#sort of a part 5 but since it’s just one it doesn’t really count

[scuderiahoney]

Stick Around

Oscar Piastri x bestfriend!reader

Masterlist

Summary: You’ve been searching for your soulmate your whole life. Maybe you’ve just been looking in the wrong place.

Word Count: 4.1k

Warnings: alcohol/intoxication, cheating/infidelity (not by a main character I promise) mild swearing, excessive use of italics

|Age 20|

“You can’t seriously still be reading that stuff,” Oscar says.

You peer at him over the top of your magazine.

“What stuff?” You ask, playing innocent.

“Your horoscope,” he says, rolling his eyes. “Haven’t you outgrown that yet?”

You shrug, directing your gaze back to the page in front of you. Today, you should avoid the color pink and embrace your skepticism. Oscar’s doing enough of the last part for the both of you. You could gain a great deal of information from social interactions. That’s helpful- you’ve been in search of some gossip. Your soulmate is just a click away- wait, no, that’s an ad. You huff and set the magazine down on the table. Oscar nods in agreement.

“I just think maybe it’s better to live your life without worrying about what the stars say,” Oscar says, waving his hands around in a way that you think is supposed to represent the stars. “Just, like… do what you want to do.”

“I do,” you mutter dryly. “Doesn’t hurt to have some advice, though.”

The two of you have always been like this. Oscar is a skeptic, you’re a believer. He calls it being easy to brainwash, says it in a teasing way that makes you glare at him every time. He’s taken it as his responsibility to keep you from falling for things. You’ve told him time and time again that you’re fine on your own. You just like the idea of predestiny, that what’s going to happen was always meant to.

Oscar is just worried you’ll join the first cult you cross paths with.

|Age 5|

It’s the day after you turn 5 when you first hear the word soulmate. Sol-meight. You sound it out through your lips, sticky with jam from your breakfast. Your best friend at the time, a girl whose name you’ve long since forgotten, had said it.

“S’when you’re meant to be,” she explains, in that all knowing tone that only little kids who know nothing at all seem to have. “Like, my mum and dad say they’re soulmates.”

Oscar, who’s sitting next to you, scoffs. “Everyone’s parents say that. Doesn’t mean it’s true.”

He’s taller than you, even sitting down, hair cut short after one of his sisters stuck gum in it a few days ago. His cheeks are rosy red, and there’s cream cheese on his nose. Years later, Oscar’s face will be one of the first ones you ever remember meeting. Right now, he’s just the boy in your class whose mother knows your mother, and because of that, he’s the boy who rides to school with you in the backseat. He’s not the worst, you guess. He’s… okay. Sort of just… always there.

“Is too!” Your friend says, shaking her head, pigtails bouncing. “Mum says there’s signs.”

“What kinda signs?” You ask, and Oscar turns to look at you in disbelief.

She shrugs. “Dunno. I’ll ask later.”

She comes back to the breakfast table the next day with a magazine page, torn haphazardly and slightly crumpled. On it is a list of signs someone could be your soulmate. The two of you pore over the page at every available opportunity for at least a week, barely able to read all the words.

Your friend forgets about soulmates a month later and moves on to an obsession with Barbie dolls. You carry the magazine page with you for years after that, until it’s worn and falling apart. Then you copy down the list into a safer place, worried you’ll lose it forever. 15 Signs He’s Your Soulmate, written with magic marker on pink construction paper and stowed away in your desk.

|Age 10|

“I hate olives,” you sneer, staring at the very last slice of pizza.

It’s a birthday party. You can’t for the life of you understand why there’s pizza with olives on it. Olives don’t belong on pizza- not much does, in your opinion. Just pepperoni, really. Maybe a sprinkle of Parmesan cheese, if you’re feeling fancy.

Katy, one of your classmates, is standing next to you. “I love olives. Here, I’ll pick them off for you and you can have the last slice.”

The pizza still tastes a bit like olives in the end, probably baked into the cheese, but it’s better than it would’ve been. Katy is your best friend after that. The two of you are inseparable from the moment you get to school until the moment you leave. You beg your mothers for sleepovers on the weekends, for day trips during holiday breaks. YouandKaty. Your names melt together until they become one.

Oscar still rides to school with you in the morning. Sometimes, Katy does too. Katy doesn’t like Oscar. She doesn’t like most boys, calls them gross. Since Katy thinks boys are gross, you do too.

“Be nice to Oscar,” your mother tells you one morning. “He’s not done anything to you.”

You’re in the backseat of the car, on the way to his house. “He’s a boy. Boys are gross.”

Your mother sighs, pinches the bridge of her nose. She says your name sternly, and you shrink in your seat. When Oscar gets in, you say hello and force a smile.

Oscar’s the one who finds you crying on the playground. You thought you’d chosen a better hiding place, really- nobody had bugged you in your spot between the two large myrtle trees. But Oscar finds you anyways. You can’t even bring yourself to tell him to go away, too busy feeling sorry for yourself.

“Wha’s wrong?” He asks.

His cheeks are red- he’s likely been running around with the other boys. You shrug, pulling up another clump of grass and letting it fall from your fingers. Oscar sighs, scuffs his toe in the dirt.

“Katy doesn’t wanna be friends anymore,” you say, rubbing at your bare knee. “She says I’m not cool enough.”

Katy likes olives. You don’t. It’s on the soulmate list. You’re meant to be best friends.

Oscar’s quiet for a moment. Then- “That’s stupid. You’re like, the coolest person I know.”

You look up at him with wide eyes. “Shut up.”

“M’serious,” he says. He holds his hand out to you. “Wanna come play cricket with the gross boys?”

You take his hand, wipe your tears with your other hand. “Yeah. I do.”

|Age 12|

“Are you and Dad soulmates?” You ask your mother one morning, before you even leave the house.

She’s standing at the counter, a piece of toast in her hand, half eaten. Her coffee is half drank, too.

She tilts her head at you. “What do you mean, love?”

“Like, when you met, did you just know he was the one? Did it feel meant to be?”

She laughs. “Oh, god no. We were polar opposites. Barely spoke to each other for the first year after we met.”

You stare at her in surprise. “What changed?”

She sighs, wistfully, staring into her mug. “He asked me if I wanted an orange. I said yes. And when he handed it to me, he’d peeled it for me.”

You blink. “Because you hate peeling oranges.”

“I do,” she agrees. “Love isn’t just a feeling, it’s an action. I think love is more about the choices we make and the things we remember about each other than whatever is written in the stars, honey.”

|Age 15|

There’s a boy on the football team- Ryan. Ryan has dark, curly hair and long, long eyelashes and this smile that makes your heart melt and your brain all fuzzy. Ryan doesn’t like olives, either, but he has a birthmark on the back of his right hand in the shape of a lopsided heart, and if you squint hard enough, you have one that matches on the back of your left arm. You stare at in the mirror for hours after he points it out, his hand on your arm.

You stare at your lips in the mirror for hours, too, after he kisses you for the first time. You think maybe you look different. You must. You’d never been kissed before, but Ryan hadn’t minded.

You go on group dates with him, because you’re nervous and your parents think you’re a bit too young to really be dating. You go to the mall, the movies, the diner down the street from the school. It’s your first taste of freedom.

Oscar asks you if you really like Ryan, like- “like like him?”, one day when you’re sitting in his backyard. Your mothers are inside, drinking wine. His sisters are in the pool, you’re laying out in the sun. Oscar sits under an umbrella and squints at the brightness of the world around him.

“Yeah,” you say, in the same tone you’d say duh or of course. “I think he’s my soulmate.”

“Why’s that?” Oscar asks tilting his head.

“We have matching birthmarks,” you say, again, in the same tone.

Oscar forms his mouth into a little o shape. You squint at him, pushing yourself to sit up.

“Why’re you so worried about it, anyways?”

“M’not,” Oscar says, crossing his leg over his knee. “S’just. He’s kind of an arse, isn’t he?”

He whispers the curse word so his sisters won’t hear. Oscar’s big into karting and racing right now, and the older boys at the tracks swear like sailors. There’s a swear jar stuffed to the brim sitting on the kitchen counter inside, right next to the half empty wine bottle.

Ryan is a bit of an arse, you’ll admit. To almost everyone.

“He’s nice to me,” you shrug. “He brought me flowers, yesterday. Isn’t that what matters?”

Oscar shrugs. He doesn’t ask about Ryan again.

Oscar is the one who brings you flowers when Ryan cheats on you and the other girl tells the whole school. He brings them to your bedroom door and you let him in. He sits with you, even as you cry, the door open the parentally required six inches. He doesn’t ask questions, doesn’t tell you he warned you. He just stays.

When Oscar moves to England, you wave goodbye with a smile. Then you lock yourself in your room and bawl your eyes out for a week straight, harder than you ever did about Ryan.

|Age 18|

Your university roommate, Emma, was born on the same day as you, at the exact same time. Down to the minute. You find it out on your second day of living together. It’s fate, kismet, meant to be. The stars and planets were aligned exactly the same way when you both took your first breaths.

Oscar laughs when you tell him, though he does admit that it’s a pretty cool coincidence. You’re chatting with him on the phone, telling him about your first week of university. You talk a lot, despite the distance. Absence makes the heart grow fonder, or whatever.

You and Emma aren’t in any classes together- you have completely different majors. Despite this, you still become fast friends. You study together in your room and in the library, meet up for meals, and join a book club together. When Emma gets invited to her very first uni party, she brings you along with her. Your closets become shared.

You visit her family over the winter break for a week. She lives closer to the beach, and you love getting to soak up the sun with her and meet all the childhood friends you’ve heard stories about. Oscar comes home for his break and texts you, wondering when you’ll be back and if you’ll even have time for me, or are you too cool for me now?

You tackle him with a hug when you see him, standing at the kitchen counter in your house when you get there. He’s laughing and pushing you off of him, acting like he didn’t miss you just as much. You know he did. It’s written all over the smile on his face.

Emma visits your family later in the break, and that’s when you have your first fight.

“He’s definitely in love with you,” she insists from her spot on the air mattress on your floor.

She’s talking about Oscar, who she just met today. You’d brought her with to a barbecue at his family’s house. You’re regretting that choice. She’s spent all night afterwards pointing out all the signs that he’s in love with you- his hand on your shoulder, the look in his eyes, the way he smiled at you.

“He’s not,” you say, cheeks burning hot. “He’s- we’re friends.”

“Friends, right. Guys and girls can’t be just friends,” she says.

“Yes, they can!” You say indignantly.

Emma ignores you, rolls over, and goes to sleep. She leaves for home the next day- not earlier than she was supposed to, but it feels weird anyways. When you get back to campus, things feel different. You never really talk about the fight, though there wasn’t much to talk about, anyways. It’s not like she’s mean to you- the two of you still hang out, still see each other often. But Emma makes new friends, and you do too, and you stop doing everything together. It’s alright, you suppose, it’s just…

You were supposed to be destined to be friends. But soulmates shouldn’t be this easy to let go of. It’s written in the stars, it’s shouldn’t fade away like this.

Months ago, you and Emma had talked about spending the holiday break somewhere far away- somewhere tropical, exotic, so grown up and chic. But it hasn’t come up lately, and then she mentions a trip she’s taking with some friends from her classes. You book a flight to England instead and see Oscar in his new home for the first time.

You have new roommates next year. None of them have the same birthdate as you. You think that’s okay.

|Age 21|

There’s a stain on your dress, someone’s wine or sangria or cranberry juice that they’d been too clumsy with. You suppose it could be yours- you’re really not sure. It’s your fault for wearing such a light color to a club like this.

It’s your birthday. You’ve been able to drink for a few years, but it’s still your birthday, and for once, Oscar is there for it. Or really, you’re there for it, there being England. You’re on yet another trip to visit him, money saved and scraped together from your job on your breaks from school. Oscar helped pay for the plane ticket as a birthday present, and your parents got you a new luggage set to take along.

Oscar’s disappeared- at the bar, you remember, closing out his tab. You check your phone- 2:22 am. It’s really time you should be headed home-

You’re jostled from behind, and moments later, you feel cool liquid deep down your back. You turn, and there’s a guy standing there, sandy blonde hair and a terrified look on his face.

“I’m so sorry,” he says, British accent smoothing the words over. “I didn’t mean to-“

“S’okay,” you tell him, though you wrinkle your nose at the feeling of what was likely beer running down your back. “The dress was stained already.”

The man sighs. “It’s not okay- let me make it up to you. Can I buy you a drink?”

You frown. “I think I’m supposed to be leaving. My friend just went to pay.”

“Oh. That’s too bad.” The guy’s eyes light up, then. “Wait, how about I take you on a date?”

Your heart skips a beat in your chest. 2:22, you remember. Angel numbers. You are in the right place at the right time.

“I’m only here for a couple more days,” you say, cautiously.

“I’m free tomorrow if you are,” he suggest. “Well, more like later today, but-“

“Yeah, okay!” You’d at brightly, and hopefully not too eagerly. “I’m free.”

He’s holding out his phone for you to put your number in when Oscar pops up. He looks between the two of you with raised brows. “Everything alright?”

“He’s taking me on a date later today,” you explain, tapping the last number. “Because he spilled beer on my dress. Can you check if I put my number in right? My fingers aren’t working right.”

Oscar laughs, leans forward, and nods. “That’s right.”

You don’t remember getting back to Oscar’s apartment. You barely even remember the guy from the bar until Oscar brings it up that morning, a teasing tone in his voice. Suddenly you’re checking your phone every minute, looking for a text from him. You name him Angel Boy, mentioning the angel numbers you’d seen just before you bumped into him. Oscar, well versed in your obsession with things that are just meant to be, rolls his eyes affectionately.

When the sun is trending towards the horizon and Angel Boy still hasn’t called or even texted you, your mood sours. You plant yourself on the couch, an episode of some stupid reality show playing. You’re not paying attention, only staring at your phone.

By the time 7:00 rolls around, you know it’s a lost cause. You can hear Oscar in the other room, shuffling around, and you feel tears well up in your eyes. There’s got to be someone out there who’s actually meant to be yours, right? One of these times the signs will be right, and it’ll all work out. It’s just… you’re getting discouraged.

Oscar appears in front of you and slips your phone out of your hands. He shoves it into his own pocket. He hands you a jacket, one of his, and you stare up at him with wide eyes.

“I’m taking you out to dinner,” he says, as he reaches to brush the tears from your cheeks. “Just because he’s not going to text you, doesn’t mean you should just sit here all night.”

You could cry even harder at that, at the fact that Oscar cares enough to try and break you out of your moping. You don’t really want to go out, but he has this hopeful look on his face. Both of you don’t need to be sad today. So you stand up, pull the jacket over your arms, and take a deep breath. You walk out of the apartment, your arm linked with his.

The ramen bar you go to is probably better than anywhere the guy would’ve taken you, anyways. If you’re being honest, the company is better, too.

|Age 22|

Oscar flies you out to the Netherlands to see him race. You’d been at the Melbourne Grand Prix, of course, but he’d insisted he’d fly you out for at least one race in his first season- promised it years ago, when Formula One was just a dream on his bucket list. Zandvoort works well- it fits into your schedule, and the summer break starts right afterwards, so he’ll actually have time to spend with you.

In the days leading up to the race, he’s extremely busy and extremely apologetic about it. You reassure him that you understand, that you knew what you were getting into, knew he’d be busy. You wander around the paddock, say hi to Logan- who you know only slightly better than all the other drivers- and keep yourself entertained. You spend time with Oscar when you get the chance- between interviews and practices, stolen moments of privacy in his driver’s room. It’s nice, it really is, but it’s also… weird.

You’ve been thinking a lot, lately, about what your mother once said about soulmates and love. For all the soul searching you’ve done, all the stars you’ve tried to read, you’ve come up empty. You’ve resigned yourself to the fact that maybe there’s just not anyone out there for you. Maybe you’re not meant to have a soulmate.

The thing about letting go of that pressure, though, is that it leaves space. Not a hole, not an emptiness, just… space. Room for other things to sneak in and make their home and grow. Somewhere along the lines- you don’t know when, maybe it’s been there all along- a seed had been planted. Now the roots are digging cracks in your heart, the leaves are shading out every other thought, and there are flowers blooming.

For months, now, your heart has been jumping in your chest every time Oscar texts you. You can’t wipe the grin off your face when he calls. You’ve been following every race, waking up at odd hours to cheer him on, sending him selfies with the tv to prove it to him, to make sure he knows you’re watching. You feel a little crazy, because suddenly he’s all you can think about.

Maybe love is about choices. You start making them, start choosing him. The only question now is if he’ll choose you, too.

The whole weekend is chaos. Oscar crashes in practice, sending himself and your heart spinning. He’s okay, thank god- though his mother texts you frantically, asking if he’s really okay. Then the race itself is even more chaotic, between the rain and the crashes and all the stuff in between. Oscar ends up in the points, though not as high as he’d hoped to be. You cheer for him either way.

You stick around the paddock all the way through his debrief, even when he tries to say you can head back to the hotel without him. Eventually, you leave with him and Lando, his arm around your shoulders the whole way to the car that’s waiting. It’s nice. He’s warm. Lando is making small talk, trying to get to know his teammates best friend, the one Oscar never shuts up about. You feel your face grow hot and hope Oscar doesn’t notice.

In the hotel lobby, Oscar makes a stop at the complimentary snack bar. Lando says something about Kim, his trainer, getting after him, which Oscar ignores. The three of you ride up together in the elevator, with Lando demanding most of your attention as he begs for stories about Oscar as a kid. Oscar’s quiet- you wonder if the weekend is weighing on him more than he’d previously let on.

You say goodnight to Lando and then Oscar scans you into the hotel room. Two beds, a couch, and a balcony that the two of you had eaten breakfast on that morning. You walk over to your bed and sit on the edge, flopping down onto your back.

Something lands on your stomach, softly. You look down, and your throat suddenly feels tight. It’s an orange. It’s a peeled orange. Oscar is standing at the window, pulling the curtains closed. His back is to you.

You blink, picking it up delicately. “You peeled it for me.”

“You hate peeling them,” he says. It’s very matter of fact. The same tone he’d use to say duh or of course.

You stare at his silhouette, the slope of his shoulders, the soft puff of his hair. You sit up, stomach turning. Suddenly, you need to be close to him. You stand up, orange in hand, pulling one of the pieces from it. You hold it lightly between your fingertips. Love is an action.

You hold it out to him. He takes it, smiles down at you.

“I love you, you know that?” You say, before you lose the courage.

“Yeah, I love you too,” he says, giving you a goofy look.

“No, like-“ you pause. Maybe you shouldn’t do this. Maybe you should just-

But it’s too late, because a wave of understanding washes over his face. His eyes go wide, lips parting. His hand pauses halfway to his mouth, the orange slice still in his fingers.

“Oh,” he says, voice cracking. His face splits into a grin. “Jeez, took you long enough to catch up, didn’t it?”

When he drops the orange slice on the floor so he can grab your face and kiss you, you’re somehow still so startled that you also drop the rest of the orange. That’s okay, though. He’ll peel another one for you without you even having to ask. Stars light up behind your eyes at the feeling of his lips on yours, and you realize then that maybe soulmates are just the people who choose to stick around.

…..

Deep in your desk in your childhood home, there’s a piece of paper. It’s been unfolded and refolded a million times. At the top, the title says, 15 Signs He’s Your Soulmate in messy, primary school handwriting. You pull it from your drawer and uncap the gel pen that sits in the cup on the desk.

At the bottom of the list, beneath your faded magic marker scrawl, you add:

#16: He peels your oranges.

#16: childhood best friend??

#16: YOU JUST KNOW

little bit of a different format for this one. as always, feel free to check out my other fics and tell me what you think!

#oscar piastri oneshot #oscar piastri x you #formula 1 fanfic #f1 oneshot #f1 fanfic #oscar piastri fanfic #oscar piastri fluff #formula one fluff #formula 1 fluff #f1 fluff #soulmates #f1 soulmate fic #oscar piastri x reader #Spotify #honeywrites #Oscar piastri

[joelmillers-whore]

Hard Light | Chapter 1

summary: when a new english professor begins teaching your class for the duration of your semester, you can’t help but develop an innocent crush on him. he’s as off-limits as he can be, but that doesn’t deter you in the slightest. after a drunk night, you accidentally email him something that wasn’t intended to ever be seen by anyone. but that doesn’t matter. it triggers a misunderstanding that manifests into an affair with your professor who is twenty years your senior. nothing good could come of this, right? 

pairings: professor!joel x college student!reader

word count: 2.2K

series or one-shot

warnings: 18+ explicit, minors DNI, no mention of Y/N, alternate universe, professor/student relationship, eventual smut, self-esteem issues, workaholic, joel x female!reader, infatuation bordering on obsession (stay delulu friends), some sexual thoughts, masturbation (f), joel being a huge tease lol, (will add more tags as i write)

AN: i am so excited by the response that my joel one-shot got a few days ago and i’ve been itching to get something else out to you all. big, giant forehead kisses for those who want one, i love you all. so, anyway, a mini-series about professor joel is coming at you fast. i’ve written the first few chapters, so expect those in the near future. i’m thinking once a week? this fic is going to be something else and i’m so excited to share it with ya’ll. enjoy, and let me know what you think. find my ao3 here for more content and other fandoms.

