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dilatorywriting · 1 year

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Monster Mayhem: Donkeys & Dragons [PART 3]

Gender Neutral Reader x Malleus Draconia Word Count: 3.3k

Summary: It turns out that befriending a dragon is not as terrible or difficult as you would have thought. But people, unsurprisingly, will always still be awful.

[PART 1] [PART 2] [PART 3] [PART 4] [EPILOGUE]

The first week of your internment flew by shockingly fast.

Maybe because you were always at War—a perpetual cycle of making some demand or other (that usually centered around a desire for the barest levels of personal space or agency) only to be met persistently with the ancient, all-powerful, dragon equivolent of >:(

The clothes and toilet situation were already a lost cause. You knew this.

But there were so many other little things. And big things too, sure. But you can never fully realize how much you’re truly under someone’s thumb until you want to head off to do something utterly insignificant and cannot.

For example, your first morning in captivity you’d tried to boil a pot of water. It was nothing fancy, just a small kettle kit you kept in your travel bags for making warm drinks and reheating rations into something vaguely edible. You’d collected some bits of wood from the heaps of debris lying all over the place and gone about lighting a fire. You’d only just barely managed to get the little sticks smoking when a horrific screech sounded from overhead.

And then, WHUMP!

The spiked end of a black tail came crashing down, obliterating your little fire and sending bits of wood flying in all directions.

“What the fuck, man!”

Tsunotarou curled around you to hiss at the flattened sparks like some unholy snake.

“It’s just for my tea! My tea!” you howled. “I wasn’t going to burn your stupid house down!”

He’s shifted into his human form again not long after, and he looked down his nose at you like a fussy parent—arms crossed petulantly across his pale chest.

“Fire is dangerous for humans,” he snuffed, absolutely indignant. “If you find yourself requiring flames for anything at all, call for me and I will lend you some of mine.”

“I would have been fine,” you beseeched, looking at the shattered remains of your little campfire with a grumpy pout.

“Lilia says humans often overestimate their own constitutions,” Tsunotarou grouched, expression dour and stony. You were about to ask just who or what on Earth this ‘Lilia’ was supposed to be, when the dragon dipped his head in close to yours and nuzzled along your throat. You could feel the pinpricks of his fangs against the delicate skin over your pulse. “Which is why so many of your kind are massacred for their own foolishness. Or fall victim to plague and famine. Or wind up being burned alive. I would prefer that you not succumb to such a fate.”

You gulped, and that had been the end of that conversation.

Another time you’d tried to scale the banister to reach the bathroom on your own. It had been going pretty well, all things considered. There were plenty of nice footholds and it all had sort of settled at a slope, meaning you weren’t really climbing a wall so much as very slowly crawling up an incline like a determined slug.

You’d nearly made it to the top when you were scooped up by the back of your collar and promptly deposited at the other end of the room.

Of all the languages you half-spoke, Dragon was not one of them. But the snarling and snapping in your face certainly seemed like the rather universal ‘what do you think you’re doing?!’

“I was just trying to go the bathroom!” you argued. “No fires or anything!”

Tsunotarou’s large maw ducked down to growl into your much smaller one. He let out a series of exasperated clicks and chatter, the sharper or which were punctuated by sprays of green sparks from behind his teeth. His nostrils flared and the blast of dry heat that followed sent your head spinning and your hair gusting out behind you.

“I wasn’t going to fall,” you finally said, because you had a feeling that’s what you were being lectured about at the moment.

The rumbling growl that followed sounded like it had traveled all the way from the dark trenches of his bowels, or maybe even the very marrow of his bones. You could feel the ground vibrating under your feet.

“Fine,” you conceded. You weren’t exactly worried he was going to eat you anymore, but there were certainly… other things. Many dumb ways to die. “I won’t do it again.”

He harumphed at you, his head bobbing in what looked a bit like a nod. And then he turned and raked a gigantic claw across your little makeshift ladder of debris, flattening it into nothing with one, fell, swoop. You’d groaned and let yourself collapse listlessly back into the ensuing cloud dust.

There was also the time you’d nearly had a conniption because you were sick and tired of camping out on a frigid, stone, floor every night when you were trapped inside a literal castle.

“There are dozens—hundreds—of rooms in here,” you’d argued. “There’s got to be a bed in at least one of them.”

Tsunotarou had simply rolled over onto his side and arched a wing into the air, as if offering you the warm hollow beneath.

“You’re not comfortable,” you’d hissed, and he’d sulked ridiculously for the rest of the afternoon until you’d managed to finally come to a workable solution.

As in, dragging every goddamn mattress you could find into the cavernous ballroom that he’d long since seemed to claim as his Favorite Spot. You’d turned it into a game—see who could find the most comfy things and make the biggest squish pile. Being nearly a dozen times your size and having twice as many functional limbs that were capable of grabbing things, naturally Tsunotarou had come out as the winner. But now you had nearly endless pillows and blankets to snuggle into at night, so who’d really come out on top?

“I’ve never bothered to build a nest before,” he’d mumbled to himself, post victory. He patted gently at one of the thick duvets he’d swiped, expression almost whimsical. “It’s quite nice.”

“See,” you’d grinned, bouncing up and down on one of the springier mattresses. “I told you this was better.”

And so chuffed were you that you weren’t heading to sleep with a rock as your pillow for the first time all week, that you didn’t even complain when late into the evening he sneakily dragged you out of your plush pile and into his—tail wrapped snuggly around your waist and tucking you tightly against his ribs. I mean, his nest was much nicer than yours. It was only practical.

So, as anyone could see, your week had been far from easy.

But after those first days, once you had finally gotten a hand on all his nonsensical rules and you’d in turn concocted equally as many ways to try and circumvent them just enough to make yourself comfortable, things settled into a kind of domestic tranquility.

And that was when time started to drag.

You’d read the handful of books in your pack a dozen times over. You’d counted the cracks in the ceiling (one-hundred-and-thirty-two of them). You’d counted the stones on the floor (six-hundred-and-five). You’d sorted those stones into piles by shape, size, color. You lolled back against your cozy pile of blankets and thunked your head miserably against your pillow. Once. Twice. Three times. Four—

“What do you normally do all day?” you complained.

Tsunotarou lazily blinked awake. He lifted his giant, serpentine, head and glanced pointedly around the cavernous room before settling back into his mountain of blankets with a contented huff.

“You just sleep?” you frowned, baffled. “All the time?”

He rumbled unintelligibly at you for a moment before digging his claws into his nest with a long, lithe, stretch. And then those scales began to melt away, and soon enough he was pale, and bare, and rolling his way into your lap with a contented little grumble.

