, their shoulders shaking and trembling.

It was Draco Malfoy. A boy that you weren’t really on any terms with. Occasional waves from you and small nods from him were the extent of your communication. 

Forgetting about your own woes for a moment, you cautiously approached him, uncertain if he would react kindly to your presence. Once you were about five feet away from him, his head snapped up. Then you saw his face. Tears pooled out of his eyes every few seconds, his lips trembled, then his brows narrowed. 

“What are you doing here?” Draco spat out, his voice a little hoarse. 

You hesitated for a moment, taking in the situation you just landed yourself in. Despite the venomous sounding tone, you could detect that he really hadn’t meant it that way. Ignoring his question, you stepped closer, concern etched on your own features.

“Are you alright?” You asked softly, your voice filled with genuine worry, “I–Is there anything I can do?”

Draco averted his gaze, trying to hide the pain and tears in his eyes. “It’s nothing. Just go away, please. You wouldn’t understand,” he muttered, his voice laced with frustration. You narrowed your eyes at this. 

“Oh, I wouldn’t? Why, because I’m not a pureblood? Because I 'don’t have any expectations placed onto me'? Hmm?” You retorted back, unsure why you spat back such a defensive response. He looked slightly taken aback at your words. 

“Yes, precisely. Wow, you're so smart,” his voice dripping with sarcasm, he rolled his eyes, then slumped back in the chair.

You folded your arms. “Try me, then. I won’t tell anyone, I swear it," you challenged him, not budging.  

He narrowed his eyes at you once again, unsure if he should open up. After a moment of internal struggle, he sighed with defeat. “If you really must know, There’s just–just so many expectations weighing on me. If I’m not good enough, it will be a disaster for my parents and me. I don’t want to risk anything, and the pressure is so... suffocating. I feel like I’m losing my mind,” he reluctantly started, but soon couldn’t stop, he didn’t know why he was sharing all of this with some random classmate.

“I’m not good enough for him. I don’t even feel that I’m good enough for my parents. My father always says: Malfoys do this, Malfoys don’t do that. Then my mother is already trying to arrange a marriage for me. I wish everyone’s expectations of me would just disappear.”

“But how would you ever understand that type of pressure?” He sighed in frustration as you just nodded along. muttered quietly, but you still heard him.

You didn't know who 'he' was, but you sure as fuck knew about pressure from parents.

“Sorry to interrupt your little pity party, Malfoy,” you sighed, meeting his glare with a calm gaze. “But let me tell you, I do understand the feelings of pressure and not being good enough for someone. I’m going to get kicked out of my home by my mother if I don’t get Outstandings on every single last assignment. She's dead serious about that. My father and I aren’t on speaking terms because he thinks being magical is stupid. He wants me to attend muggle medicine university. My mother shames me everyday for being in Slytherin and not her perfect little Ravenclaw house. They both expect me to do what they want without giving me a choice. If I’m not their perfect little daughter, I’ll just get shunned and kicked out. Disowned. I'm just their disappointment,” you rambled out, “but I suppose this little talk shouldn’t be about me. Sorry, didn't mean to spin it like that. Just forget it.” 

Maybe your family's reputation wasn't as important as the Malfoys, but nonetheless, you were sure you would become disowned by them. They had set unrealistic expectations out of you. Your mental health was rapidly declining, if it hadn’t already hit rock bottom, your feelings were valid and you won’t let anyone tell you otherwise. However, your parents didn’t seem to care about your feelings. 

"I definitely know how it feels. Like someone is drowning or suffocating you. There's no breaks. And it's all ridiculous because we are just teenagers. So what the fuck, life?" You angrily whisper out.

Draco stared at you, momentarily speechless. “I… I had no idea,” he murmured out, “it seems you are capable of understanding this more than I thought.” You mirrored the speechlessness, unsure if you should be insulted or relieved by his admission. He looked away from you, staring out the window for a brief moment. 

“It’s alright, Draco. No one really notices anyways,” you laugh awkwardly, trying to brush your feelings away again. Even though you pushed for Draco to share his feelings, you felt like a burden doing the same thing. 

You went to approach him, stepping into the rays of sunlight that beamed in from the windows. It wasn’t until now that Draco took in your full appearance. He never paid you much mind, as you weren’t a pureblood or in his friend group, but friends with the Weasleys. You truly were a beauty. You had godly features that rivalled any of the most attractive students. Your hair cascaded softly around your face, accentuating your facial features. It was also then, he realised just how malnourished and exhausted you were looking. The sunken eyes, pale face, bloodshot eyes and slightly trembling form. He was sure a gust of wind would knock you over. 

“You look like shit, L/n.” Draco said flatly, instantly realising the bluntness of his comment. Your eyes widened at his comment.

 “I–I’m sorry, that was uncalled for.” He apologised? Who was this imposter and what did he do with Draco Malfoy? 

“Gee, thanks. It’s nothing I can’t handle though.” You rolled your eyes, a small laugh escaped your lips. Attempting to brush his concern off and divert the attention away from yourself, you shot back, “Have you seen yourself though? I could say the same.” Draco just shook his head with amusement on his face.

“Yeah, yeah. But, it’s clearly not ‘nothing’. A gust of wind could knock you over,” he retorted back, though his gaze softened. You scoffed at him. He couldn’t explain why he suddenly cared, why he wanted to reach out to you. Maybe it was because you made him feel calmer? The gentle aura you carried around when others were there was relaxing and a good change of pace. Maybe it was the fact that you also shared the same feelings of struggle as him. Not being accepted or feeling good enough for everyone. You tried to help him (in your own challenging way), now he wanted to help you, at least just a little. 

You hummed a little, shying away a little for the first time. “Well, perhaps we could both use a break from trying to meet everyone’s expectations. Maybe we can help each other out,” you suggest, “though I don’t know how to help out with the whole pureblood traditions thing, I’ll be around for you if you need some support. Or just a friend to hangout with or vent to.” Draco nodded along with your plan, not feeling too opposed to this.

“And I can help you with your studies,” he offered with a soft tone. You nodded as well, giving a genuine smile this time. 

+==+==+

Over the next few weeks, you and Draco spent more and more time together. Sometimes it would be hardcore study sessions. Where it felt like the questions he quizzed you on were never ending. Other times, it would be ranting about everything and nothing. It helped both of you get some weight off your chests. A couple times, you took trips to Hogsmeade to chat over a butterbeer or three. 

You could say it was a friendship. You weren’t sure how he felt, but you could feel yourself falling for the Slytherin boy. Though you knew it might not end well, with him being a ‘pureblood’ and all. Such bullshit that is. You often told him that was your opinion on the pureblood traditions, he would just chuckle, sadness laced in it occasionally. 

“Y/n, how do you feel about your grades?” Draco asked casually as you both walked down an empty hallway. Your face paled and your body froze in your steps. The feeling always haunted you, no matter how much you talked it over, it would still haunt you. Draco came to a halt and turned towards you, voice laced with genuine worry, “Y/n?” He could see the inner turmoil your brain shoved you into, and it pained him more than it should have to see you like this. 

You tried to shake yourself out of anxiety’s grip. “I’m not too sure to be honest. I’m waiting on three exams and two homework grades still…,” you trailed off, drowning in your worries again. 

“Hey, hey, you’ll be ok, alright?” He said with a much softer tone while placing his hands on your arms. Over the weeks, you both became immaculate at reading each other’s signs of worry or anxiety, knowing exactly what to do. 

“You don’t know that, Draco,” you sighed, “although, maybe staying with the Weasleys would be better for my mental health anyways.” At this thought, you felt a little more relieved, but no matter how much you tried not to care, these feelings would forever haunt you.

“A–anyways, how about you? How’s your whole… family thing?” You asked, deflecting any more concern that came your way.

“It’s uh… still not great. Mother called off any preset engagements, however she still wants me to at least try going on the dates.” He grumbled. It was a little progress. You encouraged him to express his feelings with his mother, maybe it would change her mind. You knew it was a long shot to be able to change the traditions of hundreds of years, but why not try now? 

“Oh! Well, I suppose that’s… a little good then?” You tilted your head a little, becoming lost in thoughts again. You wondered if her mind would ever change enough to let you potentially date Draco. No, you haven’t confessed anything to Draco, but your feelings weren’t dying. 

Draco scrunched his nose and gave a slight nod. “Yes, I suppose so. Maybe, someday, she’ll let me date whoever I want, without worrying about blood status…” Your eyes widened, a blush spreading across your cheeks and to your ears. 

“That would be nice, wouldn’t it?” You stammered out. You didn’t want to get your hopes up, but you could’ve sworn that was implying he wanted to date you. Little did you know, you were correct. Maybe someday it would work out, but for now, both of you were content with your ever growing friendship. Though, can you really call this a friendship? You were sure it dug deeper than just that. 

looong a/n: So, I might’ve self projected all of my worries and trauma from my highschool days. I went to a public hs, but good god, the standards were high. Anything less than an A was a failure. I had friends crying over 94%’s… I had a couple friends that would get locked out of their houses for the day if they brought home C’s. I, myself, never felt smart enough either. My friends always scored higher than me.

I maintained a solid 3.8 GPA, but it just wasn’t as high as my friends’ with their 3.9’s and 4.0’s :’). So I spent my whole grade school career, never feeling smart enough. I cried myself to sleep most nights from the stress of it all. My parents would get onto me and had really high expectations for me as well. It took my dad forever to realise I'm going to sometimes get C's because some subjects just don't click and I crumble under pressure. No matter how hard I study, I cannot always get A's. That should be okay, but my parents....hhhhh. It’s taken me a little bit of time to start undoing the feeling that if I don't get A’s, I’m a failure.

Though, I’m finally realising that grades aren’t everything in life, and it’s ok. I’ll still aim for the top, but I’m not sacrificing my mental health for it again. (I still have a 3.8GPA at uni, but now I’m studying smarter ;) and uni has been slightly easier than high school, wtf.) I’m not trying to sound stuck up or snobby, I promise and I apologise. That was just the school mindset I was raised in. In which, I’m trying to undo some of those more painful mindsets. 

I’m trying to learn that my efforts are enough. I’m putting my best work in while not sacrificing my sanity this time. I’m enough, you’re enough, don’t let anyone tell you otherwise. 

Thanks for reading if you did!

#draco malfoy x reader #draco x reader #nicosnwrites #draco malfoy #draco malfoy x slytherin!reader #draco malfoy x gn! reader #your mental health matters so don't let anyone tell you otherwise #malfoy x reader

[creative-caramel-coffee]

Hiii, can you do something where the reader causes trouble and is always irritating to Weems, but when y/n gets sick, Larissa becomes caring and gentle to the reader, and since y/n has a fever, she says she never causes trouble on purpose and that he apologizes for everything.