You were running late for your shift at the coffee shop on campus, rummaging around your dresser, trying to find the low-cut black top you always wore when you had a shift. You weren’t usually one to feed into the peer pressure of those around you, but push came to shove when you found it nearly impossible to keep yourself afloat as a twenty-something student without the added extra tips from your part-time job.

So what if you had to show a little bit of cleavage? Right? There was no harm. Student loans were a bitch and on top of rent and food costs, you had to get a job at the coffee shop and balance a full course load just to make ends meet. 

A thought popped into your head and you rushed to your laptop, throwing it open as you checked the time; 5:45 AM. If you busted out your lightning-fast typing skills, you would have enough time to catch the next bus and make it to campus with five minutes to spare. If only your crappy second-hand computer would work.

The thing honestly sounded like a chopper engine, getting ready for lift-off. You were surprised you’d gotten this far with it. Not that you weren’t appreciative, your older brother had passed it down and it had relieved a huge weight—  and expense off of your shoulders. 

You tabbed into your school portal, typing in your credentials and selecting your English course. You sighed heavily, as you skimmed over the assignment for this week, something to do with a sonnet that you couldn’t care less about. You loved school but ever since becoming an English major, the spark that you once had for literature sort of just evaporated.

You couldn’t tell if it was because of how busy you were with everything else that you just couldn’t find the time to enjoy it, or the thought that really scared you, you had fallen out of love with it. 

It had been two years of go, go, go and you were, for lack of a better word, burnt out. You’d tried dropping courses last semester, thinking that you just needed a little bit of ease when it came to your course load, but when that didn’t solve the problem and only made things worse for you, you spent the last two semesters trying to catch up and get yourself to a place where you could finally breathe.

But it wasn’t easy. You were only now caught up to where you had been, the illusion that you were someone who could afford to take time off and slow down was a distant memory. 

In bold letters, the words Paid Internship jumped off of the screen. You smiled as you leaned in closer to the screen, making sure you read through everything correctly. This was the break above the surface that you needed, the reprieve that you had been chasing. A paid internship was exactly how you’d be able to make more money and maybe have a little breathing room before you worked yourself into an early grave.

You clicked the mail icon at the top and clicked into a new email, deciding that the worst-case scenario was that you wouldn’t get the internship. All you were doing was inquiring about the application process. Best-case scenario; you’d get it and make some extra pocket money. 

You saw the time, cursing under your breath as you slammed the laptop closed, grabbed your phone out of the charger and ran out of the door. You couldn’t be late, not again. You texted your co-worker Jeremy to open the shop without you and explained to him that you were running a few minutes late, as you barely made it to the bus. You climbed on board, scanned your student pass and found a seat near the back. Your chest was burning from the rush of trying to make it on time, but you could breathe easy now.

You checked your messages mindlessly, scrolling through a bunch of unread ones that you didn’t have the heart to answer. 

Before you knew it, the familiar monuments and buildings of UT Austin came into view, and the subtle change of scenery from downtown to a more densely packed area made your heart skip a beat. It was the same each time you were back on campus. Which, these days, was often. Sliding out of the seat, you made your way to the front, thanking the driver as the bus came to a complete stop. 

The coffee shop was only a short walk from the bus stop but even still you quickened your pace. You didn't want to leave Jeremy alone for long, you already felt bad enough about letting him open by himself. You stifled a yawn as you pushed open the door to the small cafe, leaning your body into the door, slightly cringing at the shrill sound of the bell. 

"There you are", a male voice called, making your head snap up. You wiggled your nose, the familiar timbre of your ex-boyfriend's voice ringing in your ears. "It's about time you got your ass down here". 

You snickered, shrugging your heavy bag off of your shoulder, and dropping it behind the counter, turning around and greeting him with an unamused smirk.

Jeremy and you had gone out for a few months last year, it was your first and, as of right now, the only short-term relationship that you'd had in college. 

Dating your co-worker, even in a relatively small place like the coffee shop on campus, almost always spelled trouble, but Jeremy was not the type to hold something like a failed relationship over your head. He understood that school was a priority for you and making a living for yourself came first, even above something like a relationship. It might not be the healthiest way to live, but it was how it always was. 

Jeremy and you had developed a fast friendship, one that went beyond the romantic relationship that you'd had last year. You parted amicably and now, you had someone you could confide in, someone you could trust. 

"Why don't you say that to my face?", you teased, raising a brow at him over the milk frother you were setting up. 

Jeremy threw his rag down and stalked over to you. "You're snippy this morning", he chided. 

You banged into his shoulder playfully, "Doesn't help that I have to see your ugly mug first thing in the morning". 

You snorted out a laugh and Jeremy looked at you, feigning defensiveness, "Ouch", he paused, returning back to his post near the coffee machine, "Remind me how we ever went out?". 

You scrunched your nose and threw your rag at Jeremy, hitting him square in the face with it, "That was rude". 

He shrugged his shoulder, "You started it".  

You both devolved into a fit of giggles and fell into a comfortable silence, setting up and getting the coffee shop ready for the day. You had a half-day shift to look forward to and then you had class until the late afternoon. The days were long and the nights were longer.

You usually found yourself nose-deep in your textbooks, more often than not, or some classic novel that was required for class, not moving from the couch until your eyes were red and you were seeing double. 

Only then did you retire to sleep, crashing hard until you had to wake up and do it all again the next day. 

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

The coffee shop had been bustling with people since six in the morning, and at one in the afternoon, it hadn't let up, only now you had to go to class. Waving Jeremy goodbye, you sidestepped Tara, the fourth-year who was covering the rest of the afternoon and closing shift. 

You'd crossed the far side of campus, passing by the science building and one of the massive libraries that had acted like a second home to you back when you’d been studying for exams when you were a freshman. You could thank your obnoxious roommates for that one. 

Entering the lecture hall, bodies pressed into you as you weaved through the growing crowd, trying to find a spot in the middle where you could see and hear your English professor. But also blend in with the masses. As if the universe had other plans in mind, and everyone suddenly showed up to the Tuesday lecture all at the same time, you found yourself picking a seat near the front, an exasperated groan leaving you. 

You hated sitting at the front, not because you didn't want to get called on to answer something or because you didn't know the answers, but because you did. You wanted to get through your four years as quickly and unscathed as possible and if people knew, mainly professors, that you knew more about the subject matter than you needed to, you'd surely get called on more often, making you stick out in ways you didn't want. 

It was a terrible curse, going through life with the self-esteem that you did. But it was how you were raised. Blend in. Don't be too loud. Be quiet and only observe. Nerves rapped at your insides when you thought about getting called on when class started. Your heart rate ticked up and you found that your hands were beginning to get clammy, your throat constricting with each breath.

You rubbed your hands up and down your thighs, grounding yourself with the sensation of the material. 

With a jump, you sat up straighter in your seat, being jostled from your thoughts by a loud slam. You snapped your head toward the entrance, eying the person who had startled everyone. It was a man carrying a briefcase.

Your lips tilted up at the edges, amusement tickling you when you thought of anyone using a briefcase nowadays. But here this man was, head down as he made his way to the front of the room, toward the desk. 

You couldn't help keeping your eyes trained on him. On how his slacks tightened around his butt, moulding to the shape and curve of it. You bit your bottom lip out of reflex, your eyes dragging down the length of the mystery man who had crashed your lecture. Maybe he was a TA? Your brows furrowed when you thought about how your professor was nowhere in sight. 

The man with the briefcase placed his case on the desk, turning to face the audience of students who blinked back at him, who now settled down enough to hear him speak. Air caught in your throat when his eyes flicked momentarily to you, and lingered on you for half a second longer than you'd expected. He had massive, warm brown eyes, and soft wrinkles that danced at the edges of his eyes when he smiled, making him seem more boyish than he appeared.

He looked older than a TA would but then again, who were you to judge someone's position in life? You thought that his age did nothing to undermine just how attractive he was, if anything it added to it.  

The man, who may or may not have been moonlighting as your English TA cleared his throat, nodding his head, "My name is Joel, well, Professor Miller to most, but 've always been a little bit more informal than my peers". 

He began to circle the wooden desk nervously, his large hand finding the edge of it and stroking it far more sensually than necessary. You flexed your fingers, gripping the arm of your seat to stabilize yourself. "So, you can call me Joel from here on out... since we'll be seeing more of each other from now on". 

Murmurs began to break out around the lecture hall, and confused and hushed whispers followed. 

Professor Miller— Joel, mumbled something incoherent, and you were unable to hear it from where you sat. He cleared his throat again, "Professor McCarthy has taken a leave of absence, so I'll be filling in for him for the remainder of the semester". 

You crossed your legs, feeling heat rise and a furious blush break out across your face, and shuffled in your seat, a loud creak emitted from it and you stilled, praying that the loud sound had only been heard by you and no one else. But when you lifted your gaze, Joel's eyes were already locked on you, blown and brimming with cautious inquiry. A touch of a smirk graced his lips. 

"And I look forward to getting to know each and every one of you, personally". His eyes were still on you, not ready to release you from their hold. 

His tongue darted out to wet his lips and you couldn't help but stare. You had every reason to look away from him, he was your professor and given the clear age difference, he was someone who was off limits. But when he didn't look away from you either, trapping you with his gaze, your face heated up, suddenly aware that he was purposely staring at you. 

You swallowed thickly, heart hammering as Joel's eyes finally drifted away from you and back to the faces of your classmates. He continued on with addressing the class, and you noticed that he avoided your eyes for the rest of the lecture. 

Only one thought rang through your mind as you tried and failed to focus back on the lecture. This was going to be one long semester. 

#teacher x student #teacher attachment #pedro pascal #joel miller #the last of us #joel tlou #joel the last of us #pedropascaledit #college au #joel miller imagine #joel miller fic #joel miller fanfic #joel miller x reader #joel miller smut #joel miller fanfiction #tlou hbo #tlou2 #the last of us fic #the last of us fanfic #writeblr #fanfiction writer #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedropascal #pedro is daddy #i love pedro pascal #pedro pascal smut #pedro pascal fanfic #my fic #joel miller x you

[fairyofshampgyu]

Now Live ! Stream: 3

Genre: smut, camboy au, college au, crack

Pairing: camboy! Beomgyu x gn reader (afab when smut)

Warnings: camboy, sub! beomgyu, dom! reader, solo beomgyu, jerking off, humping

Synopsis: Every Thursday night at 8pm, you tune into your favourite camboy: Angel313. What you don’t know is he even goes to the same uni as you, is in the same class as you and is Choi Beomgyu, the campus fuckboy but will you keep his secret?

Word count: 2.2k

You’d been meeting up with beomgyu a fair amount now, going to each other’s dorms or library to sort out the christmas performance. You’d finally chosen 5 songs to arrange and had already finished arranging 3 of them. You both would arrange a song each and then show it to the other for feedback and then work on it together.

It’s not that horrendous working with him surprisingly. And you’d thought he’d be an actual ass but he hasn’t. He was actually pretty quiet and not that talkative most of the time. It seems that even Beomgyu realises the opportunity to be the only two picked in the music department isn’t something to be taken lightly and you guys really had to live to expectations or raise the bar higher this christmas concert because you remember all the previous years before and they were always so amazing.

Beomgyu’s not bad at all at music like how you thought he was. You’re beginning to understand why your professor chose him as well. Honestly, you’re impressed. You almost feel bad for making assumptions about him. He still is definitely the campus playboy though, flirting incessantly with people and even jokingly to you at times to which you completely dismiss, having people gushing and whispering and giggling about him whenever you guys are at the library and sometimes he can’t meet up with you because he has numerous parties to attend and get drunk and fuck people at.

He can be a bit dense at times but he isn’t all that bad. He’s tolerable. It’s clear one thing he’s good at and passionate about is music. And so are you. And so with that, you can get along with him on a surface level in the small time you’ll be working together. After that, you won’t need to talk to him again.

You’re currently on the way to beomgyu’s dorm, needing to know his opinion on the brass section of a part of one of the Christmas songs you’ve arranged. Arranging isn’t too hard and doesn’t take that long since you’re not necessarily composing a whole new song but you want even the most famous and basic Christmas songs to have a really unique style and so you’ve been changing up lots of parts and adding more instruments, changing chords and keys, reharmonising and adding virtuosic solos that didn’t already exist or extending and cutting short on them.

And right now, you weren’t quite sure if the brass section worked, needing the critique of your partner. Laptop in hand with your music software that’s saved your life countless of times since first year for your compositions and made you want to smash your whole laptop and rip out your hair, ready and open.

Just at that moment, you get a notification that Angel313 was going live. It wasn’t his usual time but you’re guessing he decided to do a surprise/bonus one this week. No one was around whilst you walked and if you put your headphones in? You’ll just watch the very first few minutes whilst you make your way to Beomgyu’s dorm. No harm. Then you’ll stop.

Today, he’s humping his bed, brutally and un-rhythmically. Rutting against the sheets like a desperate puppy in heat, one hand tightly gripping and fisting at his sheets, and the other on his mouth, trying to conceal the noises he’s making, whimpering adorably, prettiest moans coming out of him. The sight making you want to run back home so you could enjoy it properly. You loved the sounds he makes. You could probably get off to just that. His bed seems a little familiar though but you can’t put your finger on it. It looks like just another university dorm or something to be honest.

You’ve made your way to Beomgyu’s dorm, knocking on his door, still watching the live from your phone. You hear a knock on the live too. That’s funny. You knock again since you don’t think he heard you the first time and you hear the exact same sound of a knock from the live again. That’s quite strange. You press your ears to the door trying to make out any sound and that’s when you hear it, moaning. The same ones coming from your headphones from Angel’s live. Your eyes go wide in shock. From the second knock on Angel’s live, their own eyes widen and they hurriedly switch the live off. You can hear beomgyu shout from the door “in a minute!” immediately after Angel stopped. He sounds distressed. He also sounds exactly like Angel’s voice.

But this is all just a really funny coincidence right now. You’re not even sure what Beomgyu’s actually doing behind the door. He could be doing anything. It’s just a weird coincidence. How could Beomgyu and Angel be the same? That’s not possible at all and makes absolutely no sense. They’re both completely opposite people. Out of everyone in the whole world, both of them would be the least you’d expect. It makes you laugh because of how outrageous it is. Why would you ever think that? It’s a coincidence. Yeah, yeah.

Beomgyu finally opens his door for you, looking like he ran a marathon.

“Y/n?”

“Hey-” That’s when you see it at the back in a corner stuffed with other piles of clothes, pink and white thigh highs. Identical to the ones Angel wears. But maybe that’s just someone’s he’d fucked recently and they accidentally left it there. Then beomgyu reaches his hand up to lean higher on his door frame, attempting to be nonchalant but in doing so, and from the already quite short shirt he was wearing, you have a clear view of beomgyu’s stomach. It had a pink piercing. Identical to the one Angel has.

You don’t have anymore excuses. It’s beginning to make sense yet absolutely no sense in your brain, gears turning in your head, about to drop your laptop in shock on the floor but you regain some sort of conscience. The hair, saying he’s not free Thursday nights, the piercing, the thigh highs, his voice, even his physique you realised, were the same.

“Y-you’re-you’re…Angel???!!!”

And then you zoom out and make a quick exit with a horrified expression. Beomgyu equally as horrified.

Fuck.

Beomgyu is absolutely fucked. He’s done for. You saw. You fucking saw. You know. You know he’s a camboy now. And you’ll tell everyone and everyone in the whole universe will know about it. What will happen to him?! Everyone on campus will ridicule him, especially with his ‘reputation’ to ‘uphold.’ He may as well start digging his grave now whilst he still has the chance.

But how did you even know? Sure, he didn’t hide his thigh highs that well he figures, just trying to stuff them anywhere and also the nearest shirt to put fast just so happened to be quite cropped so you could see his piercing. He curses that shirt. He doesn’t even know why he still has it. It’s ugly. But even then, that didn’t give away he was a camboy! The only way you could figure it out is if you watched him and he highly doubted that. So how did you figure it out? He’s been constantly freaking out about it, the essay he hasn’t done due in a few hours not even crossing his mind once.

He’d tried looking all over the place for you but you’ve been avoiding him like the plague, only increasing and adding on to his fear day by day. Did you think he was a freak now? It kind of hurt. How many people had you already told? You’d think it’d be easy to get to you if you’re both in the same class but apparently not. Beomgyu is so stressed. By now you could have told your whole music class.

You sigh as you applied to yet another job this week. Why was finding a job so hard? You didn’t even care at all what it’d be, you just need some money. You are broke. Maybe you shouldn’t have spent most of your student loan on eating out pretty much every day at overly priced restaurants with your friends. But you’re a foodie.

You think back on a few days ago when you found out Beomgyu was actually Angel313, you can’t get it out of your mind. It just feels so wrong. For the longest time, you watched every one of his streams, completely infatuated. You always wondered who he actually was and what he looked like. Now that you know, you wish you didn’t. To think that he actually was in the same city, in the same university as you, taking the same major and someone you talked to just seems so impossible. Really, what a small world. And for them to be the choi beomgyu?! Goes to show really just how little you know of people on screens.

You still get notifications of whenever he’s live but it feels so incredibly wrong to watch them. You could never watch them again. You feel kinda disgusting, knowing you’ve watched beomgyu jerk off and jerked off to it as well multiple times. You can’t look him in the eyes knowing you did that. You haven’t talked to him since, avoiding him at all costs, sitting far, far away in the lecture room and then making a speedy beeline to the exit before he even has the chance, avoiding him around campus as well and ignoring the texts he sent you. He must think you’re an actual pervert or something. You don’t know how on earth you’re supposed to arrange and direct this whole Christmas performance yourself but you’ll try.

It seems the universe is not in your favour however because whilst you were in the library, searching for a book your professor recommended, the place where you least expected beomgyu to step foot in and so felt less of the need to be wary, he happened to be there. You were just about to pick up the book off the shelf since you finally found it, but someone else swipes the book off you before you can. Beomgyu. And then he’s blocking your way of escaping, forcing you into a corner.

“Y/n! Please! Just listen to me! We need to talk!” He pleads.

It’s not like you can really run away now, pent up thoughts bursting out. “I just-HOW are you Angel313?! I don’t get it at all! You’re completely different. You once knocked someone up and forced them to get an abortion! You’re literally a-a….manwhore!”

“Excuse me…?”

“Yeah! You’re literally just another dumb fuckboy who drops people as soon as you’re done with them! You’ve probably knocked so many people up! You probably have so many like….like STDs!”

“That’s not even possible!”

“Yeah? Why isn’t it?!” You cross your arms.

“Because! B-because…-I AM A VIRGIN!!” Beomgyu’s eyes go wide and his hands smack his mouth. He cannot believe he actually just admitted that.

“WHAT?”

The librarian restocking books gives you both an appalled and scarred look, not even bothering to tell you to be quiet, scurrying away. Beomgyu puts his head in his hands in humiliation, ears turning red at that.

“What?!” You whisper shout. “That’s probably the biggest lie of the century.”

“I’m being serious…I’ve never had sex…” He winces, embarrassed at his own words.

“But—but you’re literally known just for that. Even I have seen you with multiple people at parties!”

“Making out and flirting with people are different things! I’ve done some stuff! But I’ve never…fucked anyone…”

He’s supposed to be the notorious player on your campus and an absolute douchebag to everyone he came in contact with, hated by many but also wanted and wanted to be fucked by many. But the boy who was shying under your gaze right now did not fit that description at all.

“I genuinely cannot believe this…”

“Look, you can’t-you really, really can’t tell anyone that I’m,” His voice lowers, “a camboy! No one else can know. I’ll do anything, anything you ask just please don’t tell anyone! My life would be ruined!”

Now, you’re not an asshole. You weren’t planning on telling anyone he was a camboy at all. You know people aren’t that accepting of anything to do with sex work. He’d most likely get humiliated. He might not even be able to get a job since people care so much for stuff like that for some reason. You’re sure everyone would go mad especially if they found out Choi Beomgyu was a camboy. But him saying he’d do anything if you didn’t reveal his little secret intrigued you so much so, that he didn’t need to know you were never going to tell anyone in the first place.

“I want in.”

“Huh?”

“Your camboy business. I want to be a partner. I’ll be your manager, I’ll help you film stuff and get more money. As long as I’m getting some too.”

Please actually reblog and comment if you like the fic. It’s really appreciated tysm !<3🙏💕😊 It’s discouraging when fics have such little reblogs 🤨👎Feedback is always appreciated it makes me happy :)

Taglist: @pogigyu @denleave1088 @mashimarshmello @stellz581 @cha0thicpisces @soobsfairy444 @lcvetyvn @1ummcalhoody6 @imrllytootiredforthis @bjttersweets @aliceoracleollormusic @yongboksgf @daniarafid @nyanggk @aggiebackstage​ @openingssequence @qluvrv​ @be0mflwr​ @shoooobin​ @beomgewwwwww @dickdeprived @lilactangerine @kissmeow @katsukeis @shutupheathersorryheatherr @lcvesickgyuzz @mastergibbs93 @tae-ology @popimagines @lynanist @guavagyu @soobhns @mikeeel @multistansimp4life @goquokka @scarfac3 @disneygirl712

Comment to be added to the taglist !!