“What would you have me do instead?” he asked, voice thick with the syrupy warmth of sleep. He stretched again, like a big cat, and settled his head more firmly against your thighs. “Raid cities? Burn villages?”

“…Ideally no,” you grumbled, hands falling habitually to start running your fingers through the silky soft hair pooling along your abdomen. “I mean, there have got to be other things dragons do. You live for thousands of years.”

He hummed, neon eyes slipping closed. He pressed his forehead demandingly up into your palm and you rolled your eyes before obligingly sliding your digits lower to scratch at his scalp and around the base of his horns. That seemed to be his favorite.

“I am not wanted much of anywhere, I’m afraid,” he said finally with a defeated little sigh. It didn’t sound particularly self-deprecating, just… accepting. It made something sad and small curl in your gut. “So what else is there for me to do? Other than while away the hours.”

“There’s got to be something,” you pressed, that eking irritation born from boredom melting into something that was a bit too close to genuine concern for your liking. “Don’t dragons keep hoards? Treasures? That’s a thing, right?”

“Oh.” He blinked himself back into focus, as if only remembering in just that moment. “That is true. Would you like to see mine, then?”

“Aren’t hoards, like, private?” you asked, hesitant. Trying not to bring up the glaring elephant in the room that was ‘Hey. Yeah. So my friends and I totally broke in here in the first place to steal from said hoard. Not that we knew there was a dragon here. But like. I did, in fact, come here as an adventurer and a thief.’

“Naturally,” Tsunotarou hummed. You could feel it vibrate all the way up your hip. His lips quirked into a little, crooked, smile. “I’ll take you there now.”

The Treasure Room was as elaborate and expensive looking as the name implied, and it seemed to be the one area of the castle that had been spared the grey desolation that had seeped through the rest of it. It was enormous—certainly larger than even the grand, cavernous, room in which you’d recently been residing. And it was lined wall to ceiling with every variant of wealth you could imagine—precious metals, ancients tomes, paintings from every great master through history, magical weapons, the finest of spell scrolls. You could probably buy the world at least twice over with its contents.

But the thing that caught your eye amidst the endless sea of gold was not a pretty gemstone or a treasure of old, but a little, black and purple, doll—perched atop a looming pedestal of silks and finery like a crown jewel. It was small and plain with curling black horns made of felt. A chubby little dragon miniature that was as ugly as it was round.

Tsunotarou noticed your inquisitive gaze and walked over to pluck the little, cotton, creature from its throne. He held it delicately in his clawed fingers.

“Ah, yes. This is Drago. Lilia gifted him to me after one of his jaunts through the human world.” He turned the doll over in his palms, brow tugging down a bit as he did. “I hope he hasn’t been too terribly lonely. It has been a while since I’ve come down here to visit.”

The great and powerful dragon of the Castle Within The Lava Lake keeping a toy keepsake amongst his most prized possessions was so strikingly adorable that you couldn’t help but feel your heart melt at the sight.

You brightened and turned on your heel to start making your way back to the ballroom and what remained of your adventuring gear. Tsunotarou made a noise under his breath that was too dignified to be a splutter, but what you assumed was more or less his refined equivolent. And then he was tagging at your heels with a perplexed look on his face.

“Where are you going?”

“To get something!” you chirped, mentally running through the contents of your bag and little sewing kits. Yes, there should be more than plenty to—

“To get what?” Tsunotarou pouted, and you realized belatedly that running off in the middle of him showing off his life’s accumulation of precious artifacts and accomplishments was perhaps a bit rude.

“It’s a surprise,” you said. “Just give me like half an hour to put it together.”

In the end, it really only took you around fifteen minutes of fussing. Drago was hardly a complex little thing, and you’d originally learned to stitch in a panic. Trying to mend holes in pants and leather was a lot harder to accomplish when you were being actively chased by bandits, or a raging Ace. In comparison, sitting merrily on the floor of a collapsed ballroom and shoving stuffing into a little ball of cloth was hardly a challenge.

You held out your creation—equally as ragtag and ridiculous looking as its inspiration.

“There,” you beamed, and pressed it into Tsunotarou’s hands. “Now he has a friend.”

A teeny, flesh-colored, blob. With strips of soft fabric for a cloak and a hastily stitched smile. A miniature bard, perfectly (?) encapsulated in his palm.

The dragon stared down at your offering with wide, green, eyes. He looked positively startled—so caught off guard that he didn’t know what to do with himself, let alone the bewildered expression flitting across his otherwise regal face.

“You said he might be lonely,” you hummed, rocking self-consciously back and forth on your heels.

“Oh,” Tsunotarou mumbled, black-tipped claws flexing around his new gift. He observed it carefully, like an aging academic might study some ancient, arcane, relic. There was still that strange look about him—like he couldn’t quite believe the little trinket in his hand was real. “I did, didn’t I...?”

When he remained silent after that, still staring down at your homemade abomination in awe? Horror? you couldn’t tell, you began fidgeting in earnest.

“It is kind of awful looking,” you rattled off, picking nervously at the hem of your cloak. “You can get rid of it if you want—”

“No,” he barked, and then paused, clearly surprised at the ferocity of what had come out of his mouth. That at least seemed to startle him out of whatever fog had settled over his brain, and he clutched the teeny toy firmly to his chest. He cleared his throat and started again, noticeably gentling himself. “No. I think I’d like to keep this.”

You smiled. “Good! I’m glad you like it! No one deserves to feel lonely—even little, toy, dragons.”

Tsunotarou’s lips curled into an awkwardly lopsided smile—like the muscles there weren’t used to tugging so wide. It lit the entirety of his expression with something so heart wrenchingly warm that you couldn’t help but feel like none of that had really been about the little doll at all.

You really should have known better.

If someone as illiterate and ill connected as your wandering gang of idiots could stumble upon the location of a ‘secret castle overburdened with ancient treasures,’ surely anyone even marginally more competent would be able to do the same.

You’d been at the tail end of your supply of rations. And while you hadn’t entirely meant to imply that you might just wind-up starving to death, the comment had been more than enough to send your dragon into a tizzy.

“Well, what do you normally eat?” you asked, and Tsunotarou frowned as he considered.

“My guards bring me sustenance when I require it. Ice elementals, goblins, stone giants,” he listed, eyes tracking your expression in hopes that maybe any of that sounded appetizing. Which it certainly did not. His nose scrunched up in thought. “Perhaps I should seek counsel with Lilia. He would know what to do.”