English is not my first language, sorry for any mistakes.

Ms Sniffles

Pairings: Weems x Thornhill x Reader (platonic)

Word count: 2.6K

Summary: You’re an alleged troublemaker who had been on Weems nerves all week, but now you're sick and Weems is feeling guilty.

TW: mentions of vomit (no actual tho), flu symptoms, angst (w happy ending tho), anxiety, embarrassment, lectures, mentions of childhood trauma (implied), crying (lots of crying)

A/n Kinda angsty at the start but very fluffy and cute at the end.

You hadn’t meant to. You were just passing by one of your classmates' desks when you knocked the small pot of ink into their lap.

It was an awkward situation, and it was times like that, that you hated your nervous habits.

You had felt the anxiety spike and of course that meant you started laughing.

The teacher of course had assumed that meant you had done it on purpose and now you were stood outside the principal's office for the second time that day.

The first was for a similar reason, you had been going back to your seat and had knocked one of Ms Thornhill’s plants off the bench in botany class and again you had laughed feeling guilty and embarrassed.

She had been so mad she had sent you to Ms Weems’ office.

So here you were again getting lectured by the principal, she was fuming. But as you were yelled at you retreated more and more inwards.

You hadn’t dare explain yourself, not wanting to be called a liar.

You held back tears as you sat ramrod straight in a chair as she paced in front of the fire.

“Ms L/n I am severely disappointed. After out chat this morning i had hoped for your behaviour to have fixed itself. You have been in my office for your acts of rebellion and disobedience time and time again. If you cannot find it in yourself to fix your behaviour, we may have to decide whether or not nevermore is the correct school for you.” She said.

It felt like you had been stabbed in the heart. You loved nevermore. It was your home. You were accepted here and could finally be yourself.

Ms Weems had stopped talking now and was simply looking at you.

“If you have nothing to say for yourself you may return to your dorm. I don’t want to hear another peep from anyone that you have been acting out again or you will have detention for the next week. You are dismissed.” She said with an air of finality.

You stood face blank as you had trained it to be after countless similar situations at home.

You exited the lavish office and slowly walked back to your dorm.

Tears began to fall down your face as her words played on repeat in your head. She was disappointed in you. The tears fell faster as you walked, and you scrubbed at them with your balled fists.

You didn’t even notice as Ms Thornhill passed you in the hall on the way to your dorm, she frowned in concern seeing you cry but you were gone before she had a chance to stop you.

She felt slightly guilty knowing you were stressed and feeling bad for sending you to the principal earlier today.

Getting to your dorm you flopped down on your bed not bothering to change from your uniform. Curling into a tight ball you sobbed.

The strong school lights had been hurting your eyes all day, you had a killer headache and your muscles aches like they did when you were coming down with something which had resulted in you being even more clumsy than usual hence all of today's accidents.

You sobbed until the tears stopped coming and you drifted off the sleep.

It was nearly midday and Larissa was yet to hear anything about you from her teaching staff. To be honest she was actually growing concerned.

She hadn’t meant to be so harsh towards you yesterday, but she has spent the previous hour before she met with you, debating logistics with the head of the board on the phone, so her nerves were thin, ragged and raw when it had come time to deal with you.

She had heard from Marilyn you had seemed to take it hard after she reported seeing you crying in the hallways.

Larissa felt guilty for taking out her anger on a student and even more so when she realised you hadn’t attended classes all day.

Worried you had retreated into yourself and worried she had no reports from any of her teachers of unruly behaviour from you she had checked attendance records to find you hadn’t been present in classes all day.

Feeling equal parts guilty, worried and annoyed at your continued disobedience she stood from her desk. Deciding she would go under the guise of a welfare check she exited her office with keys in hand.

Standing outside your dorm she hesitated and knocked three times, frowning when there was no response. Waiting for a beat, she knocked again and sighed.

“Y/n if you don’t open the door i will have to use my key.” She said and was met again with no response.

She huffed and slid the key into the door and twisted, listening for the pop of the mechanism.

Gently she removed the key and pushed open the door. She was having doubts you were even in there as all the lights were off.

Slowly she came into the room spotting the lump in the bed. You were rolling around and thrashing slightly, tangled in the sheets still in yesterday's uniform.

Larissa knew it was yesterdays as it still had splotches of ink on it from the disaster in literature that had landed you in her office the day before.

Turning on the light she let out a small gasp at the sight of you. Three things happened all at once.

The first your eyes snapped open, tired and bleary with deep bags under them as tears gathered on your waterline thinking you were in trouble for skipping.

The second Larissa’s guilt increased tenfold.

The third the headmistress studied your face. The pink flush of fever in your abnormally pale skin. You honestly were on par with Wednesday's ghostly pallor. Your eyes were tied and bagged. Your hair and uniform crinkled and messed up. Your bottom lip quivering. Your forehead and baby hairs damp with sweat.

“Oh dear.” Weems said at the sight of you.

She should have known something was amiss yesterday in her office, but she had assumed you were flushed from the heat of the fire in her office not the beginnings of a fever.

She quickly crosses the door floor to sit on the end of your bed. Pulling out her phone she shot off a quick message to her favourite botany teacher to bring her some supplies before slipping it back into her pocket.

You had watched her with the tears in your eyes thickening and threatening to spill down your rosy cheeks.

“Oh, my sweet girl what’s wrong hmmm?” Larissa asked softly and sweetly like a mother may talk to a crying toddler.

That was all it took for the floodgates to open. Your tears fell and small sobs bubbled up in your chest. You cried and threw yourself into Larissas lap.

She was surprised at your boldness but crossed it out as the possible fever you may well have, talking.

She wrapped her arms around you tightly to ground you and you tucked your head under her chin and into her neck.

Rubbing circles on your back she rocked you and her sideways back and forth to calm you down. You were babbling incomprehensibly into her neck as she shushed you softly.

Once you were slightly more aware of what was going on you tried to explain the last few days and how you never meant to cause trouble.

As she listened the principals heart broke for you feeling so much more guilty all at once, she had never even given you a chance to explain before herself and her staff had assumed the worst.

She paused her thoughts as she realised how warm you felt against her neck.

“Darling, you feel quite hot, do you have a fever?” She asked her voice hinting her concern.

“Don’t know. Sorry.” You mumbled and sniffled softly, holding her tighter.

“Shh shh its ok I’ll take care of you, my sweetheart. It’ll all be ok.” She cooed.

Larissa was still rubbing your back with your legs straddling her lap with your face buried into her neck when someone knocked on the door.

You let out a small whimper and Larissa shushed you tenderly.

“Hush darling its simply Marilyn.”

“I’ll be back in a second my sweet.” She said trying to set you down, but you cried out and clung to her sounding your protests in the form of small wails.

“Ok ok.” She said and stood hoisting you up with her she her arms was under your thigh as she held you to her front while you straddled her waist above the hips your face still in her neck crying quietly at the idea of being put down.

Larissa moved over to the door and opened it. Ms Thornhill stood there, doing a double take at the sight of her most troublesome student clinging to the elegant, ever-formal and proper headmistress like a koala and crying into her neck.

Leaving the door open Larissa went back to your bed and sat down.

“Well, come in and shut the door.” The principal instructed and Marilyn complied and came over to sit next to her on your bed.

Breaking out of her stupor Ms Thornhill laughed.

She patted your back and said “well, I think your broke our principal sweet girl.” She joked and you let out a small huff and buried deeper into the principal's chest.

Larissa patted your back softly for comfort and glared at the teacher who put her hands up in surrender at the death-inducing look from the headmistress.

“Shh shh shh its ok sweetheart” Larissa cooed bouncing you slightly, before turning to look at the botanist to explain, “I think she may have a fever it’s messing with her head a bit.”

Marilyn nodded sobering quickly, “good thing I brought just about half the infirmary with me. You need to be less vague in SOS texts Lars.” She said still very serious.

Standing she grabbed a cloth from what she brought with her and went to the bathroom, running it under the tap and wringing it out before returning and setting it down on the table.

She came over to crouch in front of Weems and tapped your shoulder.

“Darling i need to take your temperature sweetheart.” Marilyn said and you whined softly.

Larissa gently pried your blotchy face from her neck, and you whined.

“Yes, yes i know I’m so mean.” She said and Marilyn chuckled and felt your forehead with the back of her hand humming softly.

Withdrawing her hand, she turned and grabbed something from the bag and slipped the thermometer into your ear.

After a minute it beeped, and she withdrew it and frowned.

“Your right Lars, 102.3. That’s a fever alright.”

Turning back to the small bedside table she picked put the washcloth and laid it on the back of your neck seeings you had already burrowed back into the headmistress's chest.

“Have you been sick at all?” Ms Thornhill asked softly, tracing pattern on your shoulder-blades.

“No.” You mumble still not moving from your burrow.

“Do you feel like you might be?” Larissa asked.

“Do feel kinda sick.” You said sheepishly, your fingers playing with a loose thread on your sleeve.

“Alright thats ok.” Marilyn said and patted your knee.

“Im just going to put this here just incase” she said and set down a bin by the bed.

“If you feel like you need to use it just let one of us know, it's much better than throwing up on yourself darling. It doesn’t hurt to ask.” Marilyn attested.

“What else are you feeling darling?” The principal asked rubbing your back again.

“Hot. Cold. Sore. Head hurts. Throat hurts. Sniffly.” You muttered and punctuated it with a sniffle and small cough into your fist, your cheek now resting on Larissas chest, head still tucked under her chin.

“That’s quite the list isn’t it hmm.” Marilyn said turning back to the bag she brought and procuring more items to help.

You nodded wearily and closed your eyes.

“Alright well we will start with some medicine which should help with the headache and fever. Then some cough medicine for that poor throat and the sniffles. How does that sound?” The botanist asked stroking your cheek to stop you falling asleep before they were done with you.

“Good.” You mumbled eyes still shut.

“Alright. You take these.” She said and helped you drink some water and take some medicine.

You gagged at the taste of the allegedly cherry-flavoured cough mixture and Marilyn was quick to shove the bin under your face.

“No. No. Im ok.” You said pushing the bin away. “Just tastes bad.” You whined and Marilyn nodded, leaving the bin there for now.

“Alright darling.” Weems said. “How about we change you out of yesterday's clothes and into something comfier. Hmm?” She asked and you nodded sleepily fighting off a yawn.

“And then maybe a nap.” Thornhill chuckled, finally taking away the bin from your lap. Larissa nodded.

“Good idea.” She said.

The two women helped you out of your clothes as you were slow and weak from the fever and sickness that was pervasive in your body.

Leaving you sat on the bed in the headmistresses' arms in your underclothes, Marilyn was rooting around for a t-shirt and sleep shorts in your wardrobe.