#beomgyu smut #txt smut #beomgyu x reader #sub!idol #sub!beomgyu #dom!reader #txt scenarios #txt headcanons #txt x reader #txt imagines #sub txt #kpop smut #choi beomgyu smut #choi beomgyu x reader #beomgyu scenarios #txt reactions #beomgyu hard hours #beomgyu fic

[dreamauri]

┇𝗠𝗬 𝗟𝗢𝗩𝗘 𝗠𝗜𝗡𝗘 𝗔𝗟𝗟 𝗠𝗜𝗡𝗘 - part seven, finale <3 ┇ ︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶ ┇arranged marriage does not always hold ┇the outcome you expect !! ┇︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶꒷꒦˚₊   ┇ . 🌿 :: pairing — ( max vertsappen  x  wife! reader ) ┇ . 🫧 :: ⁠genre — ( fluff )  ┇ . 🌿 :: ⁠song — ( link ) ┇ . 🫧 :: ⁠word count — ( 1, 074 ) ╰  🌿 :: ⁠ content warning — ( X )

( fic master list | general master list ) ( requests ) ( previous )

Max tapped his finger in the back of his other hand, laying on his back and staring up at the ceiling. The gentle breeze swept into the apartment, prompting the two bengal cats to jump up and cuddle into max’s body. The blond didn’t hesitate to pet the cats gently, scratching behind their ears and rubbing their belly.

It was too empty, He sighed. The whole place was too empty, the spot you’d occupy was now an empty piece of space. And Max couldn’t help but think, he’s his father’s son, isn’t he? Was your mother right? That he didn’t really like you and it was a stupid crush? 

No! It wasn’t a stupid crush. Max reminded himself. He loved you. He wanted to have kids with you and grow old with you. You were simply the smartest, most amazing, caring, kindest, and loveliest person he’s ever met. And he’d do anything to keep you happy. Even if it was letting you. He didn’t even have a say because he had brought you here without giving you a choice.

But what truly broke Max’s heart was, he truly thought you loved him as much as you do.

And he’ll hurt over it. 6 months until the divorce papers are fully processed and the rest of his life without you.

★ ☆ ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

It was all dull for sure. People were starting to get suspicious of your absence, starting to make rumours about you or just plain out ridiculing you for not supporting your husband. Max believed the peak of such media bitting was here at the finale. 5 months and he’s never had to laugh off ‘where’s y/n?’ as much. He gave them the same answer. ‘She’s babysitting the cats. I don't want them scratching into our couch’.

Only Daniel actually knew where you were, and now that they were at the season finale filming the secret santa videos. Max wasn’t really optimistic about the gift receiving because what he wanted surely wasn’t going to fit in this little envelope or this little hand sized box. 

“I have no idea what this is.” He blew out a breath, shaking the box. It was light and small, rattling easy. Max opted for the box first since the envelope said open in private. Opening it, max frowned upon seeing a box of deck cards. With the words ‘you didn’t teach me how to play solitaire like you promised, yet’. 

“Ita deck of cards. With the words . . .” He took them out reading, furrowing his eyebrows to see. 

“Who on the grid doesn’t know- holy shit.” As soon as Max saw Daniel watching him from afar, he knew right away. “It’s from daniel.” the dutch laughed, looking down at your handwriting. You were the only person in his orbit who didn’t know how to play any sort of card games.

 “Do you know?” Daniel asked once he approached his former teammate. “You see the envelope yet?” “It says open-” “just turn around, i’ll make sure no one sees it.” And the blond did just that, facing away from the camera and pulling the envelope open. His eyes meet shreds of paper. “You’re crazy!” Max looked back back at Daniel with his jaw on the floor.

“It’s a private matter.” Daniel explained to the interviewer whilst the camera looking at daniel shocked and taken aback, disbelief but a neutral face still. “It’s not ripped all the way so you can do the rest if you want.” the woman behind the mic chuckled. Max got shredded paper and a deck of cards? How funny.

But to Max, these meant the world. Because he was literally having the most fun in his entire life continuing to rip apart the divorce papers in his hotel room that night.

★ ☆ ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

The curtains were drawn and the windows were open. You’d been here. Max quickly entered the apartment looking around. Your canvases and painting equipment were out on the balcony and your clothes were back in the closet. Max had never been so happy to hug one of your hoodies. You weren’t here, the only thing reassuring max of your safety was the note you left on the fridge.

‘No eggs, brb’ He smiled to himself, taking it off the fridge. He can wait a few more minutes till you’re back– . . . or you could actually return right now, while he’s all sleep deprived in need of a shower and dishevelled . . . 

Max felt himself panic hearing the door click, a pang in his heart as he heard you push the door open and step in. With your carton of eggs, and a box on top. Once you caught his eye from across the room, you both froze. You stood in silence for a few moments before you finally cleared your throat and walked into the apartment.

You didn’t say a word. Setting the carton in the fridge and the box on the island. Max couldn’t help but look between you and the item curiously. “I—its an apology gift . . . It’s glass paint and brushes.” you pushed it towards him. “I’m . . . I’m For telling you through daniel . . . and for being so gullible.” Max welcomed you into his arms, hugging you back immediately. 

“I shouldn’t have let her get through my head like that. I should’ve listened to you.” Max didn’t want to say anything, he just wanted to listen to you. He owed you that. “I–i just want to be with you. Whether it's going to every race or staying here in Monaco. You really make me happy.”

Max felt his heart skip a beat at your words. He set his chin on top of your head, squeezing you in his arms. “Our story didn’t have a happy beginning, but I’d very much like for it to have a happy ending.” 

Max chuckled, smiling down at you. “You just quoted kung fu Panda?” You shrugged, giving him a tiny smile. “It's a good movie.” You said before cupping his cheeks, pulling him down for a kiss. A very long and much needed kiss because Max found his arms wrapped around you, unable to pull away. You guess your apology is accepted.

“You taste like car.” you giggled into the kiss. “You showered after the race?” Max shook his head. “I-i came to see you right away.” he said between kisses. “Let's go shower then.” You hummed as the two of you stumbled through the apartment, pulling each other's clothes off.

★ ☆ ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

maxerstappen1 posted on their story

liked by pieregasly charles_leclerc and 32.8k others

#‧˚⊹🪴 ଓ :: 𝗺𝘆 𝘄𝗼𝗿𝗸𝘀 ‧₊˚⤾ #max verstappen #max #mv1 #mv33 #max x reader #max x you #max verstappen x reader #max verstappen x you #max verstappen f1 #max verstappen imagine #formula racing #formula 1 #f1 x you #f1 x reader #f1 fanfic #f1 #mv1 x reader #mv33 x reader #f1 fic #formula one x reader

[cannedpickledpeaches]

Insert Your Name (5)

Mafia!Jade Leech x Mafia!Reader

Link to part one, two, three, four, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven, twelve!

Notes and TW: Overthinker reader having a conversation with Mr. "Just Trust Me" Jade Leech. This series will have mentions of blood, violence, crime (kidnapping, attempted assassination, extortion), and harassment, as one might expect from a mafia AU. Please enjoy!

Tags: @guava-writes @itszzmoon @twstsandturns @myteacupisempty @rou-luxe

“Would you like some tea?”

Jade offers you a cup of something that smells like lavender. You shake your head.

“I’m okay.” You turn your attention back to your screen. He sets the cup and saucer next to you anyway. “Who knows, maybe you’ve put a suspicious substance in it.”

“Is it so hard to believe that I can do something out of the kindness of my heart?”

You chuckle and shake your head. “You? Absolutely not. Give an inch and you take a mile.”

There’s a beat where he doesn’t reply. You look up at him, wondering if you’ve said something strange, but his back is turned as he walks to his seat. When he turns back around to settle in his chair, his expression stills like a frozen pond. Perfectly crafted, carefully unreadable.

A few hours have passed since his phone call. You’ve decided to work in Jade’s office today, thinking that you might get a clue or a burst of inspiration if one of the subjects of your thoughts is in close proximity. He doesn’t seem to mind. If anything, his quiet hums and constant catering to your needs indicates that he’s rather pleased. Aside from the cup of tea releasing a wispy veil of steam, there’s also a plate of cookies and a bowl of cherries on his desk beside you.

“A penny for your thoughts?”

You close your laptop and sigh. There are too many to count, all swirling in your head without rest.

“Still thinking about what you told me this morning.” You don’t want to address the bigger issue—that (Y/N) apparently forgot who you are—so you start small. “I didn’t expect you to actually fall asleep.”

“Neither did I.” Jade frowns in thought. “I imagine it is a result of too few hours of sleep throughout the week.”

“Even so, you said it yourself. You can’t sleep around strangers.” You drum your fingers on the desk. “Maybe you actually do feel at ease around her.”

“That is not the case.” His voice carries certainty that surprises you. When you glance at him, you notice that his mouth is set in a firm line. “I was quite unsettled when I woke up.”

“Huh.” You can imagine it. His shock at his lapse in vigilance. But even so, no matter how tired he is, he has never made this sort of blunder before. “I guess there’s a first for everything.”

A shadow passes over his face. He stands next to your chair and leans over you. His eyes stare straight into yours—piercing mismatched eyes with an almost magnetic pull.

“I will ask you the same question as last night. Do you really believe that manuscript is a reflection of things that will certainly come to pass?”

Your heart jumps. Is he using Shock the Heart? But a few seconds pass, and no words leave your lips. This is not his Signature Spell. This is Jade Leech asking you a sincere, serious question. Besides, you have no reason to lie.

“Like I said, I don’t know—”

“Then don’t talk and act as though it is.” Is that frustration in his voice? He maintains eye contact with you, and you feel as though you can’t look away. “I, for one, think a predetermined future is horribly boring. My actions dictated for me, every event predictable . . . . I would sooner abandon it all and throw caution to the wind. The only reason why I am following the manuscript is because it outlines a way to restore my parents’ health.”

His sentence ends on half a breath, as though he originally intended to say more. He doesn’t. You wait, but nothing comes out.

“And?”

He kneels beside your chair, no longer towering over you or crowding your space. When he speaks again, he is quiet. But in the silence of his office, you hear it clear as day.

“And because that is what you want.”

Many history textbooks praise the Sea Witch for her spells and potions. One of the most famous ones took away a mermaid’s voice. You wonder if this is what that mermaid felt like. A storm of thoughts, but none able to be processed by your vocal chords. Parted lips that leak no sounds. You stare, nonplussed.

Eventually, you manage to let out a breathy, barely-heard whisper.

“What?”

His Adam’s apple bobs. “That is the truth. If that is what you wish for, then I will do my best to live up to your expectations. I know your good friend (Y/N)’s life is difficult. I know you think that by following this manuscript, everyone will be happy, because that is what it says will happen.”

You continue staring. The words seem to pass through you. It’s as though you are sitting in a dream, your surroundings wavering and surreal. What is he saying?

“The truth is that I could simply care less about (Y/N). She is at most an acquaintance. The reason why I give her special treatment is because I know she is precious to you.” He keeps rambling. You get the sense that he has been keeping quiet about this for a while. “As for the matter concerning my parents. If we follow the story, there is still no guarantee that they will be cured. Even you said you do not know if the manuscript’s plot will certainly come to pass. If Vil Schoenheit refuses to help my family, we will think of another way. He is not the only alchemist or curse expert in the world.

“I will follow what you want. But do not ask me to fall in love with (Y/N). That is the one thing I cannot do.”

“Why?” Your brain feels like porridge. Nothing seems to be getting through it. You cannot reason out a single thing. Isn’t (Y/N) created to be loved? Aren’t they written to fit like a glove on each other’s fingers? You’ve read the story. There doesn’t seem to be a particular reason why the Jade in the story obsesses over her aside from spending time together. It doesn’t actually matter. It’s the author’s will that their love is written in the stars—and the pages of that damn manuscript. It’s the point of the entire plot. “Is there something you don’t like about her?”

“Do I need a reason for failing to fall in love?”

Your mind blanks. Does he need a reason? He has a similar line in the manuscript. Do I need a reason for falling in love? If you think about it, isn’t it the same? No matter how you try and reason out the answer, love is not a puzzle with a logical answer. There is no formula, no recipe, no surefire step-by-step manual that you can follow to ensure success. Sometimes a spark causes a flame, and sometimes it sizzles out and dies. There is nobody to blame for either outcome.

You can’t wrap your mind around it. Why. Why. Why. Your brain, constantly overflowing with thoughts, cannot leave this topic to rest. A puzzle without an answer leaves you feeling antsy. Not knowing everything is a sin to your conscience.

“That doesn’t make any sense.”

“That is how love tends to be.”

An unsatisfactory answer. You dig your nails into your palm.

“Then answer me this. Why do you follow what I want? Is it because I’m interesting? No, that’s not right. You just said following a pre-written script is boring, and that’s exactly what I told you to do. I don’t understand.”

“The script is boring. You are anything but.”

“Me? What have I done?”

He smiles, then, one wholly different from his polite masks or his teasing grins or even his unhinged laughter. It’s an expression you associate with the times he talks about his interests. The expression that blankets and scatters across his countenance like orange rays of the setting sun over ocean waves. A quiet and calm beauty. A fondness that he rarely allows to be seen.

“Did you know that when you have much on your mind, you look up to the sky? That is why you prefer rooms with windows. The attic in my home that you love so dearly is one such room, and you spend all your time there nestled on the window seat. On that topic, you prefer small spaces because it helps you feel secure while you think. This is because you tend to zone out, and it is easier to defend yourself when no threats can appear behind you.”

“Uh, this is more like a behavioural report than a reason.”

“I do adore observing your behaviour. Particularly when you are lost in thought. I find myself wondering what you’re thinking about. If you’ll share them with me. But oftentimes, you do not trust me enough to do so.”

You swallow hard. “It’s hard to.”

“Why is that? I’ve known you for fifteen years. Floyd has known you for just as long, Azul a little less. (Y/N) has only known you for one year. So why can’t you trust me?”

You fiddle with your fingers, no longer capable of meeting his gaze. This kind of outburst is not something you expected from Jade. How long has he been thinking this way?

“I can’t tell what’s going on in your head. That’s why. Everything you say or do just gives me more to think about. If you’re being genuine or not, if you’ll suddenly decide to turn on me, things like that.”

Hurt flashes in his eyes. His smile shifts from fond to rueful and raw desperation permeates his shaky voice. It sounds brittle, as though a well-aimed push would shatter it into infinitesimal pieces.

“Is it so inconceivable that I could do things for you without ulterior motives?”

You look away. “Only until it no longer serves your interests or amuses you. Even if I can’t trust you fully, I’m sure there’s at least some level of it between us. I mean, we see each other regularly. I even let you drive me home.”

“Yes, but I am afraid I am a greedy man. Anyone else turning their back on me would be tolerable, but you—if it’s you . . . . At least promise me this. Even if I turn on the entire world,” he declares quietly, “promise you will trust that I will not betray you.”

You open your mouth as though to reply. Nothing comes out. You try again, your fingers gripping your knees tightly.

“I think we’re too similar. We’re both too cautious. We both think too much. Because of that, I can’t let my guard down around you.”

“Yet that is exactly what fascinates me.” He places a hand over yours. “Trying to decipher your thoughts, wondering about the motivations behind your actions, these are all things I find myself enthralled by. Your brutality and decisiveness towards that which would benefit you, but your willingness to do anything for the people dear to you. Your cautious nature as you execute your bold plans. Every time I think I have you pinned down, I only unearth another layer. The mystery intrigues me. On the other hand, I cannot help but wish you would trust and open up to me a little more.”

“That’s contradictory.”

“I cannot help it.” He smiles wryly. “I am contradictory by nature, as are you.”

You study his hand that engulfs yours. Cool to the touch. Ungloved, too. You muster your resolve.

“Then promise you won’t lie to me.” You finally lift your gaze until it returns to his eyes. Clear eyes that have been by your side for years. The eyes of a liar and schemer. Ironic for the one who wields a Signature Spell that forces out the truth. But these are the eyes of Jade Leech, and you won’t try to make him be someone he isn’t. “Lie to everyone else, I don’t care. But don’t lie to me. You can try to trick me or give me half-truths. I’ll figure them out on my own. If I still get fooled, that’s on me. Just don’t outright lie.”

The pounding of your heart fills your ears. Then, it is replaced by the sound of his quiet laughter.

“I expected nothing less from you.” He brings your hand up to touch his cheek. It only lasts a moment before he lets go and stands back up, returning to his seat. “I give you my word. I will never lie to you again.”

You look at the teacup on the desk, the lavender tea inside now cooled. The untouched cookies and cherries. A soft clink rings out as you take the teacup and bring it to your lips. Sweet and fragrant. Even cold, the tea Jade brews is impeccable.

#twisted wonderland #disney twst #jade leech #twst fanfic #twst jade #twst x reader #jade leech x reader #multi chap fic #mafia au #jade promised to brew a relaxing tea last chapter #lavender tea promotes sleep and stress relief #even if you don't drink it the scent helps #so he wins whether you drink it or not #slow burn

[cosmerelists]

Shallan’s Murders: Ranked by Level of Disturbing

Shallan-murders-feature requested by @nerd-in-distress

[Major spoilers for Stormlight Archives!]

I’ve already ranked Kaladin’s dramatic entrances & the awesomeness of Vin’s kills. Next up we’re looking at the many deaths that Shallan has enacted, directly or indirectly. Since Shallan’s murders tend to be Trauma Personified, I’m going to rank them by how disturbing I found them.

#10: Bluth

We’ll start with the one that I find the least disturbing--in part because I think it’s the least attributable to Shallan herself. Technically, Bluth is inspired by the “Ideal Self” that Shallan draws of him, a drawing which motivates Bluth to join the fight against the bandits and die. So it is true that if not for Shallan, Bluth would not have been in that situation and likely would not have risked himself. But it is framed as a redemption, and I don’t find it particularly disturbing. 

#9: Her own alters

In particular, I am thinking about the Battle of Thaylen City, during which Shallan keeps an entire Thrill-infected army busy by constantly creating illusions for them to kill. Every time one of these illusions die, Shallan feels it, as though she is sending out parts of herself to be murdered, over and over again. I’m not going to lie--this scene has made me cry, and I do personally feel a sense of creeping horror imagining Shallan simply sending herself out to be murdered hundreds and hundreds of times. But I suppose these deaths aren’t exactly real, so I can’t rank this too highly on the disturbing scale. 

#8: The Coachman and his Parshmen

Shallan has a bit of a rocky start when it comes to being Veil and infiltrating the Ghostbloods. During one such incursion, she hires a coachman to bring her to a meeting and then makes him drive away without her to trick the Ghostbloods. Later, she finds him and the Parshmen murdered and his coach burned. Here again, it’s not like Shallan murdered them with her own hand...but she does cause their deaths, insofar as they wouldn’t have been in danger if not for her. But this is really the fault of the Ghostbloods, so I rank it as less disturbing in terms of what Shallan herself does. 

#7: Her Mom’s “Friend”

I have honestly always been unclear about whether Shallan or Shallan’s father actually kills this guy, but the wiki says it was Shallan, so I’ll go with that. This is our first real person who is killed directly by Shallan’s hand--and honestly, I find it to be the least disturbing of actual-people-murdered-by-Shallan. I mean, the guy was a Skybreaker trying to suppress the return of the Radiants by murdering a kid, so I really feel like Shallan was acting in self-defense here. I mean, it is disturbing for Shallan, though, so that counts for something.

#6: Tyn

Speaking of murders in self-defense...Shallan does directly murder Tyn, but this one is once again purely self-defense. Tyn was trying to kill Shallan at the time, and Shallan summons her Shardblade in a desperate act of self-defense. There is still a level of horror, though. Tyn was sort of Shallan’s friend, and Shallan’s Shardblade is Trauma Personified at this point in the story--I believe this is the first time we ever actually see it. I don’t remember if it’s confirmed whether the Blade is Testament or Pattern, but there’s an extra layer of horror if it’s Testament, aka the spren that Shallan killed and is now using to kill someone else.

#5: Ialai

Now, here’s a murder not in self-defense at all. Radiant just straight up murders Ialai and hides this fact from Shallan. This is after Shallan, Radiant, and Veil vote on it and decide not to murder her...but then Radiant does it anyway in order to protect Shallan from having to do it--and from having to know about it. Unfortunately, this doesn’t so much protect Shallan as it does cause her intense mental and emotional distress, as now Shallan thinks there is a spy among her friends. This is partly why Formless becomes such a big threat in this book. So while I didn’t feel particularly upset that Ialai died, this murder did end up being disturbing in its implications--especially the idea that one of Shallan’s alters could do such a thing without Shallan (being willing to?) know.

#4: Her mom

Shallan’s mom was trying to kill her at the time, and baby Shallan summoned a Shardblade and killed her. Shallan then became convinced that the sword was her mother’s soul, which was locked in a safe behind a picture in that very room. For a very long time afterwards, Shallan would believe that safe was glowing with her dead mother’s soul. That’s all pretty disturbing--from attempted daughter-murder to actual mother-murder to just heaps of trauma. It was still self-defense, but that doesn’t help much with how disturbing it all was.  