You cleared your throat. “I mean, I know what humans can eat. I could just tell you.”

His face brightened. “Meat, yes?”

You nodded. “Sometimes.”

“Like that of a manticore?” he continued, excited at the prospect. “Those are particularly delicious. And there are quite a few nesting in the crags not far from here.”

His merry smile slowly slipped off his face at whatever pinched look had twisted up yours.

“Vegetation?” he tried. “There are ample bushes at the foot of the volcano. Most do have thorns, but I suppose you could pick around them.”

“…Maybe you should talk to Lilia,” you conceded.

So Tsunotarou had shifted into his scales with a promise to return post-haste and many fussy reminders that you should move as little as possible to avoid wasting any more precious nutrients. The great downbeats of his wings seemed to roll through the entire castle like a shudder, and then you were alone for the first time in nearly a fortnight.

You lazed around in the echoing quiet, drumming bits of random tempos against your stomach and occasionally humming snatches of obnoxiously raunchy tavern tunes that you’d never really managed to bleach from your brain. How had Tsunotarou done this for decades? It’d barely been ten minutes and you were already bored out of your mind.

There was a flash of shadow near the grand entrance, and you sat up enthusiastically—ready to greet your returning host. But it wasn’t a dragon at the door.

“Who the hell are y—” the words died in your throat, and you spat a muted curse. The Silence Spell settled over your shoulders like a grungy cloak. You could feel its sticky film along the back of your tongue like a fine layer of moss.

“Who the fuck is that?” one of them hissed, and you fought the petulant ‘that’s just what I’d been about to ask you, jack ass!’ that wouldn’t have made it past your lips anyways.

There were six in total—a proper party from the looks of their ensembles. At least two people in full plate armor, a waify looking elf with a thick spell book in his hands, and three others in various getups that weren’t quite cookie cutter enough to tell you anything helpful. You rambled at them irritably, silently, gesturing rather impolitely all the while. You mimed teeth, and claws, and wings, and stomped around like a beast in a play.

‘There is a dragon here,’ you tried to say. Because maybe they were just unlucky adventurers like you and Tweedle Dee and Dum had been—not having any real idea what lay beyond these castle walls. You mimed a giant mouth, like a crocodile. ‘And he will eat you.’

“What the fuck?” Armored Dude gaped.

You pointed irritably at Mister Elf Wizard, who was still very obviously concentrating on keeping you encircled in a mesh of absolute silence.

The itchy sensation clogging your throat eased and you let out a breath, which echoed loudly in your ears. Elf-Guy looked at you with something that was perhaps a shade or two off of sympathy.

“Are you alright?” he asked. “What are you doing here?”

“You need to leave,” you replied instead, firm. “There’s a dragon that lives in this castle.”

“Of course there’s a dragon,” Armored Lady scoffed. “Why do you think we’re here?”

You looked at their heavy, expensive, armor. At the giant, shining, magical, weapons hanging across their backs. At the thin wizard who proceeded catch you in a Hold Person spell that was so fast and strong you couldn’t have dispelled it if you tried. And of course you tried. What else could you do? These people weren’t like you and your loveable idiots who managed to occasionally stumble their way into an adventure. These guys were the real deal. Warriors. Heroes. Dragon Slayers.

“God-fucking-damn it.”

But of course you’d been caught in Silence once again, so you were left cursing nothing.

[TAG LIST] CLOSED

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#twisted wonderland imagines #twisted wonderland #twst x reader #Malleus Draconia x Reader #Malleus x Reader #Malleus Draconia #Malleus x Yuu #Dragon Malleus #Monster Mayhem #My Writing #Twst Fantasy AU #Monster Mayhem Malleus Part 3

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cal-flakes · 10 months

Note

How about baking brownies for dealer!rafe Like the reader is trying to be sweet but mixes up sugar with some of his supply. Maybe she makes them really well and he jokes with Barry about putting edibles on the list.

Sounded cuter in my head 😅

╰┈➤ y/n accidentally gets stoned (blurb)

warnings: drug use, mentions of dealing drugs.

summary: y/n mixes up the oil when baking some brownies at home and rafe finds her stuck on the couch.

“oh shit..” y/n sighs, stumbling on her feet as she looks between the oil filled bottles, reading the descriptions of each. staring at the labels, the differences of the cannabis leaf on one, and a regular leaf start so stand out a bit more.

her mouth fell agape as her eyes darted between the bottle in her hand and the fresh batch of brownies displayed elegantly on the kitchen island.

she’d only realised something was strange when hysterical laughter erupted from her every few seconds, nearing uncontrollable. and rafe was out with barry that night too, so he wasn’t able to step in and prevent her from making this mistake like usual.

her heart paced abnormally in her chest as she stepped slowly back through to the living room, crashing on the couch.

her limbs began tingling as her eyes fluttered shut, snuggling into the mounds of blankets she’d prepared earlier that evening.

although it felt like years, an hour or so passed when she was woken by a strong hand jostling her shoulder. “y/n? wake up..”

“huh” she slurred, looking around the room to gage her surroundings. “yo, she ain’t look to good bro” barry stated, motioning to her pale face. a large grin formed on her lips as her eyes met the chocolate square in his hand.

“d-don’t eat…that…weed..” she giggled, her head lolling backwards against the arm of the couch. “what did you say?” rafe questioned, leaning in for a closer look at her. meeting her eyes, he took note of the bloodshot strains around her iris’ while she fell into hysterics once again. “weed…mixed up oil..”

rafe pulled away slowly, mouth open in shock as him and barry exchanged knowing glances. “shit man, mrs country club’s high as fuck!” he laughed, his good tooth shining against the dim lighting.

“fuck..” rafe muttered, looking at his girlfriend, who was completely and utterly high as fucking kite.

“man, these are some pretty good brownies though rafe, maybe we should get her to make more, make some money from it, you know what i’m saying..”

#rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron x fem!reader #outer banks #outerbanks rafe #rafe cameron #obx #rafecameron #rafe obx #soft!rafe cameron #bf!rafe #dealer!rafe

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siempre-bucky · 2 years

Text

strawberries

Jake "Hangman" Seresin x fem!Reader

Summary: Jake's in love with the girl across the street, the one who always brings him fresh fruit from her family's farm before every deployment. He finally confesses in the form of a letter.

wc: 3.4k

“Clara, my dear, what do you have for us today?” Jake smoothly asked as he joined the long line of men and women in the mess deck. The older woman looked at the tanned blond and his friend beside him like they were the last people she wanted to see, well at least Jake was. He smirked and twirled his toothpick in his mouth, making her narrow her eyes more in displeasure.