Pulling out a light pink shirt with a pretty red and black moth on it she helped pull it over your head and slide your arms through.

They helped stabilise you by holding almost all your weight up, while you stepped into the black fabric shorts and then you crawled back into Larissa’s lap.

“I guess you're more comfortable than the bed huh?” Ms Thornhill joked, and Larissa glared with no heat, at her.

“At least I’m wanted.” The headmistress huffed moodily.

“I do believe it was you that texted me.” The botanist joked and Larissa rolled her eyes.

“Whatever. Can you bring me my laptop from my study, I feel as if I’m not going anywhere anytime soon.” She asked. Marilyn chuckled.

“Of course. I’ll be right back and then I have a class, but I’ll come check on your both later to see if you need anything. I’ll bring all of us lunch later as well. Soup for Ms Sniffles over here.” She said with a nod.

“You're a lifesaver.” Weems said and blew her a kiss. Thornhill glared playfully and swatted the invisible act of affection out of the air, making the headmistress gasp in mock offence.

“Look after your limpet,” Marilyn teased, rolling her eyes affectionately, “I’ll be back with your tedious and boring work in a minute.” She said, shutting the door quietly.

Larissa smiled and looked down at where your chest was steadily rising and falling against her own. Your arms tucked into your chest, hands under your chin.

“You really are quite harmless aren’t you darling.” She said stroking your hair. You made a noise in your sleep and snuggled closer to her.

“Im sorry my love.” She said and pressed a kiss to the crown on your head.

Weems would be having a meeting with her staff later that week, once you were better of course as she wasn’t planning on leaving your side until you were.

The meeting would be about the assumptions of teachers and the necessity of letting students explain themselves before they were sent to her.

She never wanted this to happen again to any of her students and least of all, you, her little snuggle-bunny.

MASTERLIST

#sicfic #Wednesday addams #enid Sinclair #weems #larissa weems #principal weems #ms Thornhill #marilyn Thornhill #student R #platonic r #comfort #sick comfort #hurt/comfort #angst #angst with happy ending #whump #fluff #flu #sickness #sick #sick r #cold #illness #nevermore reader #outcast reader #trouble maker #reader insert #female reader #fever #crying

[storybookprincess]

Liv. I have been wondering. As someone who works in the library scene, do you have any advice on how to get there? I'm really interested in that line of work ans college is coming up fast, I was just wondering if you have any personal thoughts!

i’m gonna take two different approaches to answering this question. first, the purely logistical answer:

lots of folks don’t know this, but to actually be a full fledged librarian, you need a masters degree. however, there are lots of folks in paraprofessional roles (like me!!!!) who only have an undergrad degree. so first things first, get an undergrad degree in a related field (mine is in english, but education might be an even better fit). my advice would be NOT to go straight through to your masters, but instead get some boots on the ground experience in a paraprofessional role first to be sure this is really your desired path before shelling out the money for your masters

this brings me to my second point, which is that based solely on my own experience (a small rural public library), most folks have absolutely no clue what they are getting into when they enter the library field. i don’t regularly talk about books with anyone. i never read on the clock. instead, let me run you through my workday so far:

- i field 3 separate phone calls from a patron who is actually banned from our physical locations following a violent incident, but still calls us regularly. i look up some tv scheduling info for him, all the while deescalating the shit out of the situation, because he’s not happy with the info i’m giving him & i want to keep our conversation positive

- i shred a ton of documents for a patron. we don’t normally shred things for the public, but this is our compromise, because otherwise this patron will flush them down the toilets & ruin our plumbing

- i send a fax for a patron that inexplicably takes an hour to go through

- i provide a ton of tech help, spending about a half hour with a patron fighting with our state’s department of revenue website to try to file the fuel taxes for her trucking business

- this is all between check ins, check outs, shelving, and loads of other small interactions too brief to be of note

- worth mentioning that we’re extremely short staffed today, so it was only a coworker & me for the first half of the shift

i’ve omitted a lot of personal details to protect patron privacy & avoid engaging in trauma porn, but believe me when i say that there’s a ton of additional context that makes a lot of these interactions all the more precarious & challenging

all of this is to say that if you want to be happy in a patron facing public library role, you need to love people, embrace chaos, and have extraordinary customer service skills

therefore, i recommend getting volunteer & work experience with the public while in college, ideally with vulnerable populations. make sure you love it. hone your people skills. and then enter the library world with confidence!!!! it’s insane but awesome

#village-for-rambles #asked and answered #library life

[cuffmeinblack]

Bb, I know you're Garreth's girl now, but please do your girl a solid and write an angsty Seb × MC for #5. Please and thank you! ♡

Open arms

Sebastian Sallow x gn!reader

Tags: angst | mention of death

500 words

"oh, shit. I'm in love with you??" prompt: 5. them running into your arms

A/n: Oh okay fine we're having a Sebby day today are we? Understandable, he's been rotting my brain lately, too. Actually ended up being Sebastian pov because no reason, and metaphorical running...sorry I went off-piste didn't I. I am the woooorst.

Sebastian's second kill came at a price; his sanity slowly unravelling as he headed back in a daze. This hadn't been like the first, he told himself, though the similarities were stark. It had been self defence, and completely justified. Nobody could blame an Auror for severing an artery with a well-timed Diffindo when his life was on the line.

He was drawing glances from every angle even at the late hour, though the onlookers appeared too peturbed to approach. He must have looked a state; a bloody maniac with tears pooling in his eyes and his wand gripped tightly at his side. He should report in, but his feet took him to where he needed to go; perhaps not where he should have gone had the logical side of him still been intact.

Why did he run to you after all this time? Was it really just the need for an old friend, or was it something more?

He could have asked Ominis; he'd likely have some practical advice for him, knowing as much as anyone how it is to deal with the trauma of hurting another. His best friend. He even could have sought Poppy, who's inherent sweetness would have been a balm on his emotional wounds. Yet, he found himself clutching you tightly in your living room as if the world were ending. Perhaps it was.

His skin tingled where your hands roamed, the gentle clasp on the back of his neck sending shivers down his spine. He felt his breath steady, his eyes close as held you, and you held him back. The horrors he'd witnessed suddenly out of reach, kept behind a veil of comfort. There was another entirely different reason his heart was racing now, and as he tentatively pulled away to look down at you, it became painfully obvious.

You met his gaze; your eyes burrowing into his mind. It was almost like legilimency, the way you appeared to know what ailed him just by looking at him. You didn't need to ask what atrocities he'd committed; you knew him.

"You did what you had to do."

That had been one reason he'd found you, amongst all others. You would never judge him, for you would have done the same. The other, less obvious reason lay in the flutter of his heart as he brushed your wayward strands of hair from your face. Your sweet scent filled his nostrils and dizzied his head, masking the smell of blood and decay that splattered his clothing.

"I didn't mean to..."

"I know. But I'm here for you. You don't have to be alone if you don't want to be."

Of course you would be, because what had been a murky uncertainty was now glaringly obvious. Sebastian ran a finger down your cheek, waiting for you to flinch away or tell him to stop, but it never came. Your breath hitched and your eyes flickered across his face, yet you still let him brush your soft lips with his thumb.

"Why did you come here, Sebastian?" you whispered.

A good question not ten minutes before.

"Because I love you. And I think you love me too."

#sebastian sallow #sebastian sallow fanfiction #sebastian sallow drabble #sebastian sallow x reader

[sweetlittlegingy]

In The Mood For Chaos

"He knew her in a way no one else ever could."

“You corrupted her soul, what else did you expect”

🍒 Previous Chapter | Next Chapter | Callsign Cherry Masterlist

🍒 Pairing: Jake 'Hangman' Seresin x Y/N 'Cherry' Bishop, Bradley 'Rooster' Bradshaw x Y/n 'Cherry' Bishop

🍒 Word Count: 7.3k

🍒 Warnings: Parental death, angst, POW and very sensitive topics, Bradley... idk what he's doing today lol, swearing, breach of trust, loss of friendship (and love...), protective Jake, protective Bob, mourning, a lot of crying, drinking, dark headspace

🍒 A/n: I would like to note that I know how sensitive this topic is and I want to caution anyone that is reading this. I could never know or capture all of the feelings that families go through, and if you have been through this situation or lost anyone while they were in the military, I'm sending you my deepest condolences and am sending you all the love.

🍒 A/n pt 2: I just wrote this in the last five hours and cried a lot. It wasn't supposed to be an angsty story, but we've got multi-layered characters here.

🍒 Library (Follow for updates! I no longer have a taglist.)

Your chest heaves as the sweat drips between the swell of your breasts, and the sound of your shoes hitting the packed sand keeps a steady tempo for you to run to. The sound of waves crashing barely reaches your ears, as you push yourself harder. You catch sight of the sun starting to peak up over the horizon, which causes you to check your watch.

4:45

4 miles in 45 minutes wasn’t horrible, but it was nowhere close to your best. You had woken up at 3, drenched in sweat and gasping for air. It was the same reaction every time you came back to San Diego, maybe it was how abruptly your grandparents took you away, maybe it was a visceral reaction that you had no control over, or maybe you were still that broken little girl.

It was most likely the latter, though you don’t allow the thought to float around long in your head. It’s how you had ended up running, any way to get away from the reality of the situation. Quiet literally running away from your problems. 

The bay curves around, low tide with an expanse of sand that led right up to the house you rented. Your eyes cast across the bay and find the small white house, placed perfectly on the beach and close to the base, with a small dock off the back that connects directly to the harbor.

You only let yourself look at it momentarily as the sunrise lights up the expanse of sand, before focusing back on the path in front of you. A harsh breath pushes from your chest as you break out into a sprint, a gasp toeing the line of a cry. Your chest burns and you relish in the pain, anything to take away how your heart hurts.

You reach the pavement of the street that’s a straight stretch to the bungalow, 1 more mile. You had been pacing yourself, but as memories flash across your mind you could care less. You needed, to feel something that was physical pain, to prove you were still breathing. A sharp ache settles in your side, but you can see the front porch from a distance and so you push harder.

A grimace crosses your face as a metallic taste settles in the back of your mouth, and your chest aches, but you can’t stop not when you were so close. Another gasp releases from your chest and causes you to push that final step more.

You don’t make it to the door, the moment your feet touch the grass, you collapse. Your chest heaves in pain and have to spit out the mucus coating your throat. Though the tint of red proves that it was more blood than spit. You roll on your back as your gasps, turn into silent sobs.

Your body aches and screams at you for your reckless behavior, though you settle in the pain. Letting it pull you down and consume you completely. Your therapist had once told you that pushing this hard, was a form of self-harm. You stopped seeing her after that appointment, it wasn’t that you couldn’t come to terms with your trauma. It was the fact that it was the only thing, other than flying, that could clear your mind.