#3: Testament

The Stormlight Archive books are FILLED with mentions of the Recreance, that day when the Radiants betrayed their oaths and killed their spren. Of course, we eventually find out that the decision to break the oaths was mutual, and that the Radiants and their spren agreed to take this action (for reasons that are still not clear...). But there is one spren-killing that occurred long after the Recreance and that was not, so far as we know, a mutual decision: Shallan’s murder of her first spren, Testament. This is the spren whose blade killed Shallan’s mother, an act that so traumatized Shallan that she broke her oath, turned her spren into a deadeye, and then repressed all off the memories. Later Shallan meets Testament in Shadesmar for just an extra layer of trauma--her murder victim is still walking around. Maybe this will get less disturbing if a way of saving deadeyes is discovered, but for now, I find this one very disturbing.

#2: Grund 

Grund is the street kid from Kholinar that Shallan tries to help by giving him food, only to later discover that Grund is being forced to do this by the gangs, who then murder Grund in front of her while he uses his dying words to declare how much he hates her. Even though this is not a death caused directly by Shallan’s hands, I find it to be one of the more disturbing deaths attributable to Shallan--because it’s a kid, because he dies of head trauma which I find disturbing, and because he uses his dying words to blame her, which is a pretty big helping of trauma to add to Shallan’s already large pile.

#1: Lin Davar

Listen, Lin Davar is the worst, and I am a fan of him being dead. Nevertheless, I find this to be far and away the most disturbing of Shallan’s murders because of how it happens. First, Shallan uses the blackbane her brother gave her to poison her father. But it doesn’t work. Her father wakes up, and Shallan has to murder him a second time, this time by literally strangling him to death with the necklace he gave her while singing the lullaby he sang to her after she murdered her mother. And strangling is not fast--she has to persist and sing until he is finally, finally dead.

So congratulations (?) to Lin Davar for being Shallan’s most disturbing murder victim! 

#cosmerelists #cosmere #Shallan #Shallan Davar

[azsazz]

Cupid’s Chokehold (Part 7)

Azriel x Reader

Summary: You are a Cupid, a nearly extinct creature of Prythian. When you get caught trying to shoot Elain with your arrow, well, it’s a little hard to explain what you’re trying to do.

Warnings: N/A

Word Count: 2,811

[Part 1] [Part 2] [Part 3] [Part 4] [Part 5] [Part 6]

Notes: The finale 😭 Please enjoy 💙

_________________________________________

It’s that revelation that makes him rethink everything.

Had he really been do dumb as to not notice what was happening between the two of you? The cheeky banter between the two of you, you getting on his nerves and him getting on yours. The almost kiss you’d shared when he had been cleaning your wound. The wound he had a hand in giving you. The heightened emotions he felt when it had anything to do with you, Eris’ threats or Rhys’ scolding, he didn’t care about any of that as long as you were okay.

Or had you just made another general assumption about love?

Azriel could admit that your words were convincing, even if he didn’t fully believe in the entirety of what your species was doing. And seeing Eris agree, having a sour experience with your kind, had made the shadowsinger rethink everything you had said, for he would never admit that the Autumn Lordling was right in any way, shape, or form.

“Our arrows are conduits of attraction and affection. They form this sort of bond, once the two parties are struck. You call it a mate, I believe.”

“Fate has a funny way of working, shadowsinger, don’t you worry.”

“It symbolizes the parallels between warfare and romance. How love can be invincible.”

“Everything happens for a reason. If a couple aren’t meant to be but still share a bond, that is fate. If they are madly in love and something dares happen to one of them, that is fate. If they live happily ever after as mates, that is fate.”

And all this talk about fate…he couldn’t help but wonder if there was someone out there for him, made to be his opposite and equal in every way. Maybe he could ask you–

No. It doesn’t even matter anymore if there is someone out there for him because there’s you…

It’s you.

It’s always been you.

Right?

“It is she who lights the flame of love in the hearts of Gods and men,” Eris’ words ring in his head, “I’d watch out if I were you, shadowsinger.”

He’s gotten nowhere by the time he makes his way up to the training ring, an incessant buzzing beneath his skin as his mind whirled. His shoulders have been tense since he rose from his bed, and he stretches to try and ease some of the tension while he waits for you to arrive. His shadows swirl around him in a restless manner, much like his mind and stomach.

It was always like this when it has something to do with you.

Azriel filters it down to the fact that you’d be arriving any moment, the female he’d been trying to force out of his head all night, unable to sleep because he kept thinking of the exact color of your wings, how soft they’d felt when they’d brushed up against him in the Autumn Court, the color of your wide eyes and look of utter shock on your face when Eris had held a knife to your throat. 

He’d thought of your eagerness to learn how to wield weapons other than a bow, one that he was still yet to see in action. Azriel’s cock had hardened almost to the point of pain when he’d imagined you standing tall with an arrow knocked, the bow arching perfectly like the curves of your body, the utter determination he’d see and that sparkle in your eye.

Love, he realizes.

You loved love.

And maybe it was just because you were born from it, a conduit in its rawest form. He’d wondered if you’d ever been in love before or had shared the act of it with anyone, and then his emotions spun from lust into wild jealousy, and he’d stayed that way, brewing until the first rays of light peeked through his windows.

His shadows alert him of your footsteps on the stairs and the tension melts slightly as he looks over. His heart picks up speed in his chest because he’s just waiting to see you, to see what style your hair is in or what clothes you don. Sometimes it was your armor or the clothes you’d come in, sometimes it was something more comfortable, and once it was in a pair of Nesta’s Illyrian leathers. 

That had been his favorite.

But his shadows had failed to mention that you were with Cassian, and that’s whose head pops up over the railing first, and then you, trailing next to him and laughing your perfect laugh as his brother grins down at you.

He’d never been able to make that sound come out of you.

The tension returns to his shoulders and Azriel turns quickly, headed straight for the swords.

“Hey Az,” Cassian greets from across the ring.

Azriel ignores him and the warlord stops in his tracks. It takes you a few steps to notice that he’s no longer beside you. Casting a look over your shoulder, brows pulled together in confusion, you see Cassian staring at the shadowsinger who hadn’t yet turned to greet the both of you.

Even from yards away Cassian can tell that something is wrong. He takes note of the way Azriel’s shadows shroud his taught shoulders, wings pinched high and tight behind his back, how he twists the practice sword around in his grip like he’s in the need to expel some energy.

The warlord was almost always ready for a lengthy spar, but he’d promised Nesta he’d go to her favorite bookstore with her today, and he was not to get all sweaty and bloodied up before he had to go.

Azriel hears his brother murmuring to you but he doesn’t make it out with how loud his blood is roaring in his ears. He keeps his shadows tucked tightly to his person, doesn’t even want to know what the two of you would have to talk about.

He feels like he could splinter the wooden sword into shards.

Cassian retreats back into the house and you approach Azriel, careful not to get too close. “Shadowsinger?”

He casts a sharp look over his shoulder and it makes you suck in a soft breath but he’s heard it. You watch curiously as his hazel eyes scour the training ring, noting the spot beside you is now empty.

Cassian is nowhere in sight.

“Are you okay?” you try again, having the courage to take a single step closer, even though he looks like he could snap at any second.

“I’m fine,” his response is like ice, sending shivers down your spine.

You set your jaw, giving a single nod as you head towards the weapons rack for your own training weapon.

The weight of the wooden sword is a familiar feeling now, and you’ve added the weapon to your warm up stretches, holding the weapon above your head as you reach to the sky to stretch your back, just as you’d seen Azriel do multiple times.

The air in the training ring is tense. You don’t know what to say to Azriel, who is clearly in a sour mood. You bend over, touching the practice blade to your toes as you chew on your lip, racking your brain for what to do, try and talk to him or let your weapons have the conversation.

“Are you and Cassian fighting?” you ask once he’s facing you, his own weapon raised for the spar to begin.

“Something like that,” he grits, making the first move. He swings his sword down in a maneuver you easily parry.

Azriel usually always starts your spars with a move you can quickly defend, wanting you to feel comfortable and get into the groove of the training. You know that it won’t quite be like that should you ever encounter a real battle, but the thought of it is nice.

“Why?” you reply, crouching low as he swings above your head. You drive up from the ground but he’s expected it and has moved out of your reach.

Azriel twists the sword in his hand and you're momentarily stunned by his grace as he handles the weapon with ease. “Why are you so nosy?”

You shrug, and he thinks that you’re going to pause mid-spar to talk about this, so he doesn’t anticipate your next strike coming. It jabs him clean in the stomach and if it weren’t wood he’d be a little more worried, but he hisses and bares his teeth as he slides back nonetheless.

Clever girl.

“I just don’t think you should be fighting with Cassian,” you say, watching him closely, trying to gauge his next move, “You love your brother, no?”

He’s pissed. “Must you always talk about love?” He asks, and the way he utters the word, like it’s some sort of venom has you swinging back that much harder. Your sword bounces off of his with a loud crack, the force of it reverberating in your bones.

“You are so passionate about hating love,” you remark, eyeing him as the two of you circle each other slowly. You catch his shadows burrowing into the deep red sand from the corner of your eyes and you stall for a second, wondering what he’s going to command them to do. Kick your feet out from under you? “Must you feel so hurt?”

Azriel runs his fingers through his damp hair, frustratedly, twisting the training sword around in his hands, letting the heaviness of the hilt ease him as his mind slips. 

It’s not that he hates love, it’s that he’s yearned for it for so long and he hasn’t even experienced something even remotely close. Sure he has his friends and his mother, but love like that isn’t the love he’s been searching 500 years for.

He wants what Rhys and Feyre have, Cassian and Nesta. Fuck, he’d even take what Elain and Lucien have if only for the fact that he was destined to be bound to someone. He didn’t ever think that such a thing was fated for him.

Until he met you.

He doesn’t even know where to start, how to differentiate the thin line between the lust and love he feels when you’re near. The rippling urge to protect you around threats that aren’t even treats. A strong word from Rhys or a suggestive joke from Cassian. It’s not his place to do so. 

But here you stand before him, a beautiful creature that he can’t have, which makes him want you so much more. 

And you…you probably couldn’t love him. Not for the marred flash of his skin, the multitude of scars and bruises he carries. You with your perfectly flawless skin, glimmering in the sunshine, you are ethereal in more ways than one, and how would he look with something so flawless next to him?

Surely he’d ruin you. 

“Why must you be so stubborn?”

You scoff, crossing your arms across your chest for a moment before you realize you’re still standing in the ring where he can surprise you with a strike back at any moment. “Like you’re not?”

“I’m a realist.”

“So am I.”

“Not when you believe in your little folklore love you’re not.”

He stills at the malicious words he’s let spill from his mouth. He didn’t mean them in the slightest and his throat tightens as he watches your brows curl and your eyes narrow.

You’re back at square one again.

“I believe in a nature I know is true. You are surrounded by love yet you cannot accept that it is real, Azriel. Is it because you do not have any?”

“I don’t–” he cuts himself off, brain short-circuiting at your words. Azriel. You’d called him by his name for the first time. His heart thumps loudly in his chest as he stares back at you, taking a shaky breath…panting, chest heaving. He has to turn away, your words striking hot through his core like you’d sliced into him with your blade. “I don’t believe in love because I’ve seen it hurt, even kill, and I won’t let that happen to myself.”

“It’s not your choice to make.”

The words ring in his head. The exact phrase he’d used in Rhysand’s office when he was reprimanding you about your powers the first time you’d met.

“I am not a good person,” his voice is a tremor that you hardly hear. His hands are shaking and his head dips low, wings shuddering behind him. His shadows are agitated, even you can see that from their erratic movements, not silky and fluid like you knew them to be. It takes all of his strength to even his breath and keep his voice steady. 

“I don’t feel…I’m hopelessly flawed.”

Your breath catches in your own throat now and your heart stutters, aching, reaching out for Azriel as his knees give out, head hanging low between his muscular shoulders, wings drooping into the red sand of the fighting ring.

You circle him slowly, letting his shadows carry whispers of where you are, moving around to his side to crouch in front of him, knee to knee.

“You’re not.” Your voice is thick with emotion from what this beautiful male before you thinks of himself. “You deserve love, Azriel. You just have to accept it.” 

Tentatively, you place a gentle hand on his cheek, nervous that he might pull away. Your cool fingers make him flinch but he’s startled by the action, quickly leaning into your palm as you begin to move your hand away. 

He wants you there.

You thumb the droplet on his cheek away, admiring the male up close. If you ask him later he will say it’s just sweat, and the corner of your mouth lifts at the thought.

His deep hazel eyes stare intently into yours, looking for any sign of untruth. He’ll find none, no matter what shadowsinger tricks he uses, because what you feel for him is real. He clutches onto your other hand tightly, nodding softly.

“I want it,” he breathes, a whisper so soft it’s picked up by the wind before you can even hear it. But you’ve read it on his lips, can see it in his eyes, the hunger for the bond he’s been burying inside of him all along.

“Az,” you say quietly, brushing his sweaty hair from his eyes, “Take a look over there for me.” You nod your head and he focuses on something just above your shoulder. His grip tightens on yours when he catches sight of the figure perched on the stone railing of the training ring. You shush him softly, rubbing over the scarred skin of his hands with your thumb. “It’s alright, she’s a friend of mine.”

Another Cupid, he notices once he sees those pure white wings, almost an exact match of yours. His shoulders slacken with relief, and his hazel eyes light with a mix of realization, weariness, and excitement as he turns back to you.

His heart pounds in his chest as you stare at him, eyes wide in question.

“Ready?”

He nods once, squeezing your hand before pulling you flush against his chest, his lips finding yours like he’s done it a thousand times. His hands wrap around your waist tightly and yours find their way around his neck, snaking into his inky black hair, holding him that much closer.

It’s heaven, his lips. Like everything you’ve ever wanted, needed, right here in this male before you. You gasp as you feel the sharp tip of the arrow pierce through your back and into your chest. It tears through the muscle and leaves through your front, embedding deep into Azriels stomach, locking the two of you together.

The second of startling pain melts in an instant, becoming hot and heavy and pure ecstasy. You can feel him inside of you, his soul intertwining with your own, lifetimes of memories dissolving into one another as you become him and he becomes you. Every heart string twists and knots with his and you feel like you’re on top of the world, sharing this with him. He belongs to you as you belong to him, fated together by the Mother.

Azriel’s grinning when you pull away and you lose your breath all over again, you’ve never seen a sight so beautiful.

“(Y/N), I’ve wanted you even without this tying us together,” he admits, brushing the hair from your face, tucking it behind your ear.

You smile at your mate warmly, giving the bond a teasing tug, “But isn’t it so much better knowing that we’re meant to be?”

“Yeah,” he breathes, honeyed eyes sparkling with emotion, “I suppose it is.” He captures your lips with his, letting your scent, your taste intoxicate him, fill every part of his body with you.

The lover and the fighter, together at last.

#Azriel #azriel x reader #azriel x you #azriel/reader #azriel/you #acotar #acowar #acomaf #acotarxreader #azsazz #shadowsinger #cupids chokehold

[bucketsofmonsters]

The Witch’s Apprentice - Part 2

cw: demon summoning, nightmares, prolonged isolation, bugs, more tags will be added as the story continues

male demon x afab reader

Word count: ~4k

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3  Part 4  Part 5 Part 6  Part 7

He didn’t show up in another dream after that night. 

You kept waiting for it to happen. It felt like an inevitability. No matter how many times you checked your books, you couldn’t find what you’d done wrong in your warding so you most definitely hadn’t fixed the problem.

The only way to properly fix it at this point would be to ask Eden and that was something you weren’t willing to do. Any trust you’d gained with her would be lost. You couldn’t mess it up. Not now, not when she’d just begun involving you in her work. 

The longer you went without hearing from the demon the more nervous you got. Day after day you heard nothing, not even in a summoning with Eden. Even that would be a blessing, at least then you’d be able to get eyes on him, try and get a read on him. 

She refused, insisting she was busy with things she couldn’t tell you about. The newfound openness that had come with you being involved in the summonings fell away and once again you were being excluded from her work entirely. 

Impulsive. That’s what Eden had called each and every one of your attempts to do magic on your own, to figure it out without her guidance. Was she right? Probably.

Did you still wait until she left for a day to snatch the summoning book and face the source of your anxiety head on?

Absolutely. 

You double and triple checked the books before you did anything. That had been driven into you, Eden had made your mistakes clear to you enough times to prove you didn’t have the luxury of confidence. 

Most of it wasn’t even in your hands, the summoning circle left from old visits and most of the materials needed for the summoning still sitting together on the table. You had no idea what Eden was really doing with Lucien, what the trances were for or what deals she’d made, but the summoning part was fairly simple. 

The book sat on the floor in front of you but you didn’t need it, the words long since memorized. 

The second the air shifted it was filled with the demon’s sudden yelling. “One week! One week of not having to incessantly be pulled here and you couldn’t even…” The anger drained from his face the second he saw you. “You’re not your witch.”

“‘She’s not my witch.” You felt more sensitive about his wording while you were sitting here, disobeying her. 

He seemed amused by the rebuttal. “Then who’s witch is she?” 

“Her own, I suppose.”

“You could always tell me her name. Then I wouldn’t have to call her anyone’s witch.”

“Do we have to do this every time?” you asked with a sigh. Surely he must know that you wouldn’t fall for it, although you supposed you couldn’t fault him for trying. 

With the realization that you wouldn’t budge on the name issue, at least for now, he shifted topics. “She doesn’t know you’re here.” It wasn’t a question but an observation, and an apt one at that. 

You’d hoped he wouldn’t realize, would just assume she let you do what you wanted around here. The realization gave him another bargaining chip, a piece of information he could use to hurt you. You’d have to brace yourself for him to reveal it next time Eden summoned him. 

But the damage had already been done, you might as well ask what you were here to ask. 

“Why did you show up in my dream?”

“Aw, are you dreaming about me? I must have left quite the impression. What kind of dream was it? I hope it was a fun one.”

You tried once more, more forceful this time. “You showed up in my dream.”

He rolled his eyes as you refused to play. “I saw a chance and I took it. It’s not my fault you can’t ward yourself.”

You wanted to ask if you’d fixed the problem as you’d redone everything, if your warding was all good and sorted out now despite not finding the real issue but you knew he’d lie about it regardless. There was no point in it. 

As you tried to find something useful to ask him, he helpfully chimed in, “I’m not telling you anything.”

You sighed. This confrontation was going just how you expected it to. “Yeah, I know.”

“Then why am I here?”

You shrugged. 

He wasn’t willing to let go of it that easily. “What do you want from me?”

“Do I have to want something from you?”

“All humans do.”

Oh. You should probably figure that out. You took a mental note to think on it later. 

“I’ll get back to you on that,” you promised him, although you weren’t entirely sure when. You certainly couldn’t say anything in front of Eden and you supposed you had no real reason to summon him again. 

If you were honest with yourself, you had no real reason to summon him the first time. You knew how this would play out. And yet here he was, looming over you whilst being entirely unhelpful. 

His head was tilted as he evaluated you. “If you don’t want anything from me, what should I do? I mean, I’m sure I can come up with something but history indicates you might not follow through on my ideas.”

His assumption was right. Whatever trickery he might be inclined to try would fall on deaf ears. 

The problem was, you didn’t have anything better to say. You probably should have had a game plan for all of this. Maybe ‘impulsive’ wasn’t that far off. 

At a loss for words, you uttered the only ones you had on hand. He rolled his eyes as the words of dismissal started to leave you

“Running away so quickly?”

His attempt to goad you did nothing to stop your momentum, running through the spell that you had memorized front to back. 

When you looked up, he was gone, leaving behind an empty summoning circle on the floor.  

You’d done it on your own and nothing happened. He hadn’t killed you or tricked you or broken free, he’d just stood there and talked to you. 

It felt like a minor miracle. It had taken years to get Eden to let you sit silently in the room while she summoned something and you’d just done it on your own without a hitch. 

You wanted to tell her. Well, to tell someone, but you had no one else to tell. 

Other than Lucien, you supposed, but somehow you imagined that summoning him again just to get excited about how you’d summoned him the first time might not go over well. 

Three days. That’s how long it took you to give in.

You’d done it once, proven to yourself you could summon him safely, and that opened the door to do it again. You no longer had the pretenses of before where you could tell yourself it was just to gather information on how he’d invaded your dreams but that could only stop you for so long. 

You were a lonely person. You’d always been to some extent, but being stuck in this cabin certainly hadn’t helped matters. 

You had Eden. For that you were eternally grateful. And for a long time that had been enough. 

Demons were dangerous. That fact had been drilled into your head. You could never tell them your name or break the summoning circle or trust them with anything, but what you hadn’t anticipated was that they could make for shockingly good company. 

Or maybe any company would feel like good company right about now. You weren’t sure how to tell. 

You supposed you did want something from him, he was right. Companionship, not being alone for a while, call it whatever you wanted. It was disingenuous to claim you were summoning him for no reason and he’d realized it faster than you had.  

Everyone had a reason. Everyone had something they wanted. 

Disobeying Eden was just as difficult the second time around. 

When Lucien arrived this time, he wasn’t angry. His gaze fell immediately to your little spot on the floor, not Eden’s trance circle, and you knew he was coming to expect you. 