“Same as always boys,” she sighed, dramatically pointing to the array of off-colored food. Jake and Javy grimaced at it, silently questioning if it was edible.

“I got an MRE in my back pocket we can share,” Javy snickered quietly. Jake looked at him and flashed a smile, slapping him backhandedly on the chest.

“You don’t eat my food, you don’t eat at all,” she scolded, waving her dripping red ladle. “There’s a surprise for you.”

Jake’s eyes followed the drops of transparent red until they stopped at a metal tin of strawberries. His eyes softened, his expression falling. This was a rare moment that Jake slipped out of the Hangman persona, Jake Seresin slipped into a memory—a beautiful memory about the girl who lived on the farm across the dusty dirt road.

While the Seresin’s were known for their horses, the Y/L/N’s were known for the fruit grown on their lush farm. You once claimed Jake was only your friend because you brought him and his family the freshest fruit from the harvest. Jake was friends with you because you were one of the only people who could deal it as well as you could take it; you never put up with his shit. It was that and the fact that Jake Seresin was utterly head over heels in love with you.

“We gotta get to the airport man, I’m not looking for a court marshall,” Javy sighed in annoyance from the Seresin’s kitchen table, his cheek resting in his palm. Jake kept pacing the wood floor, checking his watch every ten seconds; she was supposed to be here at 7:30 on the dot. It was 7:32. His mother Augusta and Javy shared a knowing look while his father George rolled his eyes as he took another drink of his bitter black coffee.

“We’ve got time,” Jake shot back, not looking back at them. He’s seen the looks before, he didn’t care for their knowing looks. All that mattered was seeing you before he left for the four-month deployment. A gentle knock on the patio door sent a shock of electricity through him. Jake coughed to compose himself and briskly walked towards the door.

His heart melted the moment he saw you standing there in a yellow sundress, your hands behind your back. His lips formed a smile as he noticed the small silver strawberry pendant on a delicate silver chain around your neck; it was his Christmas gift to you last year. “Hey,” you breathed, voice hitching.

“Hey,” Jake greeted, his tone matching yours.

Javy behind him rolled his eyes.

“I’m sorry I’m late, there was a problem with the watering system,” you explained hurriedly, knowing where Jake had to be.

“You’re not late,” he smiled softly. His green eyes flickered upward to meet your stare, “got somethin’ for me?” he asked, turning on the charm. You rolled your eyes and pushed past him and walked into the kitchen, greeting the three before returning your attention to your friend.

“Here,” you giggled, pushing a small mason jar of freshly cut strawberries towards him. Jake reached out, his fingers brushing yours as he took the jar. “I only gave you a little so you could have it before getting on the plane, and I know your mama likes the jars,” you told him kindly.

All the aviator could do was stare and run his fingers over the satin ribbon you tied around the lid, the little bow in the front made him smile. He noticed that you only had one jar with you this time, normally you brought a small basket for his parents and a small bag of things for Javy if he was with him. You only brought one for Jake and a sudden heat was rushing up his neck. “Gonna miss food like this,” he said, trying to fight off a blush.

“Well, hopefully, your iron stomach will hold up,” you mocked him, recalling how he lied to you while he was at flight school. You asked him if he threw up in the plane and he responded: “No, Y/N, I have an iron stomach.” He didn’t.

He was about to come back at you when Javy stood up, “We really have to go, Jake. I’m sorry.”

You and Jake looked at each other with a mixture of fear and sadness, lips suppressing three little words that were dying to be said. He hugged you tight, “Remember to call, text, email—write.” You added the last bit timidly. Jake never wrote to you while he was at sea, it left you jealous of his mother and sisters, hell even your little sister got a handwritten letter. Jake, you assumed, had his reasons which was why you never pushed.

“I’ll be back to annoy you soon.”

“Jake—Jake—Hangman!”

Jake was broken out of his trance by a harsh jab to his side. He looked around at the room, he was no longer in his kitchen and you were no longer handing him fresh strawberries. “You’re holding up my line,” Clara huffed, slapping a ladle full of the questionable strawberries and hurried them along.

Javy mockingly chuckled all the way to an empty table, ignoring his best friend's death glare as they sat. “You thinking about her?” he asked even though he already knew the answer, his shit-eating grin was enough.

The blond stabbed his fork into one of the strawberries and held it up to inspect it, “They look like shit,” he grumbled, slowly spinning it.

“Well they have been dethawed and frozen about five times,” Javy smirked.

Jake reluctantly popped it into his mouth, forcing himself to chew it. It was nothing like the ones on the farm. Picking them straight from the plant as you and him laid out on a blanket in the field. You let him judge their quality while he got to be spoiled rotten, feeling like a king as you fed him. You stopped instantly when it got to his head, he’d switch roles until the red juice leaked from the corner of your mouth and he had to force himself away from you, covering a blush redder than the berries, his pants suddenly a size too small.

“Gross,” he frowned.

“Have you talked to her?” Javy asked a while later, their meals nearly finished.

"Emailed her the other day, and left a voicemail. The usual," Jake responded plainly.

"Have you written to her?" Javy raised a single brow, the smirk on his plump lips undeniable.

"She doesn't want me to write to her."

"She literally told you to write to her," Javy shot back instantly.

Jake exhaled deeply and looked around the room, trying to avoid his friend's burning glare. His throat suddenly felt like it was going to close and it wasn't from the food. "I can't," he choked.

The other man formed a face. Jake wasn't about to get vulnerable around his team, he still had a reputation to protect. "Can't," Javy echoed with a snicker.

The two scarfed down the remainder of their lunch and Jake closely followed his friend out the doors and back to their room. Jake plopped down on his bed while Javy sat casually at the metal desk in the corner.

"Will the world come to an end if you send her a letter?

It would, because telling you about his day-to-day would just end with him telling you his biggest secret. "Yeah," Jake sighed in response, shrugging his broad shoulders.

Javy laughed, causing Jake to turn his head and look at him with an annoyed face sprawled on his chiseled features. "So you can call, text, email with no problem, but writing her a letter is your demise, Hangman?"

"When I call Y/N I'm in control of what I say even when I miss her. I can erase a text and an email—a letter's more permanent. I can't take it back."

Silence lingered in the small room, gently rocking side to side from the ocean outside its metal walls. Javy stood and opened the desk, noisily putting a piece of paper and a pencil with an unused eraser on top of the surface. Before he left, he gave his best friend a grim reminder: "She's not gonna wait forever, not even for you."