Besides, it wasn’t the worst thing that you could do.

No, you’d gone down that road while in high school. Jake was the only one that knew just how far things had gone. As much as you despised him now, for a long time he was your only reason to keep breathing.

...

You wipe the steam from the mirror, before towel drying out your hair. The sound of a door closing is followed by a knock on the door.

“Hold on Bobby. Your coffee is in the kitchen too.”

You hear a small hum in reply, and you laugh lightly. Bob was never a morning person and in the last two weeks, you had made sure that you had his coffee ready before he got out of bed. It’s not that you liked waking up early, but more so that sleep escaped you regularly.

You grab the oversized tee shirt from the counter, before slipping it on your frame. For going shorts, the old Texas longhorn’s shirt covered enough and it wasn’t as if didn’t Bob hadn’t already seen everything. One of the perks of living with each other for 4 years, it had become such a regular occurrence that it no longer phased either of you. You were quite positive that you could walk around naked, and the only thing Bobby would comment on would be the set of tan lines that adorned your skin over the past two weeks.

You slip out of the bathroom and head toward the kitchen, wanting to make sure that he had indeed found his coffee, but also that he didn’t steal yours. You almost laugh at the sight of his half-naked form leaning over the kitchen table, while keeping his coffee tucked in close.

Though the cup of coffee sitting opposite of him, has you smiling as you slip into the seat across from him. You slip your cup silently waiting for Bobby to at least get half the cup in his system before you try and hold a conversation. You glance at the oven, it was only 6:30 and you didn’t have to be on base until 8 and the drive was only 15 minutes. Your eyes fall back to Bob as an empty cup now sits between the two of you. You snicker as he rakes a hand threw his hair, it causes his baby blues to settle on you.

“It’s Saturday tomorrow, Bobby. Two whole days for you to sleep in.”

“Yeah, as long as you don’t wake me up.” His tone is teasing though your smile falls into a frown.

“I didn’t mean to wake you; it’s just being back here.”

Your words have his sleep-deprived brain clearing and the apology is already sitting at the tip of his tongue. Though you stop him before he has the chance, by giving his hand a small squeeze. His hand settles in yours and gives you a squeeze in return. You had lost so many people throughout your life and couldn’t have been more thankful that you had him.

The pair of you sit in silence, enjoying the quiet morning before the chaos of your everyday life commences. The past two weeks had been relatively calm, other than the sublet jabs that Rooster and Hangman like to throw at you. It was funny, and it only got worse as you stayed slightly ahead of them in all of the exercises. It had gotten to the point that you were just taunting them; dogfights were your favorite. Maverick had switched to having someone from the class be the enemy target and somehow.... by some luck unbeknownst to you, the three of you always ended up in the air together.

The three of you had kept the jabs surface level, nothing digging too deep that would actually cause damage. You weren’t willing to risk losing your place on the detachment or let some feud put anyone else in the squadron at risk.

Your eyes shift back to Bobby as he rises from his chair and takes both of your cups to the sink. His hands settle on your shoulders as he stands behind you and places a kiss on the top of your head.

“You don’t have to go through it alone, Cher.”

Your hand reaches up to clasp one of his hands, giving it a squeeze and a small kiss. While Bobby knew everything, it didn’t make actually talking about it any easier.

“Thanks, B.”

The nickname slips from your lips and causes Bob's hands to tighten, as a full laugh falls from his lips. You rarely called him B, and when you did it was used to break the tension in the air. That first night that the pair of you tried to see if you could be anything more, you had made a point that you wouldn’t be moaning Robert or Bob. So, B became the given name, and well... it only landed you two in a fit of laughter. It was your own personal inside joke.

...

Your eyes scan the hanger as you and Bob make your way to your seats, though as your eyes settle on a familiar face a massive grin appears on your lips. Bob had already made it to your seats, and you give his shoulder a gentle squeeze to get his attention from Phoenix.

You nod to the front of the hanger, toward the group of older gentlemen talking before the day starts. His eyes find the dark head of hair that had been missing for the last two weeks and gives you an understanding smile, before pushing your hip forward lightly.

Your boots echo through the hanger, and you can feel the different sets of eyes find your passing figure, though you pay them no mind. You come to a stop just behind the three men, waiting for Maverick to finish his sentence. You see Warlock’s shift to see you and give you a small smile, which makes your own smile grow as their conversation ends.

“Admiral.” Your tone is steady as you say it, and you quickly wipe the smile from your face as he turns.

“Lieutenant.”

His face remains serious as the pair of you stare at one another. You can hear the rest of the pilots behind you quietly talking about the pair of you, though you pay them no mind. Slowly the stern look turns into a full smile, though yours stays in place waiting.

“Hey, kid.”

The nickname makes a full smile break across your lips and for a moment you’re a little girl again. His arms reach out to hug you, though you’re already throwing yourself into his arms and grasping on like you were worried he might slip away.

“Hi, Uncle Beau.”

Your throat catches as you say it and cause Cyclone’s arms to tighten around you before letting go. The both of you pull back and give each other one last smile, before falling back into line. You nod at the other two men who hadn’t moved, each of them giving you a small smile. You give the three of them one last smile, your heart already finding some form of peace over the fact of having your godfather close. 

Your smile falls as you turn and make direct eye contact with Hangman and Rooster, before brushing passed them to go sit with Bobby.

“Lieutenant Bishop,” Cyclone's voice echoes through the hanger and causes you to turn back around. “Come see me later, we’ve got a few things to talk about. One of them being Lieutenant Commander Adams.”

Your eyes widen slightly, the man might have only been your godfather, but he sure took the job of vexing any of your “friends” seriously. You can hear Bob laugh to the side of you and your arm punches out to hit him on the shoulder.

“Of course, Admiral.”

You sink down into the seat next to Bob who is still snickering beside you, “You think it’s about you and Adams in that f-18? What were you doing again?” Your face blanches slightly, though your eyes remain trained on the whiteboard. “Going over how well you could grip the yoke?”

You slowly turn to Bob, who has a cheeky smile taunting you. Your eyes find Payback, Fanboy, and Phoenix who are practically leaning over the back of your and Bob's chairs to hear. Each of them looks at you while trying not to smile, which they are failing phenomenally at.

“Fuck you, Robert.”

Your tone is anything but harsh, and a small chuckle breaks from your chest as you rest back in your chair.

...

Once again you had been chosen to be the enemy target for the dynamic idiot duo, by now you were sure that Maverick was doing it as a way of “therapy” for the three of you. The two of them stop at their own F-18s as you head farther down the tarmac, though Rooster’s voice yelling at you has you turning around to see what it was now that he was bitching at now.

“What do I have to do to get on the Cherry Popping List, Cherry?”

You almost let the words go over your head, though the small snicker at the in pulls you back. The comment and action not only affect you though, as you watch Jake tense up and glare at his wingman. If looks could kill, Rooster would be six feet under.

“Sorry, I’m not one to lower my standards.” A smile crosses your lips that has Rooster standing straighter. “Especially for pilots that can’t get into the Academy on the first go.”

You don’t wait to see his reaction, already knowing that Maverick holding his papers was a sore subject. You’d heard the rumor when the three of you were in the Academy, though hadn’t realized it was true until you heard Maverick and Rooster arguing last week.

It doesn’t take long for the three of you to get in the air, as you hear the pair chattering across the coms. You stay low level, just above the hard deck, waiting for them to get restless.

Rooster's voice cuts across the frequency again, “So Hangman, tell me, was she any good? Figure asking from someone with first-hand experience is better than nothing.”

Rooster's laugh echoes across the radio, and for the minute you give them, before you're officially pissed, Jake doesn’t say anything. You glance up and see their pair of F-18s right above you before you pop up. They’re separated just enough, and they have no clue that you’re just under them, soon to be on top.

“You should worry about your own sex life Rooster; I’ve heard quite a few underwhelming reviews.”

The sentence slips off your lips, though before either of them can reply you shoot up through the pair. Sending each of them off to the side in a barrel roll and now it’s your laugh that echoes across the coms.

“What the fuck was that.” Jake’s voice rings out and breaks up the laughing fit you were having due to them both gasping.

“It’s called, I’m about to kick your ass and win 50 bucks from Coyote.” They both go silent trying to figure out what you mean. You knew that the rest of the squad would be listening to the coms, specifically Javy. “Ain’t that right Javy? This will make ten-”

You're cut off before you can finish, “We’ve gotten tone on you six times.”

You roll your eyes at Rooster, as you bring the nose around and find the two of them.

“No, you’re right Rooster. You’ve done such a good job of coming in second, too bad there’s only one winner.”

You go silent after that, paying neither of them any mind. You need to focus and not worry about the birdbrains; you also knew that your silence unnerved them. Just another perk. It doesn’t take long for you to get behind the pair, though it’s Rooster who you have your eyes on.

He had constantly been trying to piss you off. While Jake made comments, dumb snappy comments, Rooster was like a lover scorned and picked at every little thing he could.

He’d almost brought up your dad the other day, after seeing a picture of your father and Cyclone standing side by side on a carrier. Both of them had been deployed and it was one that you personally had tucked away at home.

Though just as the words “Your father” slipped passed Rooster's lips, Hangman had thrown him a glare that silenced the man. For a minute you saw Jake, not Hangman, though the flash of his green eyes to you was quickly covered up and Jake was gone again.

You didn’t know if you could ever forgive either of them, you had never really thought about it until now, with every look that Jake gave you, you questioned yourself. Could you ever risk opening up like that again, giving someone that much power over you.

Sure, Bobby knew everything, though the “power” he had over you was different than Jake did. Jake held a power over you that terrified you, your bond ran deep and though it was broken, you had never been able you get rid of it wholly.

The pair of them split and you immediately follow Rooster, he’s just in front of you and with every second you’re gaining on him. You’d need to get tone soon; Hangman would be circling back around any moment and on your ass.

“Hey, Chicken” Your words cut through the radio before tone rings out alerting everyone. “Your dead.”

You hear Rooster swearing over the coms, though you're too focused on finding Hangman.

“Where’d you go Hangy.” Your voice is condensing and as it slips over your lips, you level out to find him directly in front of you. The pair of you heading directly for the other.

“Hey, Cher” His laugh has you gritting your teeth, though neither of you hit the button to get tone, even though you’re directly in line.

“You really wanna do this?”

“I missed our games, sweetheart.”

Every second brings you closer, and you can hear chatter echoing through the radio from the rest of the dagger squad.

“You should know better than to play this game, Jake.” The name slips out, though you don’t even realize you’ve said it.

“Just break off Cher, easy as that.”

“Then you do it.”