“Well, you’re nothing if not persistent.” He spoke with a laugh in his voice, ever amused by your antics. 

“Thank you?”

“You're welcome.”

You had plenty of things that you could have said. You’d prepared a little better this time, with backup ideas to cover you so you wouldn’t have to send him away the second he started to question you. 

Instead, you busied yourself, putting a kettle on the stove and cleaning off the counter in the room as Lucien stared on in bewilderment. 

“Are you alright?” he asked as you rushed about. While it was far from concerned, it was the most genuine you’d heard him be. 

“Do you care?”

“I wouldn’t normally but I can’t help but wonder what you’re up to.”

“I’m making tea.”

His confusion seemed to override the urge to be antagonistic and he quietly watched you rush about. As you brewed two mugs full of tea, you walked back over to the summoning circle and held one out for him. 

He eyed the mug distrustfully. “What is it?”

“It’s for you, it’s tea!”

“I know what tea is, what did you put in it? Is there rosemary in here? Your witch loves the stuff, I can still smell it everywhere.”

Rosemary was toxic to demons. When Eden was between summoning sessions, she'd have you burn some throughout the house to ward off any unwanted entities. In times like these when she was working with the creatures and couldn’t use it without harming them, you tended to it in the garden until she needed it next. 

You shook your head adamantly. “It’s bad etiquette to poison a guest. Besides, if I wanted to, I could just throw some rosemary at you. It’s not like you could go anywhere.”

“Fair enough.” A sly look crossed his face as he incredulously asked, “And you’re just going to hand it to me? Well, I’m not going to stop you.” 

You couldn't help but be a little peeved at the comment. Surely eventually he would stop wildly underestimating you. “You can’t do anything as long as the summoning circle stays intact, which it is. I’m not a complete fool. Now do you want the tea or not?”

You held the mug out, waiting a moment for his response.

He finally took it, the mug looking quite silly as it was dwarfed in his hands.

“Sorry,” you said, scrunching up your nose at the sight. “We don’t have any bigger mugs.”

“I’m sure I’ll survive.”

He took a sip of the tea and you fought back a laugh at the sight of it. 

He looked down at the mug with a furrowed brow. “Odd little concoction you’ve got here. So, as long as you seem averse to asking anything of me, I might as well ask. Why are you working for the witch?”

“Why wouldn’t I? She’s brilliant, she’s my best friend, she saved my life, I owe her everything. I’m just lucky she’s willing to teach me.”

“You owe her something? Has she trapped you here, what do you owe her?” He seemed eager to jump to that conclusion.

Where could he be getting that from? “No, of course not! She wouldn’t do that.”

“She’s done it to me.”

“That’s different.”

“How?”

“I don’t know, she must have a reason.”

“I know. Everyone wants something, I told you that already. But I already know what she wants from me, what do you want from her?”

“What?” You’d expected him to prod further for your motivation, maybe ask once more why Eden even kept you around, but not that. “What do you mean?”

“Come on, something’s gotta be keeping you here. I don’t buy that it's you learning magic, you had to sneak off to be allowed to do anything, she isn’t teaching you shit.”

“Hey, she’s a great teacher. And I just want to help as much as I can.”

He shook his head. “I didn’t take you for a liar.”

“I’m not lying! That’s all I want from her, to help, her friendship, some company. I think that’s why I summoned you too, is it really that unbelievable?”

“You summoned me to help me? If so, you're doing a shit job of it.”

“No, for the company.”

He scoffed. “Noone needs company that badly. Try again.”

“How would you know?”

“What?”

“The people who need company have no one to tell about it so how would you know? There are probably plenty of people like me out there who wouldn’t mind a chat with you.”

“They can just go to a bar then, strike up a conversation with someone. The demon summoning seems like overkill to me,” he noted. “You could do the same. I don’t blame you for wanting to talk to someone other than your damn witch but if you want company so badly just go to town, I’m sure someone would be willing to humor you.”

That confused you. “You know I can’t do that. I can’t leave the cabin, the forest won’t let me. You saw, remember? When you broke into my head.”

“That was a nightmare. You can walk through the woods.”

“I told you it wasn’t a nightmare, it’s the woods laying claim to me. They tried to swallow me up before, she saved me. This place is the only place that’s safe from it.”

“I’ve been in these woods, they’re not like that.”

“Maybe not for you.”

“So you are trapped here?”

You couldn’t understand why he didn’t seem to be getting it. “I’m protected here. This is my safe haven.”

“When was the last time you left? Hell, when was the last time you spoke to anyone other than your witch?”

You weren’t entirely certain, trying to quickly count the number of winters you’d seen while you’d been here. “Years ago, definitely. Probably… six or seven by now, I’d wager.”

His eyes lit up as an opportunity presented itself, his voice shifting into the more practiced one you’d heard before, designed to be convincing. “I could get you out of here. Come on, make a deal with me. Don’t you miss society? Miss talking to people?”

You immediately started the banishing spell, not wanting to have this conversation. You knew you wouldn’t be able to make him drop the issue, your talk was over. 

“No, stop it, stop doing that,” he hissed at you. “Shut up!”

You didn’t let his protests deter you, barrelling through the rest of the spell. 

Without so much as a warning he vanished, leaving behind empty air and a mug that promptly smashed into the ground with nothing left to hold it up. 

You rushed to clean up the mess. The shards of ceramic and tea couldn’t break the summoning circle, that couldn’t be done without intention from someone not trapped in it, but they most certainly could alert Eden to your behavioral misstep.  

When Eden got home, you were sweeping the last of the jagged shards into a dustpan. 

“What happened?” she asked. “Are you alright?”

You waved away her concern. “I just dropped a mug, nothing to worry about.”

“Nothing important got damaged?”

“Nope.”

“Good. You should be more careful.”

With a final glance at the mess, she took the basket of things she’d gathered from wherever she’d been. She never told you where she went, it was always just ‘out.’ 

It felt more like a small mercy than anything. You weren’t sure you could stomach hearing about her trips to town. You preferred it this way, she just went out and returned with baskets full of things she’d never tell you about. 

Days passed and she didn’t bring up the incident again. 

You were out in your garden, the little fenced in piece of nature that you could safely access. It wasn’t very big, a slice of land pressed up against the side of the house, but you spent much of your time out there. 

The garden was the only thing you had any real control over. Eden rarely came out here, you kept all the herbs inside well-stocked enough that she never had to. 

It was also a rare subject at which you excelled. Your little sliver of land was thriving, keeping every single plant Eden brought for you to take care of alive and well. 

You were pruning weeds when you found a little praying mantis sitting under some lavender. 

Its hooked arms were raised defensively, clearly positioning to strike if you got any closer. 

“You gotta go bud,” you said, keeping your voice low so as not to spook it any further. “You’re gonna eat all the bees and we can’t have that.”

It seemed unconvinced. 

He seemed perfectly polite but you didn’t have a pest problem in your garden and you knew from experience it would hunt down any pollinators who came nearby. 

“You don’t belong in here, if you don’t leave I’m going to have to evict you and neither of us want that.”

Your attempt at negotiation fell on deaf ears so instead you picked up a watering can, shaking it upside down to make sure it was empty before trying to figure out how best to scoop the aggressive little thing up.

The sound of Eden saying something drifted through the wall of the cabin and your head perked up. 

“You’ve escaped this time, but you better not be here when I get back.”  You gave your newfound enemy one last look and left him to consider your warning as you brushed the dirt off your clothes so you could head inside and see what Eden wanted. 

The second you walked into the room you knew exactly what she’d been saying. That became obvious when you locked eyes with the last person you wanted to see. 

As you stared down Lucien, eyes wide, all those repercussions of summoning him alone felt a lot more threatening than they had when the two of you were chatting over tea. 

Eden was sitting on the floor looking up at him and you winced, cursing the fact that she wasn’t in a trace that would let you slip out of the room unnoticed. 

“Are you even paying attention?” she asked him as he stared right over her head. 

He was entirely ignoring Eden’s question, his gaze locked onto you. “I was wondering where you’d run off to, the witch had lost her shadow.” 

Eden’s head jerked around and you shrunk in on yourself, her eyes burning into your skin worse than Lucien’s did. 

Even with her back to him, he seemed to be able to sense her anger. “What’s wrong,” he prodded. “That’s what you have them do anyways, isn’t it? Quietly observe?”

She muttered the dismissal spell under her breath, forgetting whatever work she’d been up to in favor of glaring daggers at you. 

She didn’t even check to see if he was gone before she stood up and started pacing over to you. 

For a moment, you weren’t even nervous, caught up in Lucien’s words. He hadn’t given you away or gotten you in trouble, instead inexplicably covering for you. You couldn’t make sense of it, practically wouldn’t believe it if it had just happened. 

The lack of nervousness ended the second Eden started talking. 

“You cannot come in unannounced like that,” she snapped. “You’re lucky I had things under control. You could have put us both at risk.”

“I’m so sorry.” You weren’t sure your voice reached her, your words coming out as a squeak more than as an intelligible thought. 

She seemed to understand the gist of it at the very least. 

“You should be!” She rubbed her temples, taking a deep breath as she considered her next words. “I’m just trying to keep you safe. I can’t do that if you don’t listen, you know that.”

“I know, I really am sorry.”

She took your hand and gave it a reassuring squeeze. “Okay. Don’t let it happen again.”

“I won’t.”

She chuckled. “Well, you saw your first demon. Not ideal circumstances but what did you think?”

“Very scary,” you said, hoping that was what she wanted to hear. 

“They certainly are. Unpleasant creatures, through and through.”

You nodded, hoping she couldn’t see the apprehension on your face. If only seeing him was the worst of your transgressions.

#terato #demon x reader #demon x human #monster boyfriend #monster bf #monster x human #monster x reader #demon #the witch's apprentice #sometimes I worry I give my reader characters too much personality lol #I can’t help it sorry guys #take it or leave it #The next chapter things really get going #the setup era is ending #Also the rating on this one will be changing soon ;)

[tgmsunmontue]

Together or not at all - Hangster sequel

I wrote a ~2.5k Javy/Nat 5+1 and this is the 2k Hangster sequel (with a potential epilogue to come, who knows?)

This is based on the fact that ~14 months ago my BF of over 20+ years started dating my husband's BF of over 20+ years. Because my husband dared his BF to ask my BF out. Yep. We are all in our mid-40s and that's a thing that happened. They moved in together two weeks ago.

                “I dare you to ask him out…”

                “Ask who out?” Jake asks, leaning back against the brick work of the house while he watches Javy’s kids run around in the backyard and tries to not miss Laney and Pepper too much.

                “Bradley.”

                “What? Uh… why do you think that would be a good idea?”

                “Well, you actually have a fuck load of stuff in common for a start.”

                “Okay. I…” He pauses then and considers it, because Javy’s not wrong. Except for the fact that he may have taken one too many knocks to the head. “Okay. Imagine this. I ask him out. We go out and hit it off. Start a relationship and then two or three years it crashes and burns like all my past relationships and then you and Nat feel awkward as fuck and feel like you can never invite both of us to the same thing ever again…”

                His divorce was five years ago, he’s had two short-lived relationships since then, and he’s just sort of figured that maybe the problem is him. Or his career. His career is such a big part of him though that it’s something he can’t divorce himself from, which is a line Catherine had thrown at him and it had cut deep even if he’d later reflected on it and realized the truth of it.

                “No. No. I don’t accept that. That’s bullshit Jake. For a start if you think Nat wouldn’t force you both to get over yourselves if you broke up – ”

                “If? We haven’t even gone on a fucking date yet.”

                “If you seriously don’t think you could have something with him, then I won’t press. But you guys have a lot of shit in common okay? You’re our best friends for a start, and okay, yeah, that could get a little messy if things don’t work out. But that would only be for a while. Only until Nat beat some sense into both of you…”

                “And what about the fact I have kids?”

                “Bradshaw loves kids. Pretty sure he’s not going to hold that against you. In fact it might even count in your favor.”

                “What do you mean?”

                “Uh… well… he doesn’t really know you like we do. You guys haven’t exactly crossed paths a lot the last few years, with him being stationed so far away. And it’s not like we talk about you to him, other than mention you in passing. So he might have more, um, distinct memories of you from Top Gun that first time. And some of those other times.”

                “Great, so when I was young and dumb and we pretty much had a pissing contest every time we talked to each other? You seriously think this is a good idea?”

                “You’re both Navy. You’re both very family orientated. You like being outdoors. You’re both best friends with either me or Nat, and after fifteen years I have to say I consider him a good friend and I seriously think you two could work.”

                “So you don’t really dare me, because that’s juvenile shit… you just think it’s a really good idea.”

                “Jake, buddy, my dearest and oldest friend and godfather of my children… I’m still daring you because you’re juvenile as fuck and I want you to do this. In fact, I’m not just daring you, I’m double-dog-daring you.”

                “Ugh, you suck…” Jake mutters, knocking his head back on the bricks like it will somehow relieve the annoyance he’s feeling.

                “Nope. But you might if you follow through on this dare.”

                “You’re disgusting. One day your kids are going to ask what you mean and it will serve you right.”

                Javy just laughs at him and Jake hates that he knows him so well.

                He guesses he’s asking Bradshaw on a date.

…             …             …

                They’ve decided on a local tap house specializing in IPAs and Jake is pretty sure neither of them cares about that, but it’s low pressure and informal enough that they can just pretend this is two friends catching up rather than their best friends insisting they go on a date. He’s still getting flashbacks to some of their previous meetings, and he knows that’s all past, that their most recent interactions have actually been mature and adult, but it still feels a little surreal to be meeting up with him without Javy and Nat also in attendance.

                Bradshaw enters the building and he looks weird. It’s been a couple of years since Jake’s seen him in person, their careers taking them to different parts of the world. He’s not wearing a Hawaiian shirt, is missing his moustache and looks good, light blue button-down with sleeves rolled up, showing of tanned forearms and wearing dark jeans. He’s always been attractive, Jake isn’t blind, but right now he’s allowing himself to look and appreciate. It’s a different experience than what he’s used to when faced with all of Bradley Bradshaw.

                “Hey Jake.”

                “Bradley…” he replies, the name unfamiliar in his mouth. They don’t hug or even shake hands, both letting out little huffs of laughter at the awkwardness and Jake motions to the booth he’d been directed to when he arrived. They sit opposite one another and place drink orders with the hovering waiter.

                “Is this as weird for you as it is for me?”

                “Yeah. I have to say, I didn’t expect you to ask me out. I promised Nat I’d give you a chance so…” Bradshaw says, and he shrugs, but his smile isn’t mocking, just a little.. shy maybe?

                “Well, don’t do me any favors Bradshaw. I’m only here because Javy double-dog dared me,” he says it with a wink, his lips twitching in amusement and hopes Bradshaw takes it with the levity in which he means it. He does, laughing and Jake has to admit he looks good.

                “Only you would feel the need to do something because you got dared into doing it.”

                “You saying Natasha daring you to do something wouldn’t make you do it?”

                “More like the opposite really. She tells me not to do something and I immediately go and do it.”

                “God, you must drive her insane.”

                “I’ve mellowed as I’ve gotten older.” Jake laughs again, because he’s not sure if it’s mellowing or simply maturing, but he knows what Bradshaw means. “Anyway, we might as well catch-up, not like we don’t have plenty of things we can talk about.”

                They talk. They talk and talk and he finds himself enjoying it more than he thought he would. Bradshaw is funny and entertaining, intelligent and not afraid to poke fun of his younger self, admitting that he’s come a long way. He asks about Jake’s daughters, listens to endless stories about them with a smile on his face and asks to see photos. Naturally they talk about Javy and Natasha, their joint godchildren, the sickeningly sweet way they can be together sometimes, but how happy they both are for their closest friend.

                Food arrives, is eaten and shared easily when Jake apparently eyes the ribs a little too hard. He makes a passing comment about ribs in Texas and having to get Bradley to try them next time they visit and while a part of his brain spirals away in mortification, he manages to keep his expression neutral, and Bradley doesn’t seem to even do a double take at the vague mention of a future. He is very firmly Bradley now though, not Bradshaw, and he wonders how he might think of Jake. Whether it’s callsign, last-name or first. He definitely seems to use Jake with no hesitation and another little part of his brain wonders how else his name might sound at other times… He startles a little at that train of thought, not really having thought about taking Bradley to bed. It’s not an unappealing thought, but it does feel…

                “Does this feel a little weird to you?”

                “Yep. Little surreal. Not bad… but,” he shrugs then, but Jake knows exactly what he means.

                They both pass on dessert but order coffee, neither of them wanting to stop talking and he feels a little warm when Bradley stretches his legs out, brushes against his own legs and then just rests there while they keep talking. It’s been over four hours and that’s… god, he doesn’t think he’s spent this much time just talking with anyone like this other than Javy or his parents in years. It feels good.

                They finish up and settle the bill, walking out; Bradley holds the door open for him and Jake hasn’t been on a date with someone who holds doors open in a while. The last person he dated seriously was his ex-wife and while he’s had a couple of very short-lived relationships since then, none of them had felt this easy. They walk aimlessly, or what he thought was aimlessly until they’re stopping beside a car and it beeps as Bradley unlocks it before turning and looking at Jake, lips quirked in amusement.

                “God, let’s get this over and done with, come here…”

                Jake’s laughing as Bradley’s hand lands on his waist and tugs him close, they’re both smiling as they begin to kiss, Bradley a couple of inches taller than him giving him an ever so slight height advantage and downward angle and Jake presses into it, lets his own hands settle on Bradley’s hips. They’re not smiling anymore, the spark between them like a pleasurable electric shock and Jake groans into it, not having expected to feel anything more than warm pressure. Bradley’s hands become firmer, his body pressing against Jake’s and it feels feverish, an edge of desperation that doesn’t have an explanation. Their lips are slick, urging each other to press a little firmer and his stomach swoops with anticipation, his cock starting to harden. He’s pretty sure this is meant to be a goodnight kiss, not fucking foreplay and he pulls back ever so slightly, reluctant to step away from the press of Bradley’s body against his. But they should probably talk.

                “Fucking hell…” Bradley says, and he doesn’t move away either, the words murmured into the side of Jake’s neck and his body feels tingly with awareness.

                “Yeah. Wasn’t quite, uh, expecting that.”

                “Uh no, neither was I. Fuck.”

                “What’s wrong?” Jake asks, because while he might be feeling a little surprised, he’s not upset at all.

                “Are we that blind? Were our best friends able to see… that?”

                Jake snorts.

                “Well, I think until recently one or both of us have been in relationships so no, I don’t think they’ve been waiting for us to figure our shit out for years or anything. But maybe they thought we might… get along?”

                Bradley huffs a laugh and pulls back enough to give him an amused look and oh, it reminds him of all the times before when he’s given Jake a similar look. He’d thought back then that Bradley had been laughing at him, but he thinks he’s had it wrong, it’s been Bradley inviting him to share in a private joke, to laugh along with him. Okay. Maybe Javy has seen something all along.

                “So… we doing this then?” Jake asks, because he needs to know. Wants to know.

                “I’m… yeah. I’m in.”

                “Okay. Good. Me too,” Jake says, and he kisses him again, wants to know if their first kiss was a fluke of some sort but is very happy to be proven wrong. His entire body thrums with arousal and god, it’s been a while, but not long enough to warrant this type of reaction. He wants to take Bradley to bed.

                “So,” Bradley says, his lips and teeth leaving little ticklish nibbles along Jake’s jaw. “I guess one of the benefits of doing this now is we both have a better idea of what we’re looking for. Already sorted through our twenties and thirties…”

                “Yeah. Know what you’re looking for in a partner, also what you’re not looking for… Oh fuck… Bradley,” Jake mutters as Bradley grinds against him and he can’t believe they’re making out against Bradley’s car like a couple of teenagers.

                “Yeah Jake… Didn’t think I’d find it right in front of me, but I’m not disappointed.”

                “Oh god, Javy’s never going to let me live this down. He’s going to be fucking insufferable.”

                “Don’t worry, I’ll make it worth it.”

                “Fuck, yes please.”

#Top Gun Maverick #hangster #sereshaw #rooster x hangman #together or not at all...

[heyclickadee]

@cas-echo Okay, soooo, here’s my set of theories for the skull. Sort of theories, anyway. They’re whatever you call it when it’s halfway between theory and headcanon:

I think there are multiple possible reasons for why Clone Force 99 took the skull motif and then ran with it, especially since those skulls show up in a couple different ways, and I think it’s worth looking at them separately.

First off, there are the skulls we see on the faces of the original four bad batchers’ helmets:

You’ve got the slightly more naturalistic but still angry looking skull on half of Hunter’s helmet; the less human and more monstrous looking skull on Wrecker’s; the very neat, streamlined, stylized skull on Crosshair’s helmet; and then the one on Tech’s helmet, which so heavily stylized it’s basically just the white part of his helmet forming the basic shape of the front third of a skull, with the bottom part of his helmet forming a mandible. The only one of the adult batchers who doesn’t have the helmet motif obviously worked into the face of their helmet is Echo:

The shape is kind of almost there, but it’s hard to tell if it’s deliberately a skull or not—and if it was, it seems like Echo chose not to highlight it as much as the others did.