He didn’t know what scared him more, the fact that Javy was right or that he might come home to see you in the arms of another. Jake let it fester, the pit of his stomach only deepening as night fell. The sounds of Coyote’s snores kept him awake, or at least that’s what he told himself.

Jake put his head in his hands as he sat at the desk, the blank piece of paper staring at him as if it was taunting him. Rolling his neck, he finally began to write about his mundane life on the ship and in his jet. ‘I love you’ was screaming in the back of his mind until it became hoarse from trying to capture his attention. “Fuck,” he cursed with a growl in his tone. He flipped the pencil over and aggressively erased the page until there was nothing but metal left in its wake.

He opened the drawer and pulled out a note card, as he wrote the screaming came to a stop. The aviator breathed heavily as he put the pencil down with a small smack; he finally felt relief after so many years of yearning.

—

“What do you have for me today, Dolores?” you hummed as you knelt down in front of one of the cubes, pulling back the pink gingham privacy curtain. The golden-colored hen stared at you with black eyes, her beak ready to peck at your hand “Oh don’t be like that,” you cooed sweetly, maneuvering her to reveal three large brown eggs in the center of the hay.

Dolores clucked and hastily walked out of her room, shaking her tail feathers at you dramatically. “Thank you,” you giggled, placing the warm eggs in your wicker basket that had a blue ribbon weaved through the handle. Jake made fun of you endlessly for it when you told him you had a different basket for each of your tasks: robins egg blue for eggs, red for strawberries, and purple for blueberries. He only stopped after you punched him in the arm hard enough to leave knuckle-sized bruises on his bicep.

You stared down at the bucket full of eggs, eyes mindlessly scanning them. Your thoughts quickly drifted to the aviator as sat on the dusty floor with a fond smile and tears brimming your eyes. You looked around the old barn, remembering how he paraded around, and confidently picked up your favorite hens, spinning them around like dance partners.

“Put my chickens down, Jake,” you’d always huff.

“Fine, fine—you make a better dance partner anyway.” His one-liners echoed in your ears, the thoughts of him only making your heartache worse. You smiled as if you were watching a movie, Jake twirling you around in the center of the barn, kicking up dust and the place would be filled by your and his laughter. It was like he was right there.

“Y/N! Y/N!” Maggie called out as she came to an abrupt stop. She panted and hunched over with one hand on her knee and the other holding white envelopes in the air.

“What are you doin’?” you fought back a laugh, putting your fingers over your lips.

“You got mail!” she exclaimed, waving the letters. A wave of annoyance crashed into you, the mail when Jake was deployed only brought false hope. Never a letter from him, no matter how many hints you dropped before he left.

“I don’t need to consolidate my debt,” you huffed as you stood up, returning your attention to the coop, “and I don’t need to switch car insurances.” You scowled as you reached inside, snatching the eggs from the inside and putting them gruffly in your basket, not caring if they broke.

Maggie looked up with wide eyes, her eyebrows knitting together softly. “But it’s a letter,” she mumbled, her tone weaker.

“Already registered to vote,” you hum in annoyance, “jus’ throw them away Maggie.”

“It’s from Jake.”

You smiled, the barn falling silent, even the hens stayed quiet as if they all knew.

“You sure?” you questioned quietly, turning around while trying to remain composed.

“Lieutenant Jake Seresin. Right on the front,” Maggie read his handwriting as she crossed the room, slapping the letter in your shaky open hand. You looked down and read the words she just spoke for confirmation. The envelope had seen better days, black streaks littered the front as if it was run over a bunch of times, the corners slightly dented.

“Can I- uh, be alone please?” you ask, a clear waver in your tone. Maggie nodded and silently left you be, her fingers crossed behind her back.

As soon as the teen was out of sight, you let out the breath you didn’t realize you were holding in your chest. Jake actually wrote you- oh god he might be hurt, writing from a hospit- no, you thought, instantly clearing your thoughts. Jake would’ve texted or called if he was hurt. Could be a practical joke? Coyote might have put him up to it. He was always the funny one of the duo. You stopped pacing and sat on the stool next to the workbench resting on the side.

You couldn’t tear it open fast enough, the envelope tearing perfectly as your pointer finger dragged through the glued paper. A note card fell into your lap unknowingly as you held up the piece of folded lined paper. You inhaled deeply, your eyes fluttering closed as you said a silent prayer to the universe or whoever would listen to your pleas for his safety. “Alright, asshole, what do you want?” you whispered, opening up his letter.

The words were faded on the paper, but you managed to pick out some consultants and adjectives here and there. You managed to read a couple of sentences about the carrier and how Coyote snores when he sleeps. They weren’t faded from wear, you noticed as your eyes kept frantically scanning. They were erased, Jake wrote all that just to erase it; there were still little fragments of the eraser clinging to the page. “Nice joke, douchebag,” you grumbled angrily.

You crumpled the poor excuse of a letter and tossed it to the ground below you, your hens running to inspect the new object. Looking at your lap, you saw the white notecard. Perhaps one of his friends drew you a jet or something. With a heavy sigh, you flipped it over.

‘I’m in love with you’

The sentence was written dead center in his best handwriting and right below it was a doodle of a strawberry. It looked like he erased the drawing once or twice before he got the perfect shape of the fruit. Your jaw unclenched only to tremble as tears sprung to your eyes. “I love you too,” you whispered, wiping your eyes with the back of your hand.

—

The summer months had flown by, Texas had finally begun to cool down as Jake’s deployment came to its end. Neither you nor Jake mentioned his letter in his correspondence, you wanted to tell him how you felt when he was in front of you and— well, you didn’t know why Jake failed to bring it up.

You sat with your family in the early afternoon, the kitchen buzzing with your mom trying to cook while your father bugged her for samples. “I got it!” Maggie yelped as he heard the front doorbell ring.

“Ears of a dog,” your mother sighed, rolling her eyes from the stove.

You smiled and went back to your phone, scrolling mindlessly. “Y/N, it’s for you!” your sister shouted.

“Is Jake home already?” your father asked.

Your heart began to race, “His plane doesn’t land for another hour,” you answered unsurely. You walked to the door, the nerves in your body only getting stronger as you saw Augusta standing on the front porch.

“Hi, sweetheart,” she greeted you motherly as she pulled you into a hug. She pulled back and held your hands; it was like she knew. “I jus’ came ‘round to see if you wanted to come to the airport with me to pick up the boy.”