“Y/n Marie Bishop,” Bob's voice cuts through and gains your attention. “break off. Cher, you don’t need to do this.”

You don’t reply and Jake’s right in front of you now. He doesn’t say anything either and you silently wonder if still remembers how the pair of you played it in the Academy before he ruined everything. You’d gotten caught a couple times and had your fair share of ass chewings. Though if there was anything Jake was good at, was sweet talk his way out of anything. Even when a higher-up was threatening to ground you.

There’s a round of voices echoing through the coms, even Rooster freaking out slightly. Though they fall silent to your ears as one voice echoes out.

“Y/n” Your name falls from his lips so gently that it makes your heart ache. The last syllable of your name passes Jake’s lips and you both break hard right, just barely slipping passed the other.

You’re not sure how to feel knowing that Jake had remembered; did it mean anything or was it just a random fact he hadn’t forgotten?

...

Before you know it you're back on the tarmac, slipping your helmet off and tying your flight suit around your waist. The afternoon heat had become unbearable, and your sweat had made your damn shirt cling to you like a second skin.

You see Hangman and Rooster both climbing from their jets, chatting back and forth, though you can’t hear what they’re saying. Hangman catches your eye, though doesn’t say anything. Maybe he would have if the rest of the squadron wasn’t making their way across the tarmac, Bobby leading them as his lethal gaze settles on you, not wavering in the slightest.

You step toward Bobby, as his eyes asses your sweating form. His hands settle on your shoulders, and you give him a tiny smile, knowing that you were about to get your ass chewed.

“You’re, okay?” The question doesn’t surprise you; Bob had always made your health and safety his first priority when it came to ripping you a new one.

“Yes, Bobby. In one piece, and ready for the Floyd ‘I’m disappointed in you’ speech.”

The answer causes him to laugh, before pulling you in for a hug. A quiet whisper of comfort is muttered against your shoulder and has you tightening your hold before pulling away.

By now the rest of the group, as well as Rooster and Hangman had formed around the pair of you. Your eyes move around the group and each of them looks at you in stunned but apprehensive silence.

“Bob might not be ripping into you, but I sure as hell don’t wanna be there for when Cyclone gets ahold of you.” Fanboy’s comment has a smile breaking across your lips, as you pluck your sunglasses from Bob’s shirt pocket. Bobby clicks his teeth before a small chuckle pushes pasted his lips as he shakes his head at you. Your eyes leave Bob and you give the rest of the squad an award-winning smile.

“You would be surprised just how good I can sweet talk someone,” You move towards Fanboy, and pat his chest gently as you pass. “Especially when it comes to my godfather.” The words are thrown over your shoulder, though you keep walking as a round of questions breaks out.

“Seresin, let’s move it.”

Your tone is harsh, though has both you and Hangman questioning when he became Seresin to you again.

...

“What in the hell were the two of you dumbasses pulling out there?”

Cyclone paces behind the desk that both you and Jake stand at attention in front of. Though before you can answer, Jake speaks up.

“It was my idea, sir.” Both yours and Cyclone’s head whip to look at Jake in bewilderment. “I wanted to make a point that this mission was serious, that it is life or death.”

Cyclone hums though his eyes don’t leave your own, “and you thought playing chicken, with government property, was the proper motivation.”

A sharp nod comes from Jake while his eyes remain dialed in on the bookshelf behind Cyclone.

“First of all, even without hearing the audio from the coms, I would always know this was something Lieutenant Bishop orchestrated.” Cyclone’s eye glances at you, though you’re quick to move your center focal point to something behind him.  “Secondly, don’t think that I forgot about the shit you both pulled in the Academy.”

Your eyes follow Cyclone’s gaze to Jake as he mutters that last word. By the way, Jake’s eyes widen slightly and the harsh tone of your godfather, you know that your flight habits are no longer the topic at hand. The silent stare-down between them would be unsettling, if you didn’t know how big of softies, they both were. The clearing of your throat has them snapping out of the daze.

“I’m not grounding you, not when the mission is so close.” A sigh you didn’t realize you were holding leaves your body, you had yet to be grounded in your career, and the thought honestly scared you. The closest you fell to your parents was in the sky. “But I promise you, if either of you pulls that shit again, I’ll ground you the second the mission is finished.”

While you knew that Cyclone was being a hard ass, was because it was his job. On base, he would always be Admiral before Uncle, though the flash of worry in his eyes tells you that it wasn’t his only reason.

“Lieutenant Seresin, you’re dismissed.” Jake glances at you as he leaves though your focus remains forward, silently trying to figure out just how much Cyclone knew about yours and Lieutenant Commander Adams’ agreement. The clicks behind you and the sight of your uncle sighing so heavily does nothing to ease your worrying mind. A nod of the head to the chair directly across from his own causes you to sit.

“What did Adams tell you about the mission?” Your head cocks slightly, this was defiantly not the direction you thought and prepared yourself for.

“Only that Jake and Bradshaw were going to be here.” There you go again, how had he in such a short amount of time, have you back to using his first and last name. You had stopped using them after everything and started only calling him Hangman. He hated when you called him by his callsign, always said it was too impersonal.

Your uncle’s silence paired with the tick in his jaw, causes your chest to tighten. He was never this serious when it was just the two of you, that wasn’t the type of relationship you had. The last time you remember seeing him like this was the day your grandparents took you back to Texas, while you bawled and clutched onto him and your Aunt Julie begging them to change your grandparents’ mind.

“Y/n, Sweetheart, we need to have a talk.” You quietly suck your teeth, and your eyes instantly land on the file Beau sides across his desk. The bright red letters spelling out classified aren’t what catches your attention, it’s the black letter under it, in such blocky letters ‘BISHOP’ glares back at you.

“Honey,” your eyes leave the smile, and the small tremble in your bottom lip, confirms to Cyclone that you have an idea where the conversation is happening. “you were so young when everything happened. I didn’t have the clearance to tell you, even if I wanted to.”

You force a harsh breath through your nose, silently begging for whoever controlled the universe to not break you absolutely with whatever lies with those pages.

“But with you getting placed on this mission, Commander Kazansky, and I both agreed that you should know. That you had a right to know.” 

The words catch in your uncle’s throat and have your eyes flashing to him. You wish that you’d have stayed focused on the file because seeing the eyes of one of the strongest men you know lined with tears makes it all worse. Makes whatever you’re about to read more real.

“What part of the story wasn’t true? What’s it have to do with this mission?” you’re surprised that he can even hear you, with how quietly the words slipped passed your lips.

“We’ve been watching the location, where the Uranium plant is for a long time, honey. It wasn’t a plant back then, it was supposed to be some ragtag militia group that broke off Russia’s military.”

Your hands twist in your lap as you boot intently taps on the floor. You can’t bring yourself to grab the folder, too consumed with the voices bouncing around in your mind. They hadn’t told you much back then, just that it was supposed to be an in-and-out mission. Things went wrong, and they lost him. They’d given you minimal details, you were only seven and you’d never questioned what happened.

Because you knew what happened.

Didn’t you?

“We didn’t have the right intel and it wasn’t until we were right over them, that artillery that rivaled ours at the time, started going off.”

A harsh breath leaves your uncle as he turns and pulls a 5th of whiskey from a bottom drawer. The seal is still intact and the snap of it echoes threw your ears, as your eyes slightly blur in and out of focus. A glass is sat in front of you, though you can’t seem to make a move for it.

“Your dad’s plane went down in a clearing; it was the perfect spot. The safest crash site we could have asked for.”

The shake of your uncle’s hand as he downs the rest of his glass has your gaze, you’d never seen him so unkept. Beau Simpson was the top of the top, the United States Navy’s poster child for god’s sake.

“He was gonna be fine, we’d already called in e-vac.”

The shake of his voice as your eyes refocusing and the red-rimmed eye’s staring back at you aren’t one’s you’d ever seen before. Not in this capacity at least.

“They appeared out of nowhere,” your jaw clenches and it’s surprised your teeth haven’t cracked. “they had him out of his plane, before any of us to circle around and get a shot.”

Your body lurches forward slightly and it feels like all the air had been ripped from your chest and the ringing in your ear only gets louder as your uncle talks.

“We were able to bring him home, the week before your mom passed.”

You hadn’t had a panic attack since you were a teenager, though the way you gasp for breath as the words break from you. “That was three years later.”

How you ended up pacing is beyond you,

“don’–” your hands brace against the back of your chair as you rock back on your heels. “Don’t tell me that they had him for three years.”

“That they held him captive for three years before you could get him.”

Your legs fall out from under you and cause you to harshly crash to the floor. Your breath shutters, as you wrap your arms around your knees. Your eyes fall in and out of a hazy as flashbacks of his funeral filter through your mind. “He was alive for three more years, and you swept it under the rug. They had a funeral...”

Your eyes meet Cyclone’s as he watches you, and it breaks you even more. He was fully prepared for you to hate him. You can hold his gaze, instead, you find the folder that lies on the desk still. Without a second thought, you scramble up for it, you knew that whatever it was going to break you. But you had to know.

Cyclone's hand lands on it at the same time yours does, holding it firmly on the desk.

“Sweetheart, you know now. You don’t need to see; I shouldn’t have even gotten the folder out.”

“I need to. I need to see just exactly what I’m going up against, the reason that I’m going to fly this mission and kill every last one of them.”

Your throat is raw with pain, though the drip of hate that seeps from it echoes even after the words died out.

The folder slides from your uncle’s hold and you grasp it cowering back to the corner of the room settling against the wall. The file just sits in your lap, and your hands shake while they ghost over the top though you make no move to open it. Cyclone doesn’t move from his chair and by the time your fingers pry the file open, you don’t know how long you’ve been sitting in silence.

The top page is just logistics and a few photos of the landscape you’ve studied endlessly over the last two weeks. Even after 23 years much hadn’t changed, sure they had a runway and a couple more buildings now, but you and your father had studied the same location.

Your tears had stopped falling by now, the realization that your mother had only lived long enough to get buried with your dad settles in. She had been so numb and broken, but still holding it together for you. Nights that you cried yourself to sleep, yelling at the universe for taking him from you. And yet she knew.

She knew that he was somewhere, possibly dead, possibly captive...

Death would have been easier, clean-cut. Without the constant wondering.

Without the small piece of hope that you’re, she held until the very end.

The next page has your stomach turning, and your hands shaking as they ghost across the page. Tracing the fuzzy images, and even though your heart aches, you could feel that blank numb feeling settling in with each page you flip. It’s the last page that kills something within you, your body acting on its own accord as it starts to shake.

It was your father

the lacerations lining his back and chest

the caved in eye socket and broken jaw

the burns and carvings spread across every inch of skin

it was your dad

but the once bright blue eyes were dimmed

dead

he was dead

three years of mutilation

23 years later and now you finally know

but even still it didn’t change that he was gone.