I haven’t really settled on one headcanon or theory for why Clone Force 99 settled on a skull generally, why the original four have skulls over their helmets, and why those skulls all look a little different, but here’s a general list of ideas:

1. They came up with it when they were developmentally/biologically fifteen and ran and ran with it in a ‘teenagers think skulls are cool’ kind of way. I don’t actually think this is that likely, but it’s a possibility.

2. They came up with it when they were developmentally/biologically fifteen and ran with it in an edgy but justified, ‘we’re all doomed’ kind of way. Again, this isn’t where I’m landing with this most of the time, but it could be a factor.

3. Hunter got really drunk and got a skull tattooed over half his face, and the rest of them ran with it out of solidarity. (I don’t actually think this happened, but it is a little funny to think about.)

4. Hunter, completely sober, got the skull tattoo in a moment of ennui, and the rest of them ran with it out of solidarity again. (I don’t really think this happened, either. There are a ton of nerve endings in the skin on your face, and with Hunter’s enhanced senses, that tattoo probably hurt for a couple weeks. That wasn’t something he did on a whim, and they probably all decided on the skull theme before he did it. But it’s more lighthearted than the rest of these are going to be, so….)

5. It was part of attempt to tie their helmet designs into the designs of the regular clone helmets. There is something slightly skull like about clone helmets. Not to the same extent as storm trooper helmets, but it is about halfway there (Maybe not there enough to make this count, but we’re running with this here). It’s possible that the bad batchers, whose helmets are all shaped to their individual needs picked up on this and went with the skull motif in a, “hey, we’re clones too,” kind of way. I tend to hover between a “maybe no” and “maybe that was one of the ideas that went into it” on this one.

Aaaand, getting into stuff I do think is more likely now (I think of all three of these next things as operating simultaneously. They’re not separate, it’s just easier to list them separately):

6. Medical trauma. I’m banking in this as part of the reasoning behind Hunter’s tattoo and the 8-bit lightning skull on Tech’s earmuffs, too. There’s a non-zero chance that these guys have seen each others’ skeletons, and another non-zero chance that they’ve seen their own.

7. There’s a self-aware acknowledgement of how other people see them to the batch’s use of the skulls, and on two levels. First, there’s the acknowledgement that they, clones generally, are considered dead men walking by most everyone around them. This had to be part of the thinking, even if it was a small part.

And then there’s the other level—tailoring each of the skulls on their helmets to how they think other clones and other people generally see them and using that perception as the mask they wear into battle (and honestly, I think there’s an aspect of this to Hunter’s and Crosshair’s tattoos, too).

And here’s a rundown of how people who don’t know them we’ll probably see them: Hunter—the brooding one who’s scary good with a knife? That’s a guy that’ll kill you up close. Angry impressionistic skull it is. Crosshair, the cold, quiet one who can shoot? The skull on his helmet had better be clean, geometrical, and emphasize the one thing everyone knows he can do. Tech, the know-it-all who talks a little stiffly and way too much (I’m sorry, you know that Tech got shit like this, they absolutely talked about him like he was a computer)? He’s going to simplify the shape of that skull down so much that you really have to look to see that it’s a human skull at all, especially if he’s got the visor down. And Wrecker? Wrecker, who’s larger than life, massively strong, and almost frightening (listen, Wrecker also got the same shit as Tech did, just in the opposite direction; people absolutely talked about Wrecker like he was a brute and probably did so in front of him)? Well, he’s painting his helmet so that his skull has a scary monster face.

And to be completely clear, none of that is who they are—that’s what people who don’t know them well see. And there’s kind of an interesting “up yours” in the batch potentially taking the things people wrongly perceive as being “off” about them and incorporating the look of that it into the helmets they wear to protect themselves. Kind of works on a meta level, too*

8. And, jumping off of that, here’s the main thing I think is going on: There’s absolutely a little bit of Jolly Roger style psychological warfare going on with those helmet skulls, too. You’re on the opposing side and you see those skulls? Better surrender and make things easier for everyone, because these guys are going to kill you. They’re like vultures**—they’re symbols of death, but not their own deaths. Call an ambulance, but not for them.

So, that’s what I’ve got for the skulls on the helmets. Now, as far as skulls being the team motif and this particular skull:

They all have this. At least, at the beginning of the show, all of them have this skull painted on their right shoulder pauldron, except for Echo, who has it stenciled on the left side of his cuirass.

I think there’s definitely something to be made for why Echo’s got that skull in a different place and why his helmet doesn’t do the skull thing as much as the others, but. The other day, I put up a post about how it had been bugging me that the skull Clone Force 99 uses as their squad logo has the proportions of a child’s skull. For evidence of that, here’s the logo overlaid with an adult skull, versus the logo overlaid with the skull of a three year old:

The three year old’s skull fits much closer than the adult’s does.

And it had been bugging me because, well, on the one hand, real world special ops groups using a skull as their logo isn’t actually that uncommon. And, honestly, I do think that was probably where the germ of the idea came from on the production side of things before they really started thinking through it, but I don’t think that’s where it ended. Because it’s usually, you know, an angry skull. With a beret or a helmet. An “I’m gonna kill you” skull with a gun. It’s usually not a completely placid child’s skull. But Clone Force 99’s squad logo is, and I’ve got exactly two theories for why.

1. It’s not supposed to be a child’s skull, it’s just a regular skull that had to be squished to fit, please stop overthinking this. Very possible. Definitely possible. But it’s boring.

2. Just like the way they’re Clone Force 99 when 99 was both 99’s name and the designation given to all the clones who didn’t come out “right”, and just like the way the bad batch called themselves “the bad batch,” that skull is it’s both an in memoriam to other “defective” clones and a gigantic “fuck you” to the Kaminoans.

Clone society is one on which the Kaminoans actively practiced eugenics. There’s a reason there are very few disabled-from-the-tube clones running around besides the batch and 99. Clones who didn’t align to product standards were probably either, well…decommissioned, or they were experimented on. And it’s possible that there was an age cut-off point for that, where certain “defective” clones who seemed normal enough were allowed to develop (and be used as lab rats) until very early childhood (say, physically three or four), and decommissioned if it looked like they wouldn’t be useful. If it looked like they were going to be useful, experimentation would continue. We know from both Nala Se saying “five are all that remain” and the frighteningly large number of tubes in her private lab that Hunter, Wrecker, Tech, and Crosshair weren’t the only clones she experimented on, and I don’t think the experimentation stopped when they were sent to be with the other clones. They’re just probably the only ones who lived to adulthood.

So. That team logo? A gigantic “fuck you” to the Kaminoans. A “look at us, we survived past the age you usually killed us, we’re ‘defective’ and good at what we do, fuck your idea of defective, and fuck you for killing the others,” in their faces. I honestly don’t care if that was intentional on the part of anyone working in production, that’s how I’m interpreting it.

*Kind of an aside, but it’s fun to look at the contrast between the skulls on the faces of all their helmets and the actual looks on all faces in those original season one character posters. Hunter looks a little scared and uncertain, Crosshair looks conflicted and/or in pain, Wrecker’s got this very gentle half-smile on his face, and then Tech has this intense glare aimed at the camera like he’s going to kick its entire ass.

**I have a completely unhinged rant about vultures in my drafts that I’ll probably never actually finish.

#the bad batch #cw child death #eugenics #cw eugenics #sorry the end of this gets dark #you need another reason to hate the Kaminoans? #because I got one right here #anyway kind of feel like the conspiracy guy ranting in front of the conspiracy board with this one #is this intentional? #maybe #do I care? #no

[theexaltedbride]

Dead Island 2 Slayers X Reader Headcanons (Part 4!)

Amy:

-You once caught Amy playing with a small puzzle piece on a string. When asked about it, she was very shy about it at first. But after thinking it over she decided to open up about it. It’s actually a little gift from her twin sister. Amy’ sister actually has the other half of the puzzle piece and the two of them fit together. Since meeting you she’s actually started considering getting a third piece for you to have. *

-At the theater she tried to sneak away with a few Romero Awards that were left lying around, because when would she ever get another chance at holding one? Plus, she planned on gifting one of them to her sister as a souvenir. 

-You and Amy sometimes share gum via a kiss, which grosses out some of the other survivors. Which Amy finds kind of BS, because they are all regularly covered in zombie guts.

-Amy once wanted to go back to her old school where she taught her students, but was afraid of what she would find. You promised to be there with her the entire time when she felt ready to go back and clear it out.

-Amy has been floating the idea of scavenging one or two arcade machines for the Gameroom back at Emma’s mansion. You’ve tried to tell her that this will be a lot of work and you could just play all sorts of other games. But the fun of playing on an actual arcade machine is worth it, nothing beats the classics. Looks like you might have to raid the pier at some point to give her a nice surprise when she comes back from a supply run.

Bruno:

-Loves talking about his grandfather now and again, and genuinely appreciates when you let him do so and don’t get annoyed or tired of him geeking out over his family. 

-Hated visiting the Santa Monica peer and fighting the Autophage Apex Clown there. Bruno isn’t afraid of clowns, but that freak there almost gave him a phobia of them. When one shows up he might hide behind you because you are braver than him against them.

-Would absolutely clear out the Theater for you so that the two of you could watch movies there and take selfies with the various Hollywood stars on the Walk of Fame. 

-Has started thinking about setting up playlists for you and the group that can be broadcast over one of the radio frequencies to give you all something to listen to when going around Hell-A saving people and fighting Zeds.

-In his free time Bruno has started teaching you some concepts of Tarot cards and asking Lady Luck to look out for you.

Carla:

-Unironically loves blaring Daddy Yankee’s “Gasolina” when driving around, and will get so excited if you sing along with her even if you don’t speak any Spanish. Tell anyone else about it and she will punch you in the arm (but since she loves you, you get only 5% of the normal force she’d use).

-She got pretty mad at the Santa Monica peer when she played one of those rigged claw games and tried to get herself a stuffed shark. Spent almost five dollars worth of scavenged coins to get one. She nearly smashes the machine open, but she really wanted to win one fair and square, to prove her skill to the machine.

-Would absolutely steal one of the walk of fame stars for you and bring it back to the hideout as a nice gift to you. Might not be the best plan in the world, but it’s the thought that counts.

-On the boardwalk by the beach she showed off just how much she can actually lift, and trying to bring some of it back to Emma’s mansion.

-For as much as an adrenaline junkie she can be, she doesn’t like the rush she gets when you are in danger. It feels terrible, full of fear and anxiety, rather than the world spinning rush she normally loves when doing something dangerous. 

Dani:

-When the Clown Apex roared at you both and made you jump, Dani actually roared back at it to establish dominance, but also because she didn’t like seeing you so freaked out by any kind of zombie.

-While she is more than happy to do everyone’s hair, she does not let anyone style her own hair, not even you. 

-While she’s a skilled drinker she’s not actually good at doing some of those shot glass tricks you sometimes see on the internet. She’s actually trying to learn how to do them just to impress you.

-Sometimes when you both sleep together she utterly becomes a cuddle bug and refuses to let you get up and out of bed for at least another thirty minutes in the morning.

-During days off from zombie slaying, she will sit back in the pool and drink while listening to music, though whenever you join her she spends a significant portion of that time watching and admiring you.

Jacob:

-Jacob can sometimes be a little sensitive about his damaged right eye (both because it aches in sunlight and because of how much it stands out). So you sometimes make it a point to gently pull off his sunglasses when you are alone together at night, to look at his eyes as they are and show him it doesn’t matter, you still love him.

-Likes to share his smokes with you, and its becoming common for the both of you to just pass the same one around whenever you’re nearby. 

-He shows you some of his old stuntman tricks in areas you have cleared out of Zeds, so that you can better move and fight across Hell-A.

-Has been eager to show you off to his mother, and actually changes his style of dress and hair style when taking a more ‘official’ looking photo for his mom to send to her when you can all finally get a signal out of Hell-A.

-Assures you that hanging on to the tire of a plane in midair was absolutely not the wildest or most dangerous stunt he’s ever done. But that he’d do it all over again because it meant he got to meet you.

Ryan:

-When it was your birthday, Ryan had a special surprise for you by showing you just what he used to do as a male dancer. It was a private show, but everyone knew what was going on just from how much effort Ryan put into cleaning himself up, and how loud the music was during the dance.

-You both actually found the costume shop where Ryan got his fake firefighter helmet and he went into detail about how many costumes he tried on before he was confident enough to try and pull a fast one at the evacuation zone, so of course you ask him if he’d be willing to try some of them on again just for you, and you ended up doing the same for him. 

-You found out that his brother has some teasing names for Ryan, and you have become desperate in trying to guess them. Yet he still holds strong in keeping them from you. I guess you will have to find new names to tease him with.

-If you don’t know how to dance Ryan will be more than happy to teach you. Don’t laugh! Of course he knows how to do more than just stripping. Knowing different kinds of dance styles is paramount to being the best dancer at his agency.

-When Ryan found out you always had the hots for an old 90s Pup Action hero he actually went out of his way to find a costume of it and a fake moustache. Surprisingly he can really pull it off. 

All Purpose Headcanons:

-After you evacuated Sam, Emma and Patton on the chopper your lover, and the other Slayers stood together as one force. Utterly wiping out the swarm of infected, cutting through them all like a scythe through wheat. Seeing all of you working together, the Eschaton Group realized that there was finally someone out there who could challenge them. For the first time now there was something which stood in stark opposition to their ‘Survival of the fittest’ policy, and instead put forth a ‘Survival of the United’ ideal.

-With all of the people you’ve been saving, your reputation amongst Hell-A’s survivor communities is starting to get serious, and more people are actively calling on the radios for ‘The Slayers’ to come and help them. You’re becoming the saviors of Hell-A.

-Given how big Hell-A is, and how many people need help, you can’t always move together as one massive group, and instead have to split into teams to help where you ae most needed and best suited. But when you are all together into one badass zombie slaying mob, there isn’t a single Zed out there who can stand against you.

OOC:  (*So, according to an AMA by the devs it turns out that what Amy had around her neck was a puzzle piece that matches one her twin sister also has. All this time I thought it was a little cross she prayed to or kissed when she was afraid. I never got a good look at it and kind of wish the puzzle piece aspect had gotten more focus in her cutscenes.)

#Dead Island #Dead Island 2 #Dead Island Headcanons #Dead Island x Reader #Dead Island Slayers x Reader #Character X Reader #character x reader shipping #headcanons #DI2

[erenxfrieda]

Idk if ur comfy with it but could we maybe get yan!viktor x reader x yan!five BUT it’s poly yanderes? Or if ur not comfy with five/viktor they’re just sharing reader platonically, but they’re still really close.

I just think it makes sense since viktor and five are kind of the two Hargreeves who get along and seem to like each other the best (and there has been some shippy implications esp with Aidan himself stating that he doesn’t view them as entirely platonic)

Viktor is def a v understated Yandere and I think he doesn’t really engage in a lot of Yandere behavior himself asides from maybe some stalking so I think where he shines as a Yandere is his complacency or cooperation with another, more severe Yandere— aka Five

Because Viktor, of course, would never dream of kidnapping you, but if Five is doing it— well, Viktor is never going to go against Five.

Esp since in a scenario with a Yandere Five some of his Yandere-ness probably effects how he interacts with other people he cares about— which is mostly Viktor, so in that sense Viktor is sort of a darling himself.

Viktor can really gain the trust and affection of the darling easily because the darling views Viktor as more of a fellow victim than a perpetrator, even if Viktor is actively cooperating with Five. It can lead to a sort of bad cop/good cop dynamic where Viktor slowly breaks down readers walls and feeds back information to Five.

And Five, who of course loves Viktor as well as reader, isn’t jealous because he wants reader to love Viktor too, and because this will eventually lead to reader learning to love him.

Again, totally fine if it’s platonic, I just want to have them both share darling. Yanderes are a lot scarier when they work together!!!

Yandere!Five x Reader x Yandere!Viktor

interesting request I must say, I really like the idea of Five and Viktor work as a team to get what they want. okay so I want to make a few warnings. I was very interested in your idea, I like it, but I want to add something from myself. I hope you don't mind? great, so Five&Reader& Viktor here are the same age (physically). I'm not the best with adding warnings but I will try to make them very accurate.

Viktor, Five and Reader in their 20s.

warnings: yandere/dark themes, kidnaping, some Five x Viktor mentions(?), really sweet Viktor but he gets intimidating in one part, really scary guy Five, angst, no happy ending (for reader at least), mention of pills/drugs, light references to past traumas, everything here is done against reader`s will, controlling Five, Five can be abusive towards reader.

I don't know how you managed to get the attention of these two...But good luck.

Relationships with Five and Viktor are like a rollercoaster ride. Today, these two can be such a sweethearts with you and tomorrow, Five can find any reason just so you can be punished, while Viktor will try his best to convince him not to do this.

You quickly shook your head, refusing the food Five offered to you. He sat across from you, taking a few pieces of food on fork before presenting it to you. You kept your mouth shut, holding on tightly to the edge of the table in an attempt to push back as far away from it as possible before Five grabbed your hand, holding you tightly in your seat.

“Come on, I've been cooking this damn food since morning, have a little respect-” he frowns, pressing the fork closer to your lips, but you were stubborn and only whimpered softly. 

Viktor was on your other side, holding a plate of food, helping 5 to feed you. He notices Five's eye twitching in irritation and Vik tried to lighten up the mood. 

“Please, darling, have a bite, it's really delicious,” Viktor smiles sweetly, hoping you'll listen, but instead you ignore him, pushing Five's hand away from you. 

Viktor twitches slightly in surprise and his attention is quickly focused on Number Five, waiting for his reaction. A small sigh comes from Five and he closes his eyes for a moment, mentally counting to 10. 

“Well that was pretty rude,” he says surprisingly calmly, until he suddenly grabs your arm, dragging you out of the room.

Viktor quickly gets up right behind you, clearly nervous but still trying to stop 5 from doing what he's about to do. He stands in front of Five, blocking his path, which causes a disapproving reaction from the other man. 

“Stay out of this,” he says sternly, narrowing his eyes. 

“Five, stop, you're hurting them,” Viktor shakes his head, standing still and Five almost rolls his eyes at this behavior, obviously not happy with the fact that situation already took for them longer than it has to be. 

Blink, and Five, still dragging you with himself, now appears a few steps away from Viktor. 7 turns around immediately, looking offended and about to protest again, until Five interrupts him, pushing you into the room and locking you up. After a moment, he turns around, walking past Viktor. 

“I did what I had to,” 5 patted him gently on the shoulder, sighing tiredly. “Come on, Vik, let's have a drink.”

I actually agree with what you say that Viktor is too gentle and kind to you, he is partly the hostage of this situation, but if you really piss off Viktor by acting like Leonard, then oh, poor you. Viktor won't kill you, no, but this man is unpredictable. He can accidentally hurt you, for example, like with Allison, or he will might try to act intimidating as with Marcus. Trust me, Viktor is not as innocent as you might think.

If you make Viktor angry, it will be extremely difficult for you to calm him down. It can only stop in two cases. 1) You will be so scared that you will find protection in hands of Number Five. 2) Viktor hurt you and only then he realize how far he has gone.

Five will be very surprised by your behavior, given that before the roles were reversed, when Five was angry at you, you always hid behind Viktor`s back. But right now...Well, if you deserve punishment - Five won`t save you.

You're shaking like a leaf, hands holding on dear life at man's jacket, as if you'd probably die if you let go. Your breathing is unstable and you try to make your figure as small as possible, wanted to hide and become invisible. Tears form in your eyes and Five at first frowns, raising an eyebrow at your behavior. 

“What did you do this time?” he asks, tilting his head. 

You swallow hard before telling the reason for your fight with Viktor. Five remains silent for a while as he just looks at you, listening to the whole story, then he sighs heavily, clearly tired. Five wanted to spend this day without any troubles, rest and relax, and not become a third party in conflict. 

“Your lucky that I love you too much,” he grumbles, putting his hand on your head and gently, almost reassuringly petting you. 

You nod and hold onto him tighter when you hear footsteps outside the door before Viktor enters. His face doesn't show anger, more like disappointment that you see some kind of monster in him. Viktor is not a bad guy, he just wants to talk. He's sorry if you were afraid of his outburst, he didn't want to hurt you, but you should understand him too, you should have learned all the rules a long time ago after all this time you spent with them. Viktor's eyes widen slightly as he sees you trembling and almost crying in Five's arms and it hurts him so much to see that, knowing that he's the reason of it. His attention then shifts to Five, who looked like he was expecting an explanation from his expression.

“I'm really sorry-” Viktor says, taking a step towards you and your reaction was to instantly hide behind Number Five with your head down. 

Words stuck in Viktor's throat and he doesn't know what to say at all, just looks at Five, begging for help with this. It's so unfair, he thinks, that once again people don't trust him and Viktor's heart hurts, like he's back in cage that Reginald built for him. Five placed a hand on your shoulder, gently pushing you forward so you could get closer to Viktor and you whimpered softly, resisting weakly. Eventually, you are back next to him and you notice 5 leaning slightly towards you.

“Come on, give him a second chance, honey,” he says calmly, but it sounds more like a demand than a request. 