A wide smile broke out on your face as you eagerly nodded your head, “I’d like that very much,” you chirped, your heart finally beginning to calm down. You pulled away to step back inside grabbed your bag and took a look in the small mirror that hung near the door. You could see the smiles on your family’s faces in the reflection. “I’ll be back!” you called before slamming the door shut.

—

Jake scanned the occupants as he walked through the airport, his duffle bag hanging off his shoulders. He politely smiled and briefly responded to the older men who praised him and thanked him for his service but kept walking towards the exit. His green eyes were locked on the departures and arrival boards, a common place his family would be whenever they picked him up.

He didn’t see them this time.

He saw you.

He saw you standing in the middle of the room in the red sundress he mocked you for. All he wanted to do now was to tell you it was his favorite. You didn’t see him at first, you were still looking for the tall blond in a khaki uniform. Jake never thought he’d get one of those cliche moments in an airport when all at once the world slowed down with the person of his desire the only thing in focus. He’d never forget the moment when his eyes locked with yours, your searching expression turning gleeful.

“Jake,” you called his name happily to get his attention.

“I didn’t expect to see you till later,” he chuckled, finally putting down his bag.

“Your mom…” you trailed off, motioning towards the coffee shop.

There was a small pause before he stepped closer into your space, his chest nearly touching yours. “Did you?” he asked, trying to keep it vague.

You bashfully looked down, fiddling with your fingers. Jake always noticed your habits, he took your hands in his to get you to stop. “I got the letter…and the note card,” you answered him quietly, not trusting your own voice.

“I meant it.”

Removing your hands, the shakingly reached up finding the lapels of his shirt, fingertips tracing the golden pins at the ends. “Good,” you breathed, “because I love you too. I’m in love with you, Jake.”

That was enough for him to cup your face, bending down to kiss you. It was one of those kisses filled with passion, desire, and longing. A kiss that would make most people turn away and fan themselves. The two of you couldn’t help it, that kiss was years in the making. “Love you,” he mumbled after finally pulling away, his hands cradling your face.

You leaned into his touch and hummed in satisfaction, “Love you too” you responded. “I hate to break up the moment but you should go say hi to your mom.”

Jake pecked at your lips a few more times before reluctantly pulling away from you. Instead of walking toward his mom, he opened up his bag and took out a small cup. “Got these on the layover, they don’t compare to yours, but I wanted to return the favor,” he explained, handing you the cup and kissing your cheek.

Looking down, you lovingly looked at the cup of cut strawberries, a small black Sharpie heart drawn on the center of the tin lid. You looked up to find him hugging his mother, but his beautiful green eyes were looking at you, sending a charming wink your way that instantly made you weak in the knees.

#jake seresin #jake seresin x reader #jake seresin x you #jake seresin x fem!reader #hangman x reader #hangman x you #hangman fanfic #hangman imagine #jake seresin imagine #top gun #top gun maverick

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readychilledwine · 6 months

Note

what do you think about azriel x autumn court reader , she is also eris’s cousin, where she is utterly obsessed with halloween/ fall and she decorates the whole house of wind with spooky decor and little pumpkins everywhere. She hides little jumpscares, yk the ones that are in grocery stores, she hides them behind closet doors so whoever opens them gets a nasty creature in their face. Like I can imagine rhysand screaming and cursing her for the jumpscare and feyre just giggles w reader

And she make everyone drink pumpkin spice stuff and claims it is a must. Reader is also in her baking era and bakes so much everyday, the second someone comes in the house, they smell delicious treats. She really channels her inner autum court girl. And during fall she really only wears her clothes from the autumn court. She gets az to visit the autumn court now that eris is high lord, and she takes him to town to drink spiced cider and caramel apples and they have the best time.😭❤️

The Last Cabin on the Left

Summary - after moving to the Night Court to be with Azriel, y/n Vanserra has strived to bring an Autumn Court Tradition to your new home, and this year you've pulled out all the stops

Warnings - spooky themes, pranks, Nyx and cousins being adorable, matching couples costumes, general fluff, Azriel dressed like a pirate

A/n - I tweaked this request a little bit, and I hope that's okay 💜

Azriel smiled as the scent of candies, pumpkin, and apple cider hit his nose.

You had done it again, and it never ceased to amaze him. The cabin you two shared on the edge of the woods was decorated to celebrate an Autumn Court Tradition you, Eris, and Lucien called Hallows Eve.

He remembered you explaining it to him passionately as you two moved pumpkins and haybales around the yard 5 years ago.

In Autumn, it was a night where children were allowed to dress up in little costumes and go door to door in search of candies and treats. It was also a night where teens and adults tended to try to scare each other through stories, pranks, and sometimes decor.

Eris flat out told them when he confirmed the tradition that you were the best conjurer on cheap scares and tricks. He had told Azriel, Rhys, and Cassian of his aunt and Uncle's party and fair they threw for the territory they looked over. It was one night where your Father, the true opposite of Beron, was able to argue that with costumes and masks, you truly could not tell who was rich, who was poor, who was greater, and who was lesser.

He couldn't help but to smile as he heard you humming softly. You were sat at the table, decorating dipped apples for the party you two were hosting tomorrow. "How's my pumpkin today?" He to moved to you, kissing the top of your head before stealing one of little hard coated chocolates you were using. "House looks fantastic."

"Thank you," You were beaming with excitement and joy, flooding it down the bond. "I wanted to make the first Hallows Eve party with Eris and Mara amazing."

Azriel flooded you back with his love, admiration, and adoration. "Did you hear who Nyx is dressing up as?"

"No baby," you added a touch of white edible sparkles to the apple you were making look like a spiderweb, "what's he coming as?"

Azriel sat down, watching with loving eyes as you hand crafted each and every element of this party to perfection. "He's coming as Cassian." You paused. "And Cassian and Lucien's boys?"

"No," you started laughing. "They're not doing this."

"Oh they are," Azriel confirmed. "Sat there while the three of them showed me and everything."

You paused slightly. "Are you going to have to loan out the shadow babies? I need them."

Azriel shook his head, smiling hard enough his dimples showed. "No, the shadow babies are all yours, pumpkin." Azriel stood, walking over to the closet to put his jacket away and you smirked, watching and waiting.

You had conjured a mirror in that closet that created the creature the person who was looking into it was most afraid behind them before it would disappear quickly.

Azriel jumped, "Mother above," and quickly slammed the door shut after throwing his jacket in. He took a few deep breaths, hands placed firmly on his knees before staring at you. "Really?"