And somehow it felt like a piece of you was too.

Your feet push up from the floor, though the shaking in your hands remains. Your foot sets are slow and careful as you place the folder back on your uncle’s desk. Though the last page remains in your hands, slightly crumped from the grip you have on it.

Those first years in Texas were hard, you missed your parents, but you knew they were together at peace. Now, there still together and at peace... but the truth tares into you in a way that their death hadn’t even been able to.

“Y/n, sweetheart?”

You can barely find the strength to lift your eyes, and the sight of heartbreak looking back at you is only worse. Your head shakes, though the words can’t seem to form. You knew that he would want you to talk about it, but you couldn’t. Not with so much more on the line with this mission. You could finish what your father started; you could do one last thing for him. You would let the pain consume you for the next two days, but when Monday came, you’d shut it down.

Your nose sniffles and your eyes ache. You were tired, so emotionally and physically tired. A knock at the door pulls Cyclone’s attention though your eyes stay settled on the folder. You hear the voice and while you would usually have some snip to say to him, you had nothing. The whiskey bottle sets on the edge of the desk and the hand gripping the god-forsaken page reaches out and grasps it. Your hand drifts off the side of the table, you can’t seem to find the strength to carry it and so it just hangs at your side.

You turn to find a silent Rooster staring at you, they had been talking but stopped at some point now both of them quietly watching you. Your eyes glance back to Cyclone and you can see that he wants to talk, to protest your leaving.

“Not today. Not tell I finish this fucking mission.” Your empty hand points at Cyclone, though your voice lacks your usual conviction.

You can hear him start to say your name, though before he can you sidestep passed Rooster and leave. Your shoulders brush and cause the pilot to turn and watch your disappearing figure. Rooster glances back to Cyclone, though he doesn’t meet Rooster's gaze. His eyes stay settled on the folder on the desk and just barely Rooster can make out your last name.

...

The sound of the Hard Deck door has Bob’s head snapping up in hopes to see you. Jake had shown up two hours ago and said that Cyclone kept you to talk. It didn’t seem like anything out of the normal, plus Cyclone had made the comment about Adams, Bob was sure that you both were just having a good catch-up and laugh.

Though the uneasy face of Rooster coming through the door gains his and everyone else’s attention. It’s a little busier tonight, but Rooster makes it through the crowd in record time and aims straight for Bob.

“Something happened.” The comment is aimed at Bob, though it gains the attention of the whole group and causes them to surround the pair.

“What are you talking about?” Bob was usually meek and mild around the group, though with you missing and Rooster now, his voice comes out hard and demanding.

“Cherry, Y/n.” The use of your name doesn’t go unnoticed and the sight of Rooster now racking a hand through his hair and pacing causes an uneasy feeling to settle over the group. Before Bob can reply, Hangman’s voice cuts in and if you’d have heard it, you would have known that it was Jake. At that moment he was your Jake again.

“Bradshaw, stop fucking pacing and talk.”

“I don’t know what happened. I had to talk to Cyclone about some paperwork, but when I got to his office Y/n was there. Just standing in the middle of the room, gripping onto some paper and not saying anything.” His pacing starts up again, though he keeps talking. “I was just going to ignore it; tell Cyclone I’d talk to him Monday. But the look in his eyes as he watched her, he was barely holding it together. Before I could leave Y/n grabbed the 5th of whiskey and went to leave, she was a shell, guys. Cyclone tried to stop her, and I don’t know what she meant, but I’d never heard her sound like that. Broken, completely vacant.”

“What the fuck did she say Rooster?” The curse word falls from Bob’s lip so naturally, it would call for some attention, though with the problem at hand, no one seemed to notice.

“She said ‘Not today. Not till I finish this fucking mission.’ The words were barely a whisper and then she was just gone. I caught sight of a file on Cyclone’s desk, was classified but it had Bishop blocked out across it.”

You and Bob had this location rule, that you would always keep it on for each in case something happened, and he had never been so thankful. He hears Hangman release a round of curse words as the group talk trying to figure out what to do.

The small dot that lights up Bob’s phone has him releasing a breath, though the location was on the edge of the water, and he didn’t have any idea where you would be around there.

“I’ve got her location, but I don’t ha–”

The phone is ripped from his hand by Jake and before Bob can say anything Jake shoves the phone back into Bob’s hand and turns to leave.

“You’re not going to see her, Hangman.” The comment halts Jake and causes him to slowly turn around and assess Bob. “You’ll just make it worse; you need to say here.”

Jake’s shoulders tense up and the five steps to Bob only take him two. The pair of them stand eye to eye and causes Javy to try and slip in between them.

“Floyd, don’t fucking test me right now.” Bob doesn’t falter at the words and instead steps that inch closer. “You might know a lot, but this, you don’t know fucking shit.”

Jake’s voice cracks slightly and Bob’s stance softens slightly.

“I know exactly where she’s at and I’ve got a pretty good idea of what it’s about. So, I’m gonna go and if you try and stop me, I’ll put you on your ass so fucking quick.”

“Thought she didn’t mean anything to you anymore?”

“She has and always will mean everything to me, Floyd. And right now, she isn’t Cherry. She’s the little ten-year-old that I hugged and held every day that first summer. That little girl needs me and I’ve fucked up a lot, but this. You would have to kill me, to stop me from helping Her.”

...

How you ended up back here, you’re not sure. Call it survival mode that took you back to your safe place. You hadn’t been here since you were fifteen, when you and Jake had flown in for your mother’s, and you guess your father’s, five years.

You’d stripped out of your flight suit after you finished 1/4th of the bottle, finding a pair of shorts in the back of your jeep. Then found your way out to the little cove, it was just off the trail you ran this morning and from it, you could watch the one place that should have been your forever home. But lost the glimmer and shine after they died.

You lift the bottle and the lightness of it has you looking at it in wonder of how you had already put over half the bottle away. Your toe’s dig deeper into the sand as you take another drink. The tears flow from your eyes freely and the burning sensation that should be in the back of your throat is missing.

The sound of feet walking across the slippery rock path, that’s slowly disappearing as the tide rises, gets your attention and you find the one face that you're surprised to see and yet not at all surprised. Jake was the only one you’d ever brought here, he was the only one you trusted enough once upon a time.

“Are you Hangman or Jake today?” Your eyes cloud over and cause you to look back out at the water as he stops just to the side of you. “Cause there’s only one of them that I’m gonna talk to.” You try to sound strong and sure of yourself, though the end breaks through with a small laughing cry.

“Hey, Darlin’.”

The name causes a sob to release from your chest and finally breaking down around the only person you’d ever let fully in. For this moment none of the bullshit matters, you’d need him. You needed your Jake, and he’d come.

His arms wrap around you as your chest heaves, and you can’t seem to catch your breath. Though the hand against the back of your head and the chest you rest against feels like home. He rocks you gently, whispering soothing words against the crown of your head, separated by a kiss every now and then.

Time seems to escape you, though you know it’s been a bit because the tide has risen, and yet Jake hasn’t let go of you once. Your breathing has finally slowed and matches his, grasping onto the one thing that has always grounded you. Even through the bullshit, the thought of Jake, not Hangman, but Jake always settled you.

“What happened, honey?”

Neither of you had talked, other than Jake’s quiet muttering, you had disconnected. You pull back from the warmth of his chest before your eyes then fall to the crinkled piece of paper sitting under the whisky bottle. You don’t make a move for it, you couldn’t look at it again. One of his arms slips from around you to grab the paper, and the small whimper that leaves your chest has Jake’s other hand tightening around you.

“I got you.” You cling to his shirt as another kiss is placed on the top of your head. The sudden tension that rips through Jake’s chest confirms that he’s finally looked and knows exactly who he’s looking at. Anyone could see the resemblance between you and your father, but Jake had come to know him on a deeper level. Through each picture, letter, and tearful night Jake knew him through your eyes. He knew what he meant to you.

Another shaky breath falls from your chest, at the thought of the image and Jake is quick to discard it. He leans back from you, to look at you, needing to see what was racing through your head. He lays a hand across your cheek and gently wipes the falling tears away.

“That was three years after his funeral.” He’d never seen you so broken, not even during the first years you lived in Texas. His brow creases in question and the words fall from your lips so vacantly. “They had him for three years, Jake. They... they... they”

The sentence doesn’t make it passed your lips, as another sob breaks from your chest. You fall back into his chest and the arms wrapped around you hold on to you a little tighter. You miss the shutter breath that matches your own, the harsh breath that shakes through his chest. The words try to break from your lips, but only quiet mutters bounce off of his chest.

“I know, darlin’.” You miss the tear that falls from him. “I’ve got you; I’m not going anywhere.”

You stay like that, curled up in Jake Serein’s lap. The home that you lost.  And somehow found again.

 He was your Jake again...  

#callsign cherry 🍒 #jake seresin #jake seresin x you #jake seresin x y/n #jake seresin x reader #jake seresin fluff #jake seresin angst #top gun maverick #top gun #jake hangman seresin #hangman top gun #tgm fic #tgm imagine #tgm #top gun hangman #gingy writes #top gun au #top gun imagine #top gun fic #dagger squad #bradley rooster bradshaw #robert bob floyd #javy coyote machado #bob floyd

[axofluff]

A Soldier's promise || Fem!Reader X Simon "Ghost" Riley

・❥・Masterlist

・❥・Tag's/warning: Angst, major character death, reader is pregnant with Ghost's child, trauma, slight comfort, mentions of antenatal depression, no mention of y/n in the military, comfort, grief. Depression and other serious topics.

・❥・Summary: Your pregnant with Ghosts child but Ghost has been deployed to an important mission. With you on maternity leave, you have no choice but to stay behind as your due to give birth, but will Ghost ever return?

・❥・A:N: I've had this idea for a WHILE. I cried whilst writing this, I explained it to @the-jarvy-party a while ago and they encouraged me to write it so, here you go!

I will not be paying for anyone's therapy after this

"I'll be back in no time love, I promise you. You take care of you both for me alright?" Simon pressed a light kiss to your forehead and rubbed your stomach, your little daughter growing rapidly inside.

"Stay safe...please." You were upset more than usual about Simons departure and no matter how hard Simon tried to put the mission off just so he could witness your beautiful baby into the world; Price just simply couldn't hold the mission back further then he could. antenatal depression was hitting you hard

"Always, darling...always for you." He murmurs, capturing your lips in a sweet and tender kiss. Stroking your cheek softly, his brown orbs gaze into yours and you try your best, memorizing every last detail of his face before he slips his mask down.

"To infinity..." Ghost turns to you one last time before he leaves.

"To the ends of the universe." You feel a tear drop from your face and with that, he was gone.