Knowing Five, you couldn't say no to him, because dealing with two angry kidnappers meant twice as much trouble, so you finally looked at Viktor, who was waiting for your decision. You hesitantly took a few steps towards him and wrapped your arms around his waist, which causes a sigh of relief from V. Viktor hugs you back, resting his chin on your shoulder as he smiled slightly at Five, silently thanking him for his help.

But I have another little scenario, but it's not really nice and happy for you. As I said, Five may not help you if you beg him for it. You can cry into his chest, promise him that now you will be obedient, but he will only shake his head, not changing his mind about the situation in any way. He pats you on the head and goes back to his business, like reading some newspaper or drinking coffee, looking calm and relaxed, despite the fact that you are ready to burst into tears right in front of him. “You know the rules, sweetheart,” he says without looking up from his reading. “But I am not your helper in this, here you are on your own.”

As for the rules, I think it would be something like: “don't mention Reginald Hargreeves in this house”, “talk about Delores either well or don`t mention here at all”, “don't talk about Leonard” and most importantly “respect the past traumas of 5 and 7". I think some of these points would have been made by either Viktor or Five, but for example Viktor would tell you about Delores and Five would tell you about incident with Leonard. The rest of the rules you could come up with yourself, given that it's not so hard to guess by noticing their reaction, so you have adapted to this and understand when it needs to be silent.

Viktor and Five get along very well and you can tell by the way they treat each other. You may be some random person that the two fell in love with, and you probably don't know much about the Hargreeves childhood, other than that they were members of the Umbrella Academy and were bought by Reginald, who was also a pretty shitty person at all when it came to kids. When you hurt 5 or 7, with your words, Five will be clearly angry, he might punish you if you did something really bad, but at some point he will stop and just leave you, coming to Viktor to calm down and talk about it. Viktor often acts as the one who helps you and 5 make up and you should be very grateful that in your life, there is Viktor, otherwise everything would be worse.

I love writing about 5 as someone with anger control issues, but that's kind of not true. Five is pretty good at it, he can stay sane and cold when he needs to. He is patient with Viktor and doesn't snap back when Viktor gets stubborn and doesn't listen to him. He tolerates when Luther or Allison accuse him of being the cause of all the trouble. And now you are part of the Number Five`s family and he is ready to do anything for you, but know that each person has his own limits.

If you're part of the Hargreeves too, then I imagine you can be very close at 5 and 7 since childhood. You may be the second only person in Viktor's life who made his time at the Academy a little brighter. For Five, you can play the same role as Viktor , but unlike Viktor, your abilities are not kept in secret, you are strong and can stand up for yourself and for Viktor too in case of emergency, so Five, before, didn`t saw you as weak and fragile, therefore less thought about the fact that you need his protection. I see 5 as a child as the current Sparrow Ben, hungry for praise and recognition but more rebellious than submissive, 5 is really motivated to get what he wants. 5 spent most of his time at the Academy practicing trying to get better, his room is empty unlike yours or Viktor's, but I believe you and Viktor would fix that. As you get older and the two work together, 5 will begin to see your abilities as a hindrance, since obviously you'll use them to harm Viktor or Five, worse yet, your abilities can be dangerous for you as well. It's honestly hard to imagine what Five would do in this case, he doesn't want to use the same pills that Reginald was giving Viktor, it's a traumatic experience for Viktor and he doesn't want to make him go through the same thing twice, but Five used to be in the role of bad guy when he just wants to save his loved ones. Viktor also doesn't want to see you locked up, you don't deserve it, you remind him of his young self, in the same gray soundproof cage. This seriously hurts him. But Five knows that he need to be the one who makes the toughest decisions. Five believes that Viktor will forgive him, just as you forgive him. Not like you  have any other choice.

If Five notices that Viktor can become a serious problem, like how soft he becomes towards you, practically a few steps away to help you escape, then 5 will have to warn him. You will probably feel a little sorry for Viktor, well, he is also guilty, he is one of the reason why you in this situation, but if you choose between 5 and 7, then you would with no doubt choose 7, because you are more likely to get along with him. Seeing that Viktor and you are in a similar situation makes you warm up to him and it`s on hand for this two.

Viktor rubs his eyes, still half asleep as he walks into the kitchen. He smells  something delicious and it makes him smile slightly as he opens the door, just to find Five preparing breakfast.

“You're pretty early today, Five,” Viktor says, moving closer to Five to make some coffee. 

“Someone has to look after your lazy asses,” Five replies sarcastically as he continues to chop up the food.

This comment makes Viktor chuckle softly and take a cup of coffee and sit down at the table, silently watching Five. The silence between the two was pleasant and calm, without making it uncomfortable. Viktor relaxes in his seat and wonders how the day will go. You've been so nice lately and it made Viktor smile shyly to himself just by remembering it. It was still hard for you to trust 5 and Viktor tried so hard that you could love Five as much as he did. When Five was busy with work, Viktor would spend all his free time with you, talking about different things, until at one point the dialogue would turn to the fact that Viktor mentioned how hard 5 works for you, that he saved the world twice in order to be able to live peaceful life together. Viktor blinks several times, focusing again on Five, who is now carefully grinding the pill into a powder, then pouring it onto the plate of food. 

“Five, please don't tell me it is…” Viktor freezes in place in disbelief. 

“I`m not going to lie to you, but it is,” Five nods, still focused on work. “And it's different. This one will actually help this time.”

Viktor looks at Five with shock, right now he feels a lot of emotions and it`s makes him struggle not to break. He feels angry when he finds out that 5 kept it in secret from him, that he is doing this to you, then he feels a slight fear, afraid that one day, Five will try to use it on Viktor himself. He feels so bad, as if there is not enough air in his chest, and noticing Viktor's suspicious silence, Five finally approaches him, placing a plate in front of 7, he puts his hands on Viktor's shoulders, leaning down slightly. 

“It'll be all right, I promise, leave the hardest part to me,” 5 smiles, trying to calm the other man in front of him. “Now why don’t you take this plate and wake our little sleepyhead?”

#yandere tua #tua x reader #yandere x reader #five hargreaves x reader #yandere five hargreeves #yandere five hargreeves x reader #five hargreeves #umbrella academy x reader #yandere umbrella academy #tua imagine #yandere number five #number five x reader #yandere viktor hargreeves #viktor hargreeves x reader #tw yandere

[cranberrylovely]

Mr Beast x Y/n x SapNap (love triangle)

- You’re Chandler’s sister and his legacy of accidentally becoming a part of the Mr Beast crew is bestowed unto you.

———————

I watched silently in the back seat as the rain hit the car window. Usually I would be in the front next to my brother, Chandler, but we were on the way to shoot a video with some of his friends. Nick was in my spot and I listened to the two of them talk.

“Probably like, ‘Last One to Let Go of the Lambo Gets the Lambo’ or something like that,” Nick said. They were trying to figure out what Jimmy’s new video was going to be.

“He did that already,” I muttered quietly. It was mostly to myself, but Nick turned around to face me.

“What? You keep tabs on him or something?” he asked teasingly as a grin spread across his lip. “Part of the notification gang?”

“Aren’t you in the dream SMP?” I shot back. His smile faded and I tried to hide mine. “Yeah, that’s what I thought. Fuckin’ loser.” He turned back around.

Nick and I had known each other for a while. Ever since I turned 21, I’ve been getting more and more involved with helping out in Mr Beast videos. I haven’t been offered any sort of role yet. I usually just hang around until somebody needs something. Like an unpaid PA.

But since Chandler’s some hotshot now and hangs out with a bunch of YouTubers, I’ve met my fair share. Nick, or “SapNap”, is one of them. He’s probably the only one I’ve stayed in touch with, being the same age and all.

“If you’re really wondering what his plan might be, look at the facts,” I started. “Nick, you’re only featured in his videos when they’re special of start with the word ‘extreme’. So it’s probably something like that. Not ‘Last One touching the Lambo’.”

“Whatever, smartass,” Chandler said as we turned into the warehouse parking lot. I kicked the back of his seat.

“Isn’t he supposed to tell you guys in advance? You know, like… ask for your consent?” I asked. We pulled into a spot.

“Are you kidding?” Nick said, nearly laughing.

“Jimmy doesn’t give two shits about consent.” Chandler took the keys out of the ignition and turned back to face me. “Do you know how much he pays us just to be here?”

I didn’t answer. I couldn’t. If I guessed too low, I’d be pissed off that I didn’t get one buck for all the shit I’ve had to do. Coffee runs, lunch runs, dinner runs, you name it. If I guessed too high I’d look stupid. It was a lose/lose situation.

So I didn’t say anything and they just rolled their eyes at me.

I counted only 5 or so cars in the warehouse parking lot. Either this was an exclusive invite or 100 participants were packed into a clown car. Considering the secrecy of the whole ordeal, I assumed it was the first option. And I’d never been involved in one of their smaller videos before.

After getting out of the car, I hurried up to Nick’s side. “Sooo…” I started. “Are you sure I’m allowed to be here?”

“What do you mean?” he asked, glancing at me.

I shrugged. “I don’t know, I’ve always tagged along with Chandler, but I never get invited.”

“What are they gonna do? Kick you out?” He chuckled. “Jimmy’s mean, but he’s not that mean. Besides, if he says anything I’ll punch him.”

I rolled my eyes and laughed. “Yeah, right.”

“Don’t do that,” Chandler said from in front of us. “This is my job and I’ll be fired if you assault him.”

We walked into the lobby and met Chris in the front. He was wearing a stupid ass purple security uniform.

“What are you wearing?” Chandler asked.

Chris spun around. “What do you mean? I look great!”

“You look like the purple guy,” Nick commented.

Chris raised an eyebrow. “That’s the point?”

Nick and I exchanged glances.

“Did you guys not get the memo?” he continued. The three of us just stood in silence.

After an awkward 20 seconds I spoke. “Is it, like, FNAF themed?”

“Hell yeah!” Nolan said, joining us in the lobby. Tareq was beside him, multiple camera bags slung over his shoulder.

“Who else is here?” Chandler asked.

“It’s just us plus Nick,” Chris said. “Well, and another camera guy. Him and Jimmy are in the warehouse setting up the cameras.”

“I should go help out,” Tareq said, spinning on his heel and heading towards the entrance of the warehouse. “Y/n, you wanna come with? My shoulder’s starting to hurt and we could use a hand.”

“Sure,” I said, following him. Really, I wanted to ask where the fuck my paycheck was. You know, since everybody else was getting paid so much they didn’t even need to ask what the video was. But here I was, not a dollar richer. Mr Beast… what a philanthropist.

As soon as we stepped into the warehouse I could tell the video was gonna be sick. The set was huge and designed to look like a live action Five Nights at Freddy’s game. I couldn’t peel my eyes away from all of the detail as Tareq led me through the maze of fake hallways. I couldn’t wait to see what it looked like with the overhead lights off.

We found Jimmy and the other cameraman in the security office setting up hidden cameras.

“Yeah, right there,” Jimmy said, his arms crossed over his chest. He noticed us come in.

“Jimmy, this looks awesome!” I said, genuinely excited. Before then I had barely spoken to him other than to take orders for food.

He looked at me with a dead pan face, almost disappointed to see me. “Yeah, thanks,” he said shortly and took a camera on a tripod from Tareq. “This is charged, right?” he asked.

“Yeah, of course,” Tareq answered.

“Are you sure? Because last time you said that, the camera died half way in and we had to fill an hours worth of footage.”

“Man, that was one time,” Tareq objected, waving his hand defensively.

Jimmy laughed. “Relax,” he said soothingly and patted him on the arm. Then he looked at me and his smile faded. “You gonna do something useful, or what?”

“Well what do you want me to do?” I asked, a little flustered.

Jimmy took a bag from Tareq and practically threw it at me. I barely caught it and swung it over my shoulder. “Just get good clips.” He came over to me and placed a firm hand on my shoulder. I immediately tensed up. “This is your one and only chance, y/n,” he said in a deep, quiet voice. “So don’t fuck it up or you wont step another foot in this building again. Understood?”

“Yeah,” I whispered, blinking while I looked up at him. He towered over me. “Understood.”

He patted me on the shoulder, and left. I could only stare at the back of his head as he walked away, the other camera man following behind him.

After a moment I remembered Tareq was still in the room with me. I looked over at him and he snickered.

“What’s up with your face?” he asked.

I reached up to feel for anything that might have been on it and there was nothing. “What do you mean?”

“It’s so red,” he pointed out.

“Oh, that’s probably since I haven’t eaten today.” Which was a complete bullshit lie. MrBeast just threatened to fire me from a job I didn’t even have, of course I was going to be upset.

-

Before the whole “Last One to Survive Five Nights at Freddy’s Gets $100,000” ordeal, I found Nick in the Party Room portion of the fake pizzeria. I sat across from him and he looked up from his phone with a small smile toward me.

“Hey,” he said. I forced a smile back and set the uncased camera on the table.

“Where’s everyone else?” I asked. He looked around and shrugged.

“Jimmy said we could wander for a bit and get familiar with the set. Oh, and, they also said that the video was supposed to be a secret so don’t post or…”

“Yeah, I get it,” I said. Slowly, Nick’s gaze became worrisome.

“Are you okay?” he asked. I didn’t expect the question so it took me a second to respond.

“Why?”

“Well you seem out of it,” he said. “And… Tareq mentioned something that happened?”

I rolled my eyes. “It was nothing, just something stupid.”

“Y/n, you do know that you are more than welcome here, right?” He reached out and lightly touched the top of my hand.

I could feel my face heating up again.

There was a slightly awkward lull before Jimmy came in and everyone else practically paraded behind him. I immediately picked up my camera and stood up.

Karl was amongst the group, meaning that Chris lied. Then came Nolan, and Chandler, Chris, and Tareq. Jimmy turned to face us all.

“Okay, Tareq and y/n on the moving cameras,” he started, his eyes scanning the list on his phone. “We filmed the intro already, first up is Nick.”

The hustle picked up almost immediately. They put Nick in the security room, and everyone else got into costume. My job was simple enough. I had a certain amount of rooms I was in charge of and I had to stay out of the way of whoever was playing while simultaneously filming them.

The first 5 minutes were going good, since I was able to get some easy shots. But after another 5 of seeing absolutely nobody I started to worry. I was right beside the stage where the ‘animatronics’ were supposed to be in the beginning of the game, but by then all three of them had dispersed. I’d been alone for what felt like forever. Panic began to set in when I considered that I might be missing some important shots. I mean, we could always reenact something if we had to, they did it all the time on the channel. The only thing I truly had to face was Jimmy, and that made me feel uneasy.

I wandered a little bit out of bounds to see if I could find anyone. It was incredibly dark and I was squinting to see my feet. As I turned the corner I felt a warm body crash into mine and I screamed. A hand shot over my mouth. It was Jimmy.

“What the hell are you doing?” It was too dark to see his expression and he spoke quietly, but I could easily assess that he was upset.

I wanted to explain, but his hand lingered on my mouth, pressing me up against the wall. My heart was pounding from the jumpscare and continued the longer he held onto me. Voices grew closer and he put a finger to his lips.

“Guys, I could’ve sworn I just heard a scream,” Nick said to the camera in his dumb YouTube Entertainer voice.

“I think it was y/n.” That was Chandler. “Y/n!?” He called.

Jimmy backed up. “Laugh it off,” he ordered, leading me toward the voices. As if he were an activated toy he began to laugh when we ran into Nick and Chandler. “Y/n, tell them what just happened.” That’s when I saw Tareq with the camera, still filming.

“I literally didn’t hear anything for like 10 minutes,” I played along. “So I was looking for you guys and right when I turned the corner Jimmy jumped out at me. It was horrifying!”

“I thought she was SapNap,” Jimmy added and pointed to Nick. I’d never felt more threatened to laugh along with someone. It was like there was a gun to my head.

My heart was still pounding.

#mrbeast #enemies to lovers #sapnap #x reader #fanfiction #slow burn #chapters #chapter one #youtube #x y/n #love triangle #fanfic #jimmy donaldson #romance

[insanitysilver]

(Hi, sorry to be awkward and barge into your inbox, but if you’re still giving writing advice, I’m hoping to get an opinion on how to let of my anxiety about writing. But if not, please feel free to ignore.)

A while back, I tried to write my own take on a character backstory for my fandom. The fandom already had a well-known and beloved backstory fic that was recced all the time for the character and that also established much of the standard fanon. So I was very insecure about my version that didn’t use the known canon and instead uses my own ideas. Still, I managed to push through my self-doubt, complete my fic, and post it. But my fic utterly bombed, no one remembers or cares about it, and even though I like the fic, I frequently think about deleting it because of how everyone ignored it and preferred the astronomically more popular fanon-fueled version. (I don’t believe kudos are a measure of quality, but I do believe they’re a measure of how much fandom wants your writing.)

The problem is that whenever I get a fic idea for any fandom at all, if my plotting/brainstorming produces ideas I know go against popular fanon, I feel like I can’t use them, or else my fic will suffer via stats. I constantly worry about if I’m writing the most popular and accepted version of the character, but it’s so frustrating that I can’t include any of my own ideas. This conflict of writing for the audience vs. writing my own ideas constantly paralyzes me, and I generally feel that if I write, the characters will just be cardboard boxes of the standard fanon. Because if I diverge from what’s popular, I might end up with another humiliating flop of a fic that most readers didn’t want or notice, and I’m not sure if I can stand the 2nd realization that I’ve been screaming into void the entire time.

What do I do here? How do I let go of past failures and start concentrating on what I can do, instead of constantly angsting about if I’m wasting my time by writing an idea that doesn’t align with what the fandom itself values?

Firstly, congratulations on publishing your backstory fic! Sounds like you had to fight your anxiety to do so, and that’s always a worthwhile victory!

Let me challenge this: “I do believe [kudos are] a measure of how much fandom wants your writing”. For this to be Good and Proper Science™, we’d need everyone in the fandom do a blind taste test with both usernames redacted and then keep a record of which everyone preferred.

But, that’s not how fics are experienced in the “wild”. Lots of Ao3 users sort by popularity metrics to find fics. Kudos accumulate so older fics have an advantage, and popularity compounds on itself. Readers aren’t making value judgements about you and your work. They just have five minutes to wait at the bus stop, so they whip out their phones and grab from the top of the metrics bag.  It’s really nothing personal.

The median number of kudos on AO3 is 12 (and that’s counting works that have been around forever). I’ve been posting various forms of art on the internet for 10+ years.  Most never found an audience. 1 note, 5 notes, 0 notes, a 200k word fic that I worked on for four years that approximately 3 people have read per year since (if that). And yeah, that can sting. I get it.

So, what’s the solution? My advice is two-pronged:

1.) On Wanting Fandom Recognition

A desire for internet metrics is actually a specific need in disguise. These excellent posts go into this far more eloquently:

@ao3commentoftheday's 'People Don't Actually Want Comments, They Want Community '

@sinigangsta-ao3's 'On Fandom and a Sense of Belonging Part 1' & 'Part 2'

What do you want from that fandom interaction? Prestige & respect? Encouragement? A creative peer group to bounce around ideas? The more specific you can get, the easier it will be for you to work on a solution that fills that need that isn’t reliant on the capricious whims of the greater internet.

Prestige? – These authors write a lot. Relentlessly. Also typically involved in the fandom somewhere offsite and tend to build things. Events, rec lists, secret santas.

Encouragement? – Voice this need in your relationships. Don’t have writer friends? Drag irl friends in or look out for positive fandom subgroups. If there’s a discord server, maybe ask about making a channel just to celebrate wins? If not, invite fandom ppl you’ve interacted with in and make a server of your own.

Idea Sharing? – Nearly the same as above. Groups, in my experience, thrive with something to do. I wanted to practice fundamentals more, so I dragged a group of friends in and made a writing circle where we followed a prompt to write a short story every month. At the end, we shared and critiqued each other’s work. Massively nourishing. (I can post the “curriculum” if there’s an interest.)

2.) On Writing for You

Two practices have helped me on this front. First, I put the watcher away. I make work I never intend to share. I see that blank page and say “whatever happens here is for me only, and I’m going to stick to that”. I also advise hiding your ao3 stats. [This site skin will replace your personal stats page with an image of choice]. [This site skin will hide every stat on every work except word and chapter count]. (I use both together when my brain gets naughty on me). [How to Use AO3 Site Skins]

Second, digging into what excites me. I made huge list of my favorite characters, tropes, themes, narrative tricks, everything. Found patterns. After that, you just cram as many as you can into one story until you’re obsessed with it. Until it haunts you and you simply can’t stop yourself from writing it regardless if anyone reads it.

All-in-all though, noticing your brain is pulling a fast one on you and wanting to make a change is much further then a lot of people get, so I am very serious when I say you should congratulate yourself and celebrate that. You’ve already done the hardest part. What comes next won’t be effortless, but it will be worthwhile. 🌱☀️

But, I’ve rambled enough, and I’ll open the floor up. Anyone else want to weigh in? If you have a writing buddy, how did you meet with them and how do you stay in touch?