You picked up the spider you had crafted from dark chocolate and placed it off center on its web, finishing the caramel and dark chocolate dipped apple. "There's more. My goal is to finally get Cassian this year. Hence why I need the shadow babies."

Azriel scoffed lightly. "He's used to my shadows, dove. He's not going to-" Azriel paused as you looked at him, a small devious smirk on your perfect face. "You found him."

You nodded. "I did."

Lucien and Elain were the first to arrive to you home. They were dressed like an old Autumn's tale of a phantom who haunted one of the many Opera Houses and one of his legendary victims.

Lucien looked dangerous in his black suit and cape. Half of his face was covered in the famed white mask the Phantom wore to the performances.

Elain was in the last dress the famed female performer was ever seen in, a white corset gown with a white lace robe. Her hair was curled into spirals and adorned with jewels.

Their son was tucked behind them, waiting so politely for his cousins that you could not help but melt at the sight. Or maybe it was the sight of him dressed up as a little version of Rhysand that had your handing him his first sweet for the night in a hushed tone and a wink.

Feyre, Rhys, and Nyx arrived next. The High Lord and Lady had also dressed in a matching couples costume. Rhys was in brown pants and a green tunic. He had a hat with a feather tucked into it and brown belt hanging loosely on his hips. He smiled at you as he walked in a tiny illyrian leather wearing Nyx. 7 red stones were glued in place. "He was hoping you could glamor him to have Cassian's face scars?" Rhys rolled his eyes. "I offered to do it, but you know how he loves when you do the final touches on their little outfits."

You brought Nyx close to you, and wiggled your nose, making the heir giggle. A scar appeared through his brow and lower lip, "You're still too handsome to look like Uncle Cass, baby."

Nyx got really close to you, pulling down on your dress gently, "Did you make the peanut butter chocolate covered cereal with the white fluffy sugar?"

You just nodded, handing him the same treat you had given his cousin who was squirming on Rhysand's lap, as the High Lord adjusted his jacket lapels. "Once we're in full swing, everything is free game for all of you, okay?" Nyx nodded, running eagerly to his cousin and looking over all the games and snacks you had.

Feyre appeared next to you, iridescent see through wings conjured on her back and a short green dress that looked as if it was made of layered leaves. "I heard you acquired the thing."

"I cannot confirm nor deny that there is an ancient God of fear in my home." You handed her a lemon drop secretly. "I really like the lost boy and pixie idea."

She shrugged. "Rhys just wanted me to wear this dress."

Eris and his mate entered your home next, Azriel immediately standing to hug your cousin and take their baby from them. They were also dressed as legends. The God of Death and Goddess of Spring. Eris wore a black tunic with gold jewelry wrapping his bicep as he held his mate close to him. Mara had her long blonde hair pinned up, a crown of bones and roses resting on her head. Her pink dress was adorned with flowers and pearls. She waved to you with a bring smile on her face. "How many doors should we be afraid to open?" Her bell-like voice rang. You only smiled in response. "All of them."

They had dressed their daughter in a little blue shimmering gown. Azriel walked her to you, tears lining his eyes. "Look at our good daughter," he stroked her soft cheek with one of his fingers. "Eris said they'll probably change her so we have to enjoy this while we can."

"Did you let them know we have a little room ready for her whenever?" Azriel nodded, his soft eyes never leaving her face. "We should go change, my love. Let Lucien have his niece."

Azriel handed her off before you two went up the stairs. "You are sure Nyx is okay with the shadows standing ominously behind him?" Azriel nodded, pulling out his costume and quickly changing. You could feel through the bond he desperately wanted to get back to the little Autumn Heiress.

You saw him in leather everyday, but something about him quickly changing into those loose leather pants and that open white tunic with jewelry had your heart pounding. He strapped the leather belt and weapons to his waist while staring at you. "Later, my lady. Little princess cuddles first."

He helped you get into your own costume, similar to his, being careful not to over tighten the corset you had on. You stared at the two of you in the mirror as he kissed your temple. "We should become pirates."

Azriel shook his head, smacking you playfully on the butt. "I have all the booty I need right here."

The two of you made your way back downstairs. You run up behind your nephew, grabbing Nyx and pulling him into the kitchen. "Are you ready for shadows to loom over you oh so ominously?" You tickled him gently as you asked, and he nodded eagerly.

"You promise Uncle Cass will scream?" You and Azriel nodded. "Revenge." Nyx said with a serious look. "Also. When are we doing the candy?"

Azriel ran a hand through Nyx's hair. "Soon, little bat." A sudden feminine scream had Azriel and you looking up.

Rhys had opened the door where you had created an illusion. Opening the door would cause a mist and dust like figure to appear before it began rushing towards the person standing there, deathly thin hands and fingers reached out to rip them into what appeared to be a void.

Rhys stood with his hand on his chest, eyes wide in fright. "Mother above, y/n! Why?!"

Feyre began to giggle, hiding her head in Lucien's shoulder. "You should have seen your face."

Rhys glared at his mate. "I will never understand your amusement in these things, Feyre Darling."

Eris muttered softly from next to you, surrendering his daughter once again to Azriel. He handed one of the hand-made soft caramels to Nyx and Lucien's son. "It's more the look on your face that's amusing, Rhysand Darling." He paused, looking around. "Where are our other friends?"

Azriel took a cookie, breaking it in half for the boys as their mothers fell into a deep conversation, not noticing as their sons were fed sugar. "Cassian and the girls will be here soon. Mor is in Winter with Viv. Amren is still in Summer."

Lucien rose a brow, smirking. "Still? It's been almost 2 months."

Azriel nodded. "It's not him. It's her."

"You two won't be much better," Rhys said casually as he looked between you and Azriel.

Azriel sighed, "Soon."

You perked up as the door open, smiling in an almost feral way to Eris. "And the show begins."

The Valkyries came in first, carrying a few snacks with them and adding to the table. They were all in black dresses with black corsets. Nesta had a ceremony knife strapped to her waist, Gwyn had shimmering potion bottles on hers, and Emerie had an old leather bound book. Cassian came in next with his and Nesta's son, holding his hand as he hid behind his father.

For such a loud outgoing male and a bold daring female, they had given birth to the quietest being you had ever met. You kneeled down, holding your arms out to him and he ran to you instantly. Cassian was dressed in black robes, he also carried a book of ancient spells and rituals. "Little guy is nervous over the spooky pumpkins in the yard."

You nodded, lifting your nephew as you held him close. "I'm sorry, bud." He reached for Eris, and the male took him, smiling at his little leathers with bright blue siphons.