The house suddenly felt empty, despite signs of life blossoming in every corner. Trails of ghost could be seen in every corner. His "World's best soldier." cup still half full of coffee on the table. As much as it annoyed you that he always left it half full it was replaced with a sudden urge. You'd give for a million mugs of half full coffee if it meant for Ghost to remain home.

You were supposed to be used to Simon always leaving for a mission, but this time it felt completely different and you just couldn't figure out why.

You trusted him with your life. He'd always come back home to you, a little bruised but he came back home every single time he left that door. Yet somehow, a gnawing feeling was turning at your stomach.

: ̗̀➛

You and Ghost would call every chance he got, they were short and sweet but you cherished every time your phone would ring and the familure name of "My love." pop up.

To hear his voice was enough to keep you going, making each second that lead up to your point in pregnancy. Sometimes he'd send photos of him and the others. Always keeping you updated on their current status. He'd always remind you that you were strong and that you would make it through this. Simon would almost always ask you to move the phone so he could speak to your belly directly, saying how he can't wait to come home and meet the little angel you both worked so hard to have.

The nights were the worst. You'd often have frequent nightmares and you'd wake up in a cold sweat all alone in bed, expecting to be wrapped in his loving arms only to be greeted by the harsh silence of the night. Simon knew about these when he asked and he promised to have all the cuddles you could ever think of when he comes back.

: ̗̀➛

It was a Saturday night, you were packing things ready to give birth to your beloved daughter as you were only a week away now. You was expecting a phone call of from Ghost today since he promised you on Tuesday he'd call although the day was drawing to an end and you began to feel the anxiety creep in.

"He's probably just taking a nap...I'm sure he'll call in a few minuets...he's fine." You told yourself, folding a t-shirt into a suitcase.

The minuets turned into hours and the night turned into early morning. Your anxiety was almost like a volcano now waiting to erupt but you know for the safety of your little one, it was best not to worry.

So thinking nothing of it, you decided to go to bed. Maybe sleep will help ease your mind, praying you didn't have a nightmare tonight.

You decided to check your phone last time, hesitating to message him but you could never be sure if he would even read it. Sighing, you put it down and close your eyes. Trying to put your mind on other things.

You were suddenly jolted awake as your phone began to ring. You reach over and you see it's ghost, although it was 3:42 am. Ghost would never ring this late, you accept it and put your phone to your ear.

"Hey love! Is everything ok? You-"

"Y/n...baby....oh god..." You were interrupted by him, his voice sounded tired and you could hear faint coughing in the background as he was trying to hide his pain. A sudden worry shot you awake and you were on high alert.

"Simon...what's going on? Are you ok?" You blurted out. Sitting up straight.

"It's so good to hear your voice baby..."His voice was weak and you instantly knew he was hurt.

"SIMON?!-" You could hear Soap in the background, his voice rang alarm bells right through you.

"Are you hurt?!" You frantically try to keep it together, a sob almost breaking out.

"N...No no...just a little scratch." He was lying, knowing if he told you the truth you'd be devastated and he didn't want the last image of you crying,

"Then why do you sound...you're injured Simon don't lie to me." You say between gritted teeth, your chest suddenly feels heavy and you feel clammy. The reality of the situation becoming almost too much for you to handle.

"Shhh...shhh...I'll....I'll be okay love, how's....how's Lilly?" He grunts, knowing he doesn't have much time left. Lilly is what you decided to call your daughter.

"Simon don't you dare try to change the topic! Don't you dare." A cry breaks out and you feel your whole world closing in on you. Your heart racing in your chest, crushing you completely.

"The sky is so beautiful...it always reminds me of you, you know? They remind me the first time I looked into your eyes, my love...Your eyes shone so brightly compared to everyone else's...they reflect on your soul....a soul I am so glad I got to meet..." He wheezes, clearly in pain as he tried so hard to cling on for you.

"Don't talk like that, you are coming home and meeting your beautiful daughter we worked so hard for. 2 years we tried...2 whole years to create her...You are coming home to her...to me...to us." You angrily sob, trying so hard to cling onto any hope.

"I never did thank you...love...you changed me in a way I couldn't see...you....you saved me y/n...you saved me." His voice was getting weaker by the second and you could tell he didn't have long left. You wanted to scream at him, to tell him not to give up, to tell him to fight for you. However, it felt like your throat had been ripped out and you couldn't bring yourself to say anything.

"Please...please Simon....don't leave me." You begged, tears welling in your eyes.

"Oh..love I'm not leaving you...as long as I'm in your heart I will never leave you...I...I just need to rest for a little while...I'm sorry I couldn't make it to see our daughter grow up...to watch as you both grow and be the most amazing and strong women you both will be. You've done so well...my love. You are so strong...so strong. You always had a strength I could never have. I... I love you so much..." He was crying now, it was always rare for him to cry, at least around others. A knife stabbed in your heart as you hear him cry. Knowing there was nothing in your power to make this change.

"Simon... I can't do this without you... I don't want to be alone." You tried to plead. Your voice was shaking and you found it hard to form a sentence.

"Maybe in the next life my love... Please... For Lilly's sake... Stay strong for her. She needs you. Remind her every day she is loved. I know you're going to be an amazing mom. She'll love you endlessly... Promise me that you won't give up on her." He whispers, his voice getting quitter.

"I don't want to be on my own Simon... Please... There has to be something. Where's Soap? Gaz? Price?" Your mind races through any sort of possibility that he could pull through with this.

"Y/n, I need you to promise me that you won't give up on her... Please..." He begs now, his voice straining.

"I... I promise." You mutter and tears stream down your face. Your sobs and the distance sound of gunfire fill the air.

"Simon... Are you there? Simon..." No response.

"SIMON? DON'T YOU DARE!" You scream. No response.

"THIS BETTER NOT BE SOME SICK JOKE SOAP TOLD YOU TO DO!" No response.

You screamed, you sobbed, you yelled, you pleaded.

No response.

You didn't want to accept the fact he's gone. There was absolutely no reason on why he had. He promised you after all, he promised to always come back home to you.

Your throat began to swell and your eyes pricked with tears. You're mouth sobbing as it felt like someone shoved an ironing brand right down your throat. You clutched onto the bed sheets and the sudden wave of his scent caught you. You slept with one of his t-shirts every night. The smell of him was your comfort... Now it was a painful reminder that the person who gave you everything and more was in fact gone.

Tears stained the pillow as you couldn't keep it in anymore. Your whole body was shaking and your chest burnt in pain. You gasped for breath as you struggled. Your painful sobs echoed through the walls.

A sudden knock caused you to jolt awake.

"Y/n, is everything alright in there? I heard screaming." A familur Austrian accent spoke from the other side.It was Konig, he could hear your sobs from the other room.

"GO AWAY!" You scream, gasping for breath.

"Bitter... Let me help you..." His voice was calming, inviting. You just sob and you cling onto the shirt. Burrowing your face in it. You could smell the familure scent of wood pine, gun powder and his cologne he wore everytime. Your tears damperning the fabric as you sobbed hard into the t-shirt.

"I want to help you... Y/n please... Whatever it is..." Konig pleaded. Sounding sincere, you lift your head up slowly and you open the door. Konig suddenly looks down at you, his green eyes widening at your state.

"Oh no no... Come here..." He wraps you in his arms and you just sob into his chest. His warm hands pressingly softly onto your back

"He's gone Konig... He's gone..." Is all you can say between sobs. Konig rubs your back tenderly, his hands moving in circles as he holds you close. Your sobs muffled by konigs chest. Your lungs were on fire as the tears just wouldn't stop and everything became a haze around you.

"I am so sorry y/n, truly... I really am." Konig sighs, looking at you sympathetically. His fingers pressed along your spine gently.

"I can't... I can't do this without him Konig. He... He promised me..." You tighten your grip around him. Wishing it was him, wishing that the phone would call again and it would be Ghost's voice. Telling you it was just a stupid game.

"I'm going to need you to take deep breaths for me ok? Think of Lilly..." Konig 's voice was warm, his words was soft as he desperately tried to get you to calm down. Your tears flowed from your check to Konigs hoodie, his mask tucked neatly in. You sniffle and you know Konigs right, so you pull away and begin to take deep breaths. "There you go y/n, deep breathes." Konig whispers, tucking some of your hair which was now matted with tears away from your face. Your eyes bloodshot from the tears, You wipe your eyes and you sob softly, trying so hard to keep keep everything together. Your sobs slowly subsided to sniffles, having no energy anymore. You felt so weak, so fragile. It felt like ghost took a part of you, a part of you you'll never get back. You loved him endlessly, he was your home and your safety. He loved you the same, you truly had a connection that made you inseparable from each other. You was each other's light. Together, their was nothing you couldn't get through. : ̗̀➛ You were cradling your beautiful newborn, Lilly gurgled and was sucking on her thumb as she slept peacefully in your arms. She had Simons eyes. That beautiful brown haze that shared the same spark as his. Konig was there with you for the birth and he quickly adapted to helping you look after the little one. He was amazing, despite his size. Lilly took a shine to him. Konig helped with everything, to feeding Lilly to even waking up in the middle of the night to change her diaper to let you rest. Although you couldn't love another, you was always grateful for Konig's company. You'd often find yourself in his arms after waking up from a nightmare. His arms becoming your only comfort. Konig understood your boundaries and he respected you, Never pushing himself on you. The task force returned around a month later, instead of the roaring of cheers as they came back from the mission. The boys were silent. Soap especially. The base became silent. Everyone was hurting differently. Price gave you the warmest hug when he returned. Price was like a father to you and he saw how happy you made Simon. Prices eyes were usually warm and swelling with life, but his gaze was different. Even he was hurting. Even Gaz was a different person. His bubbly self was now hidden behind a layer of grieve. The task force was a family and on that day, they lost a brother. You tried so hard to carry on. Every night you had night terrors, imagining Simon laying there in the battlefield in different ways. You struggled so hard. Mundane tasks felt so hard to complete as you were just a shell of who you used to be. Lilly was the only reason you kept pushing through. You promised Simon you'd stay strong for her, so that's what you'll do. The task force did their best to help chip in with supporting you. Taking it in turns to babysit her when Price would force you to get out there and have some time away. Simons funeral was small, since Simon never had family other than the task force and you. They never found his body but you still held a ceremony for him. The days eventually turned into weeks which turned into months. After a while you returned back to your work, knowing Simon wouldn't want you to waste your life away at home. Lilly was growing quickly and before you had time to process everything she was 3 years old. The older she got the more of Simon you could see in her. Her small button brown eyes and her cheeky little smile that Simon always gave you. She saw Konig as her father and eventually you began to fall in love again. You and Konig cared for one another, he was there for when you couldn't pick yourself back up. You found your solace with him and you learnt to trust again. Knowing this is what Simon would have wanted for you and in time, you'll see him again sometime.