#asks #building community

[whiskeybeforesunset]

Just a Crush 2 | Steve Harrington

Pairing: Steve Harrington x Male!Reader

Word Count: 1.4k

Synopsis: Reader is in love with Steve. Unaware of this, Steve makes an insensitive joke. This leads to an argument. Later, Steve tries to talk to the reader, causing an emotional encounter where Steve has to confront his denial of his own sexuality. Sad ending.

Warnings: Angst, unrequited love, internalized homophobia, crying, reader may be a little biphobic but hey it’s the 80’s, self deprecation, sad ending :(

Author’s note: You could probably read this as a stand alone but I would recommend reading part one first. The gray ash scene doesn’t happen in this story. Also thank you to the reader who asked for part two. I wasn’t planning on making one but I’m really happy with how this turned out. I read all your comments and tags!

Part 1

—

You’re sitting in the backseat with Robin on the way to Hawkins High. There are boxes in the trunk of Steve’s car ready to donate. Dustin of course, insisted he sit shotgun, little brat. Maybe he’s entering his rebellious teenager phase, or whatever that looks like for a dork that plays D&D and goes to science camp.

Four car doors slam as you exit the vehicle and begin grabbing boxes from the back. A girl points you to where you can help those hit hardest by the ‘ earthquake.’ Robin goes to help make sandwiches, Dustin wanders off to god knows where, while Steve and you sort donations. 

You’ve been trying your best to not make things awkward with Steve. After all, you were able to be friends with him before… all of that, so you should be able to stay friends after. That’s what people say right? That it’s good to maintain friendships with someone after you break up with- I mean sleep with them and neither of you ever mention it again. 

Your position sorting clothes just so happened to give you and Steve the perfect vantage point to watch Robin fumble through a conversation with Vickie. It seems like things are actually… going well though, shockingly. Maybe the two most awkward sapphics in Hawkins may actually just figure it out.

“Fast Times, 53 minutes 5 seconds.” Steve remarks while throwing a shirt over his shoulder.

“What?” You respond, face twisting in confusion.

“I told Robin, Vickie returned Fast Times at Ridgemont High at 53 minutes and 5 seconds. The only people who do that are people who like boobies. Looks like I was right.” Steve says smugly. 

You’re briefly stunned that the word ‘boobies’ just came out of the mouth of a fully grown man before remembering who you’re talking to. “Oh, right.” you reply. Steve pauses for a moment, contemplating whether or not he should say what he wants to say next.

“Yeah, I guess you wouldn’t know.” He laughs awkwardly.

Asshole.

“Come on, I was just joking.” Steve quickly offers, apparently your change in mood was visible. Damn it. 

“Oh I know.” You say, “it’s just a bit ironic, don’t you think?”

Steve briefly looks confused before the dust mites in his brain manage to turn the light bulb on.

“Oh my god.” You say while shaking your head at him. “You didn’t even remember?”

“No I-” he stammers. “It’s not like that I just-”

“I can’t even believe you right now.” You cut him off. He looks down, unable to respond; in the silence you take a moment to take in this information.

“Yeah,” you pause. “Yeah, you know what I think I’m just going to go.” 

“No- wait listen I-” he starts. 

“No. Steve, don’t.” You say as you start walking towards the exit. 

…

You’re almost proud of yourself. If what happened last week happened even a month ago, it would have broken you. You haven’t spoken to Steve since your ‘fight.’ Normally you would have to see him at work, but the video store shut down ever since giant cracks showed up in the ground. 

You needed some air though. You hadn't left your house much since… that, and things were starting to feel cramped. You end up sitting on a sun bleached bench at one of Hawkin’s many luxurious parks. It’s strangely quiet. The overgrown soccer field you used to play on as a kid is empty. Moms are more hesitant to let their kids play outside; worried they’ll fall into a giant crevice or something. But this is what you wanted, right? To be alone.

“Hey,” someone says from behind. You recognize the voice.

“How’d you find me,” you ask without turning. He sighs, after seeing your demeanor he knows how this conversation is going to go. Nevertheless he makes his way around the bench and sits next to you. 

“I asked your parents.” He says, you scoff at him.

“Look, I just wanted to make sure you were ok.” He adds.

“I’m not one of your kids.” You respond flatly.

“Oh, so that means I can’t care about you?” he asks rhetorically.

“No…” you say quietly.

“Look I,” he pauses. “I just wanted to apologize.”

“For what? All you did was forget about a fling that meant nothing to you.” You say turning to look at him. He seems tired. His normally perfect hair is flatter than usual.

“It didn’t mean nothing I just,” he averts his gaze. “I’m not gay, man.” You nod lightly at his words before taking in a breath. 

“Could have fooled me.” you respond sarcastically. Steve sucks his teeth and adjusts his posture. 

“You were there for all the conversations about how I don’t know what I want. You,” he pauses. “If you chose to ignore those in hope that something else would come out of that night…” He turns to look at you again. “Then I don’t know what to tell you.”

“You are so fucking selfish.” You say quietly. 

“Jesus I-” he hesitates. “It’s not my fault if you caught feelings.”

Steve regrets the words the second they exit his mouth. There’s a long silence. It makes you thankful for the emptiness of the park. This isn’t exactly the kind of conversation you’d want to have with an audience. 

“Y’know this is a really great apology Steve.” You say plainly.

“Well what do you want me to say?” Steve exclaims. “That I wish I were gay for you? That I wish things were different?”

Yes. That is what you would like him to say. You can feel your eyes begin to water. Your throat is starting to tighten, making finishing this conversation without crying feel increasingly unlikely.

“Look, it was fun alright, but what I’ve had with girls… what I had with Nance-”

“Oh for fuck sakes Steve.” You stop him from continuing, angry tears streaming down your face. Steve turns to you, surprised by your sudden outburst. 

“You are so stuck on her. I mean, what's it been? Two years? Since you two last dated? She’s moved on. And you're just,” your throat tightens, causing you to hiccup, “so obsessed with her.” You say while shaking your head slowly. 

“Do not bring Nancy into this.” Steve responds, his voice revealing he is more agitated than he’s been at any other point in this conversation.

“You are the one who brought her up!” you cry.

“Oh…” he says quietly.

You move your hand to rub your eyes, this conversation is giving you a headache. It feels like forever till one of you speaks again. 

“Look, that night brought up feelings in me that I don’t know how to describe.” he says in a measured, quiet tone. 

You look at him, slightly surprised. Maybe… maybe there’s a chance of this working out. If he’s able to recognize he has those feelings…

“It’s complicated. I mean,” he fidgets with his hands. “I like girls, and maybe I…” he doesn’t finish his sentence. He can’t even say it. You look at him with pity, knowing how difficult it can be to come to terms with being gay. 

“I like girls.” He repeats. “And if…” he pauses to compose himself, “if liking girls makes my life easier, why shouldn’t I just stick with that.” He finishes his sentence quietly. His eyes are distant, like he isn’t even there. Tears form. You look away from him to process his confession.

God.

How could you have been so stupid. He couldn’t even say it and you… you somehow thought that there was any chance of being with him? You really thought he would change his entire life trajectory, throw away his dreams of a family for you?

You look at him with anger, though whether the anger is for him or yourself, you don't know. 

“You are a coward, Steve Harrington.” You say shortly.

“I know.” He responded, refusing to meet your gaze. 

You turn away from him, but can still see his tears falling from the corner of your eye. 

Part of you wants to tell him that it’s ok. That you understand how he feels, but you can’t. Not honestly, and your days of lying to Steve so he can feel better about himself are over. 

Instead you stand up and walk away, wondering if that’s what you should have done the second he sat down. 

#Steve Harrington x reader #Steve Harrington x y/n #Steve Harrington x you #Steve Harrington x m!reader #Steve Harrington reader insert #Steve Harrington x male!reader #Reader insert #Stranger Things #Stranger Things reader insert #Stranger Things angst #Steve Harrington angst #Steve Harrington fanfiction #Steve Harrington fanfic #Steve Harrington fic #Strangerthings fanfiction #Stranger Things fanfiction #Stranger Things fan fic #Stranger Things fic #Angst #Unrequited love #Steve Harrington #stranger things #Sad ending

[in-a-nook-with-a-notebook]

Recon | 21st Time’s The Charm

Franchise: Star Wars

Pairing: Poe Dameron x male reader (reader’s pronouns are he/him/his)

Word Count: 2447(ish)

Warnings: swearing, angst, mentions of blood

Series Summary: You met Poe Dameron on twenty separate random occasions before you even remotely considered joining him in any sort of way, as part of the Resistance or otherwise. And while a lot happened in those twenty times, nothing really happened until the twenty-first…

Chapter Summary: During a reconnaissance run for the Resistance, Poe catches up with an old friend: you. And you’re a little worse for wear.

A/N: I’ve risen from the dead with a new entry, I know I haven’t updated in months.

Y/N = your name // Y/N/N = your nickname // E/C = eye colour // H/C = hair colour

Series Masterlist // Prologue // Part 1 // Part 2 // Part 3 // Part 4 // Part 5 // Part 6

[Poe’s POV]

If memory serves, and it always does, I’m on Corellia when I find Y/N for the seventh time. I’m part of a standard reconnaissance run for the Resistance when I spot Y/N’s ship for the first time in months, since he left Coruscant. 

“There’s no way...” I murmur. 

“Poe, unless you have eyes on the mission objective, I need you to focus,” Temmin says over the comms. 

“I know, I know, I just...” 

“Poe.” 

“Sorry. I’m focusing.” I look away from the familiar ship and bring my mind back to the mission. What I don’t realize is that the guy I recognized had recognized me as well. As I turn away to move on, Y/N looks up. 

————————

The rest of the Black Squadron and I blend in with the crowd in Diadem Square, watching out for the targets of the recon mission. Just a simple, get in, get information and get out. Except it doesn’t end up being that simple. Not for me, anyway. 

As I turn a corner to get closer to our target building, a pair of strong hands drag me into the neighbouring alley. I get pushed into the shadows and – surprisingly – lightly pinned to the wall. When I catch a glimpse of my assailant, I relax into his grip. 

“Look who’s returning the favour,” I say with a smirk. “Told you we’d meet again.” 

“What the hell are you doing here, Poe?” Y/N demands in a whisper, as though worried someone would overhear. 

“Poe, where’d you go?” Temmin asks worriedly over comms. 

“Does anyone have eyes on Black Leader?” Jessika inquires softly, a nervous edge in her voice. “Where the hell is he?” 

“Guys, I’m fine. Just give me a second,” I mutter. 

“You’re here with people?” Y/N asks. 

“Yes, I’m here with my squadron. Reconnaissance mission for the Resistance, nothing major. Where have you been?” 

“Where have I been? I’ve been avoiding your people; I don’t want my parents getting to the Resistance.” 

“You’ve been avoiding me,” I say softly. 

“I told you, Poe, I can’t let you get hurt because of me.” 

I roll my eyes, shrugging Y/N’s hand away. “I can defend myself, we both know that. Quite frankly, I don’t give a damn about your parents! I want to be able to talk to you and see you on a regular basis. If your parents find us, so what? We can both fight. We’ll fight together.” 

“We can’t have this conversation right now, I need to get out of here.” 

“Come with us,” I say quickly. Y/N blinks. He blinks again. “You know you want to. We need you, Y/N. You can help us take down your parents.” 

“I’m taking down their operation just fine on my own, Dameron.” 

“You don’t have to do it on your own,” I reply, a hint of desperation in my tone. “How many times am I going to tell you that?” 

“Being around me puts you in danger,” Y/N says firmly. “My parents have probably already started to catch on to me, I can feel it. If you’re with me and I’m attacked or found... I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if something happened to you.” 

“Poe, who the fuck are you talking to?” Temmin asks. 

Jessika gasps. “Wait, did I hear you say Y/N? As in the Y/N, the one you never shut up about?” 

“I am this close to taking my comm out if you don’t shut up for a minute, you two,” I grumble, looking at the sky above Y/N.

“So, you’re not following me,” Y/N says warily. 

“No, I’m not following you. As much as I wish we could stick together, no, I’m not following you,” I murmur. 

Y/N’s eyes flicker from my gaze to my lips, then back again. “I’m sorry for pulling you from your mission. You have a job to do.” 

“We don’t have to split up.” 

“It’s for the best,” Y/N says, but his voice is strained, like it hurts for him to admit. He inhales deeply. “You’re safer when you’re not around me. I have to go.” 

“Commander Dameron?” Jessika asks. However, this time, she’s not speaking over the comm system. She’s at the opening of the alley with Temmin. “Is that you?” 

“I’m here, Jess. I’m fine.” 

Y/N and I step out of the shadows, and I can finally get a good look at him. He has a cut through the symbol on his cheek that’s had no medical attention. The arm that he was using to pin me to the wall hangs at his side unmoving – possibly broken. His shirt is ripped in a few places. There’s a bandana tied tightly around his bicep, stained with blood. His hair is a mess, as usual, but somehow even messier. Dirt and blood are visible around his hairline. He’s favouring his left leg as well. 

“Oh my god, are you okay?” I ask immediately. 

“I’m fine, Poe.” 

“You most certainly are not. You are in desperate need of medical attention.” 

“Poe, I said I’m fine,” Y/N says forcefully. He tries to put pressure on his favoured leg, winces, and continues to stand on a lean. “You have work to do, and I have work to do. This is where we part ways again.” 

“Any friend of Poe’s is a friend of ours,” Temmin states. “And we don’t leave friends injured.” 

“You don’t even know me.” 

Temmin shrugs. “I know you enough. Poe never shuts up about you.” 

“Oh my god,” I mutter to myself. 

“Don’t waste your resources on me,” Y/N says, his voice wavering a little. 

“It’s not a waste,” Temmin insists. “Look, I get that you don’t seem to want to be here. Lemme make you a deal. You let us patch you up and help you clean up a bit, and we’ll let you on your way. No obligations, no strings attached. Just some medical attention, maybe a shower and a change of clothes. That’s all.” 

Y/N cautiously looks from Temmin to Jessika to me, then back again. 

“You won’t make me join you?” 

“I swear. We swear.” 

He hesitates again, rolling his shoulder a little. “Fine. Just a patch up.” 

“Poe, take him back to the ship,” Temmin says. “We can take the recon from here, just worry about your friend.” 

I frown. “You sure?” 

“He knows you better than he knows us, and you know him better than we do. He trusts you. Plus, you do have medic training. We’ll take care of the mission, it’s alright.” 

I glance at Y/N, and he nods. “Okay,” I say. “Alright. I’ll catch up with you guys later. Keep me updated.” 

“Yes, sir,” Jessika says jokingly. 

The four of us leave the alley, splitting off in our own directions; Temmin to his section of the square, Jessika to hers, and Y/N and I towards the ship. 

“Sir?” Y/N asks, awe evident in his voice. “They call you sir?” 

“You don’t need to sound so surprised, Y/N/N.” 

“And since when do you have medic training?” 

“Since it was a requirement. Everyone goes through medic training for the Resistance, it’s important that we know how to patch ourselves up. Well, ourselves and others, of course.” 

“I don’t know if I trust your hands around me after remembering how many simulators you’d crash at the Edge.” 

“You’re ridiculous.” 

“Thanks.” Y/N sucks in a breath when he accidentally puts too much pressure on his bad leg. I glance at him in alarm, and he shakes his head. “It’s fine.” 

“I doubt it.” 

Y/N scoffs. 

————————

We reach the ship and Y/N opts to shower before I deal with his injuries. If I remember correctly, he’s about my size, so I lay out some of my clothes for him to replace his old ones. 

I’m thankful that our ship has the space it does. Enough bunks for the squadron, plus a full bathroom. We’re pretty far away from our base on the Outer Rim, so we need facilities like these. It’s easier and safer to stay on the ship than to find another place to stay or to camp out. 

My mind wanders to Y/N and what he could be up to that got him so hurt. I didn’t think that much could happen to him while I lost track of him, but here we are. I don’t like seeing him hurt, I never have. I don’t know what I’d do with myself if he’s any more injured than he is right now. I wish he’d just join the Resistance. Maybe then I could protect him. Not that he needs protecting, he can fight for himself and defend himself just fine. I don’t doubt that. Maybe I just- 

The water of the shower turns off, pulling me from my thoughts. The next thing I know, Y/N steps out of the bathroom with a towel around his waist, his torso still dripping from the shower. My eyes widen for a second before lowering to the floor, hoping he didn’t see me blushing. 

Wordlessly, I pass him the pile of my clothes. “You can change in here, I’ll close the door. Leave it open when you’re done and I’ll come back in. I have to go find the medical kit anyway. 

“Poe, wait,” Y/N murmurs, grabbing my wrist as I move to leave the room. I look back at him, trying to force my eyes not to wander lower than his gaze. I swallow thickly. “Are you blushing?” 

“I- um, no. No. Why would I- no.” 

“Poe.” 

“I’m- I’m not!” 

Y/N grins. “You face says differently, but okay.” He lets go of my wrist and I let my arm drop. “I’ll just be a minute.” 

“Take your time,” I say softly. I hesitate, holding his gaze, then turn around and leave the bunk room, closing the door behind me. 

————————

When I come back, Y/N’s hair is still damp from the shower, but he’s dressed. His towel is hanging on the hook by the bathroom and he’s sitting on the bottom bunk – my bunk, actually – with his good leg folded under him. 

I stand in the doorway for a moment, until he looks up at me. 

“Hey there, doc. Gonna patch me up?” 

I chuckle. “Obviously.” He readjusts himself on the bunk to give me space and I carefully sit down next to him. “What hurts the most?” 

“Probably the gunshot wound.” 

“You were shot?” 

“No, I was stabbed with a blaster.” 

“Glad to see your sarcasm is still intact, no matter how hurt you get,” I say with a laugh. “Where’s the shot?” 

Y/N untucks his shirt – well, my shirt – with the hand of his good arm and unbuttons it. He moves part of the shirt aside to show where he was hit. The heat of the blaster shot cauterized the edges of it a little but it’s starting to bleed a little again. It looks like it could be getting infected. 

I whistle, getting a pad of hydrogen peroxide ready to clean it. “Damn. How’d you manage this?” 

“Trying to disable my parents’ organization gets pretty messy.” Y/N winces when I dab at the wound. 

“Sorry.” 

“Not your fault,” he murmurs. He steadies his breathing as I clean up his side, bandaging it to keep it from getting infected. 

“How’s that arm of yours doing?” I mutter, mostly to myself. Without saying anything, he carefully pulls his arm out of the sleeve. “Tell me where it hurts, okay?” I say softly. Y/N nods. 

I start at his fingers, moving them each a little bit. He doesn’t react. I move to his wrist, and he winces a little when I roll it. “Possible sprain,” I whisper. I keep poking and prodding my way up his arm until I reach a point between his elbow and his shoulder. He gasps in pain, sucking in a breath through his teeth. 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Y/N groans. 

“I think it’s broken.” 

“Broken?” Y/N exclaims. “It can’t be broken, not now! I’ve got too much shit to do, it can’t be broken!” 

“Y/N/N, it’s broken,” I say seriously. He groans in frustration. “Listen, if you don’t take care of it, it’ll only get worse.” 

“What’s worse than this?” 

“A permanently broken arm,” I say pointedly. He scowls at me. “I’m sorry, but it’s true. If I don’t help you take care of it now, it’s not going to get better.” 

Y/N huffs, rubbing his tired eyes with his free hand. “Fine. Just... please tell me I’m not gonna need a cast sort of thing.” 

“You got lucky. If I gave you a cast where it is, I’d have to cast your entire arm.” 

“So, what’s your diagnosis, doc?” Y/N teases. 

I turn away to dig for supplies in order to hide how my face went red. “I think I can give you a brace. Might be best to brace your whole arm because I think your wrist might be sprained too.” 

“Dammit. Fine, whatever gets me back into commission.” 

“Y/N,” I say seriously. “You need rest.” 

“I’ll be fine, I need to deal with my parents’ mess.”

“You, aren’t, listening, to me.” I stare at his E/C eyes, trying to force him to focus on me. Some of his H/C hair falls in his face as he turns his head to really look at me. “Y/N, you really need to rest and take care of yourself. I mean it. Okay?”

“Poe…”

“You aren’t getting rid of me and my worries for you. You’re stuck with me. I’m not letting the person I care about most let himself get hurt more. I need you to listen to me. Please.”

Y/N holds my gaze, and he almost looks a little alarmed. “Why are you so worried about me? I was fine when we parted ways on Coruscant. I’m still fine.”

“Maybe I’m not, then.”

He frowns. “What’s that mean?”

“I mean, I can never see you anymore and I hate it, okay? You’re out there, fuck knows where I’m the galaxy doing fuck knows what, and I can’t help you. I can’t talk to you. I never know what’s going to happen to you and I hate it.”

“Being around me is trouble for you.”

“My entire life is trouble for me,” I say through a humourless laugh. “I’m with the Resistance, for fucks sake. You can’t get rid of me, Y/N/N.”

“I’m not trying to get rid of you, Poe, I’m trying to protect you!”

Y/N moves to stand up but collapses back on the bunk in pain, gripping his leg and groaning. “Fucking shit…”

“This is exactly what I’m talking about.”

#poe dameron #male reader #poe dameron x male reader #x male reader #star wars #the force awakens #the last jedi #the rise of skywalker #skywalker saga #oscar isaac #oscar isaac x male reader #star wars x male reader