There were times where you'd still breakdown, often triggered by a song Simon showed you as you hear it over the radio. Sometimes it'll be from finding old polaroid photos that fell behind a drawer. Often you and Ghost pulling funny faces or sharing a tender kiss. Each with dates written on the back of when you took them.

Eventually, you slowly rebuilt yourself piece by piece. With Konig's support. You became the best mom for Lilly. Making sure she was always happy. It was hard but you had no other choice but to power through. The task force became your family, they gave you a second chance and with the help of everyone. You finally left the past as it was. Only the ghost of it remained.

#call of duty #cod #cod mw2 #ghost #y/n x ghost #simon riley x you #simon ghost x reader #fanfic #cod fanfic #angst #i am not sorry #axofluff #ghost x you #ghost x reader

[lauralot89]

My dear, it never rains but it pours. How true the old proverbs are. Here am I, who shall be twenty in September, and yet I never had a proposal till to-day, not a real proposal, and to-day I have had three. Just fancy! THREE proposals in one day!

I mean I know the focus here is that she had three proposals in one day, because that is indeed nuts, but I'm over here astral projecting at "yet I never had a proposal till to-day." It gives the impression of Lucy pacing around her house all annoyed, thinking "surely someone's going to come by and propose today."

But, for goodness' sake, don't tell any of the girls, or they would be getting all sorts of extravagant ideas and imagining themselves injured and slighted if in their very first day at home they did not get six at least.

Amazing.

Dr. John Seward, the lunatic-asylum man, with the strong jaw and the good forehead.

you never heard anyone talk about good foreheads anymore, do you

Also I'm going to start introducing myself as The Lunatic-Asylum Man and see what happens

he looked very strong and very grave as he took both my hands in his and said he hoped I would be happy, and that if I ever wanted a friend I must count him one of my best.

I cannot put in words how happy my aroace ass is that Bram Stoker understands The Power of Friendship and the validity of platonic relationships

I sympathise with poor Desdemona when she had such a dangerous stream poured in her ear, even by a black man.

I'm just reading this book having a wonderful time and then I get punched in the face with the remembrance that it was written by a white guy in the 1890s who was somehow so progressive in his views of women, trauma, and mental illness, and so not progressive in LITERALLY EVERYTHING ELSE

but he found out that it amused me to hear him talk American slang, and whenever I was present, and there was no one to be shocked, he said such funny things.

Quincey is the ideal man and I do not take debate

Miss Lucy, I know I ain't good enough to regulate the fixin's of your little shoes

I need to find a Dracula audio book, preferably read by a Brit, just to hear how this sounds

I know, Mina, you will think me a horrid flirt—though I couldn't help feeling a sort of exultation that he was number two in one day

honey, three dudes asked for your hand in marriage, you can feel as exulted as you want

Lucy is the ideal woman and I do not take debate

Why can't they let a girl marry three men, or as many as want her, and save all this trouble? But this is heresy, and I must not say it.

LET HER SPEAK

My dear, I'm going to have a pretty lonely walk between this and Kingdom Come.

Well, OW

It'll be something to keep off the darkness now and then.

Again, OW.

She put the third proposal in a PS, I love her

I am very, very happy, and I don't know what I have done to deserve it. I must only try in the future to show that I am not ungrateful to God for all His goodness to me in sending to me such a lover, such a husband, and such a friend.

why must this story hurt me in this way

#Dracula Daily #Laura reads Dracula Daily #racism /

[therealgchu]

Snippet Sunday - Sneak Peek

tagging the coemancer crew, @silurisanguine, @fangbangerghoul, @toxiclizardwrites, @a-cosmic-elf (i finally got it right this time! for weeks i thought it was an _ =P), @eridanidreams, @aro-pancake, @aislingdmdt, @atonalginger, @staticpallour, @bearlytolerant, any anyone else i forgot.

we've got a new chapter on deck. it won't get published this week; this week will be another vignette. but, i want to show ppl what i've been working on and where it's going.

sorry, no smutty goodness in this one. will be titled Hart & Soul. i might have to split it into 2 parts, however. as it's pretty long already, and it's not even fleshed out yet.

if you wanna read the whole thing, it's hosted on ao3. warning, smuttiness, adult content, happy fun adult times, and trauma. so much trauma.

on with the sneak peek!

“It’s a narrow-beam transponder,” she shouted back. “No one’s here yet, though it’s likely they’re close, probably in low orbit.” He and Lillian jogged up to the small declivity. “They’ll land as soon as the transponder is triggered by this,” and she pointed to a simple wire trigger mechanism that was wrapped around the transponder.  “If you’d had pulled that out, the trigger would send the message. Damn sloppy, Cora could have designed a better trigger mechanism than this,” she mumbled. “If we wanted, we could disengage the entire thing without triggering it.”

“Then why don’t we? That would solve this whole ambush problem,” Lillian said.

Hwa turned to Lillian, “You pissed off the Syndicate. They’re not going to leave you alone until you hurt them and make them realize that making you a target is more expensive than taking you out. Do you have any clue of what you started?”

“I’ve dealt with the Syndicate before. I’m not some rookie,” Lillian replied defensively.

“No, you’ve dealt with the riff raff of Neon, the cannon-fodder and street thugs.” Hwa got directly into Lillian’s face, just inches from it. “You have never dealt with the actual people running the show. Let me tell you what they’ll do if we don’t take Valerie and her crew out today: they will hunt down every person you know and love. They will torture, rape, then kill them. In front of you. And laugh. You keep accusing Sam of putting Cora in danger? Well, you just painted a big fucking bullseye on her back because of your stupidity. And, for Cora’s sake, I’ll clean up the mess.” Hwa turned her back on Lillian and replaced the transponder.

“How the hell do you know that? You have no idea about the Syndicate!” Lillian shouted.

Sam grabbed Lillian’s arm, “Yes, she does, Lillian,” he said in a low, grim voice. “If you value yours and Cora’s life, you will listen to everything she says.”

“Sam, you can’t be,” Lillian started.

“No,” he cut across her. “This is not up for debate. You will do everything that Hwa instructs. Trust me.”

#starfield #sam coe #fanfic #space husband #fanfiction #space cowboy #coemancer #to the shore #hwa kim #spacefarer #fuck lilllian #fuck her in the ear #the coemancer crew #snippet sunday

[lurkingteapot]

Laws of Attraction กฏแห่งรักดึงดูด Ep.01

sorry to @ginnymoonbeam and anyone else from the discord crew who's seeing this twice, I hope to type up a more coherent something at some point, but I wanted to record this somewhere.

I've put a cut because this is LONG, but the reactions include translations of stuff that apparently didn't get translated on iQiyi. Mind that I'm not fluent, this is without guarantees, etc.

WHOA starting right on a dramatic courtroom scene … and why does that the defendant look familiar?

oh fuck, he uses dirty tricks. I'm not surprised, but WOW.

haha, hi dude who played Jaosua Zhang in Khun Chai

oh god this Chinese is … something.

that shirt is a CHOICE

oh, wait, is this the dude who played … what's his face, the one who was going to sell out Thian in Khun Chai? is he gonna be our antag

ahaha he hit a nerve

ahaha how is it ALWAYS Film's characters getting saved by Jam's

ahaha Chaan hitting on Tinn. He's so sleazy, yikes

and of course he's hitting on Tinn, and Tinn has good instincts and avoids the murder eyes

oh god he looks dangerous, how is this the dude who played sweet Thian?? ACTING!!!!

… I'm not gonna comment on that

of course this show is gonna make it a mission to make me hungry

Khao is so cute

this is gonna hurt so much, eh

ooh so he teaches Taekwondo!! this is so cute

oh goodness, she wants to make merit for her parents ;-; SWEETHEART

HOLY SHIT. That wasn't even a hit-and-run, that was an intentional running-over

oh shit, these dudes look hiso

uurgh Chaan's face here is just like "here's money coming my way"

this kid is so prett I'm sure he'll get an redemption arc, but I hate him anyway, for now

here come Tinn and his auntie crashing this hiso politician's press junket, oops

Sign reads:

The lawsuit is not making progress. The perpetrator has not been punished.

they're really going for maximum

I love how Chaan already owes Tinn his life twice over, this is gonna make for an interesting dynamic

the romantic music, I cannot, this is a SOAP and it's leaning into it, I'm LIVING

oh, the way the mood INSTANTLY changed here, goddd

oh god, Chaan is SO removed from reality

or, well. jaded, I guess. Which we knew! from the trailer! BUT STILL

"you'll regret that" holy SHIT

WAS THAT THE ROSEWOOD AGAIN

oh, so Chaan also has Trauma(tm)?

This show is in the future, the texts read:

29 July 2023, 8:30, acc x-9732 incoming transfer 100 total balance 178,274.59 29 July 2023, 8:30, acc x-9732 incoming transfer 400 total balance 178,574.59 (idk I didn't math this, it's what it says) 29 July 2023, 8:30, acc x-9732 incoming transfer 400 total balance 180,574.59

love the commentary on this type of "journos"

I love Tinn's sister

I'm already excited for the moment Chaan starts to care. it's gonna be EPIC

he's such an ASSHOLE and I'm having a hard time with that because Thian was so sweet ACTING

I'm flashing back to Gram and White's "legal vs ethical" debate in Not Me

he can't apologise? oh Chaan, I think Tinn is going to make you eat your words.

okay I like that Tinn is apparently an asshole to everyone. equal opportunity asshole.

10:33: Ended voice call (22 seconds) 13:45: Message: "From today on, the party lawyers will take over Thaenthai's case. As for your wages, you can send [the bill?] now. I'll take care of it." (EDITED thanks to @recentadultburnout for your correction!)

I'm starting to think Tinn just doesn't know how not to be antagonistic

oh god are they gonna beat him up while he's wearing a ruffled blouse

oh YIKES

the shot of whatever that was? that's gonna be relevant later, I bet

YOU TELL HIM, TINN

acab acab acab ACAB FUCK THEM

oh god this show is gonna hurt even worse than I thought

If Chaan set that beating up I'm gonna … idk. not be surprised. but.

I can't believe the trailer essentially covered most of ep 1 and not that much from later on???

I didn't think we'd see Chaan undress and … from that set-up quite possibly assault him this early. Or frankly at all, despite how it was set up in the trailer. YIKES

THAT PREVIEW, HELP please tell me this is also a two episode a week show

#laws of attraction #laws of attraction the series #laws of attraction 2023 #กฎแห่งรักดึงดูด #bl watch live blog #bl watch liveblog #reaction #translation #my nonsense #laws of attraction ep 1