"Did you want Uncle Azriel's shadows or no?" He nodded shyly, resting his head on Eris's shoulder. "You know, Auntie y/n bought extra pumpkins for you three to decorate tonight. We can have Auntie Fey help yours look really cool and less spooky."

Feyre's smile grew. "We could turn it into a kitty, or a carriage!"

"Can we play?" He whispered. "And have candy?"

You all nodded. "I made all three of you super special apples this year. And apple sauce for our little princess."

The boys all nodded excited, and you looked at Azriel, giving him the code to begin Cassian's torment. He made a shadowy figure appear behind Nyx, following the little heir to where you had set up games for them and little snack bags for when they got to run through the House going from room to room to collect candy. Cassian stared at the figure and then Nyx. Ignoring it at first as he socialized and got drinks for himself and his trio of witches.

His glance kept going to Nyx as the night passed and the littles played games, smiling and screaming through the House as they found each hidden scare behind the doors and collected their candy from the shadows waiting for them.

"You out did yourself and exceeded expectations once again, sister," Rhysand leaned on the counter next to you, smiling as he drank his spiked cider. "Though I would like to know why the shadows are looming over my son."

You smiled at the boys, watching as they pulled Cassian to the last door to be opened before they got to sit with their hand made candies and make smores. "Just watch, brother," Azriel said smoothly, a scarred hand running up and down your arm as he watched with a smirk.

"Daddy, please!" A tiny version of Azriel pushed Cassian towards the door. "You have to! Mommy did one!"

Cassian looked to Nesta, who nodded in confirmation. "It was a mirror, but instead of reflecting me, it was the King of Hybern holding his head."

Cassian rolled his shoulders back, popping his neck quickly and shaking his hands out. He knocked, thinking he was activating the magic to be ready, and you just smirked. He opened the door and froze before a scream echoed in the house causing Rhys to spit out his cider into the sink and cough. The room was silent, waiting for the shadowed figure to disappear, "You didn't," Rhys whispered.

"Oh, she did." Cassian backed away slowly, putting the three boys behind him just as Bryaxis disappeared. His shoulders visibly relaxed falling into a false sense of comfort as the 3 boys and Nesta began to giggle.

"He's right behind me, isn't he?" Feyre nodded, a tattooed hand covering her mouth. Cassian turned his head in a comedic fashion, whispering it was all fake, just cheap tricks you had conjured to scare the kids. "Just cheap tricks." He repeated over and over until he opened his eyes and looked up, staring straight into the looming figure of an ancient God of Terror.

"Boo," Bryaxis hissed out. Cassian screamed again, running to hide behind Nesta and leaving the three boys their holding out their candy bags.

"Trick or treat," they sang to him in unison. You all watched as the God pulled the largest candy bags you had packaged out, putting on in each bag after shifting himself into an adult sized replica of the little shadow babies behind Nyx. Bryaxis floated to Gwyneth, seeming to almost smile down at her. "You have left the library?"

She nodded. "It took some encouragement, but yes. We miss you protecting us." Bryaxis moved to Feyre, shadowy limbs moving her hair gently.

"I am ready to come home." Feyre seemed to melt on the spot. "If you will still host me." Cassian turned to Rhys, his face falling in terror as the High Lord nodded to his lady. "Did I get a window?"

"Several actually," Feyre confirmed. "You have a sky light now. It's enchanted to protect you from the sun and darken the room during the day, but allow you to see out at night and admire the stars." Bryaxis nodded, disappearing out the window and towards the House of Wind.

Cassian turned to you, "What the fuck was that for?"

You took a sip of water, "Dropping me on purpose on April Fool's Day."

Cassian opened his mouth to defend himself, but paused as he saw his son and cousin giggling as they sat in a little circle.

Eris entered the room, smiling broadly and gently pushing Lucien. "Fire is ready if the boys are." He turned to Cassian. "I thought for a second I needed to come rescue my mate when you screamed. Then I remembered her and Aspyn were next to me." Laughter erupted through the room as Cassian smirked at Eris. The two males jokingly shoved each other, smiling as they grabbed drinks.

Everyone left the room laughing as Eris and Cassian verbally picked on each other, heading to the large bonfire. You, Rhys, and Azriel stood inside, waiting for the door to shut before the High Lord turned to you two.

"I had a thought I wanted to speak to you about y/n," Rhys grabbed a handful of the trail mix you had made. "We've enjoyed this tradition so much the past few years, and if you are okay with it, I would like to introduce it to all of Velaris next year."

He paused, watching excitement set in on your face. "I just imagine the streets full of children enjoying the festivities. We do not have many holidays and traditions aimed towards them, and this truly seems to be from them more than adults."

You nodded, smile growing. "I would need you to lead the community on it. Hold meetings explaining traditions, teach the citizens how to make treats, talk to seamstresses about costume designs. Could you do that for me?"

"Yes!" You bounced in place, throwing your arms around his neck and hugging him tightly. "Of course I can!"

"You will have to do one more thing, sweetness," Rhys tilted your chin up to his face. "Nyx will never forgive me if Auntie y/n stops having her haunted cabin. I need this to continue until the boys lose interest, and even then after that for Aspyn and this little ones you two may have some day. I know it's been a discussion." He smirked at your non verbal confirmation. "Nyx will want to take part when he's older during set up and execution. He dreams about it and has little maps of ideas in his room."

You and Azriel had froze, your mate's hand and arm coming around your waist. "What gave away that we were trying?"

Rhys pointed towards your untouched cider and the candy and snacks you and Azriel had been eating all night. "She hasn't drank alcohol for the past 3 months, you have been deligated missions that keep you far from home for too long, and you, dear brother, have been even more obsessed with little Aspyn. The last click was the baggy costume instead of her being your arm candy tonight like she normally is. No one else knows that you're actively trying. I will keep it to myself until you're ready."

Rhys leaned in, kissing your forehead. "Think about my request. We will loan all the help you need. Excuse me while I go stop my wife from eating all of the marshmallows."

You and Azriel stood there, the shadowsinger placing soft kisses on your temple, then cheek, and neck. "You did a wonderful job, dove. The shadows have been whispering everyone's praises back to me all night." You smiled, turning in his arms to kiss his jaw. "Let's go get smores. I know you have been waiting for them all day."

He grabbed the bowl you had been digging in all night and your hand. The two of you smiled as Eris told the three young boys a campfire story, bouncing his daughter gently on his knee as he did.

Cassian wrapped an arm around you as you sat next to him, "Great party again, even if you scared me shitless."

"Did Rhysie tell you what he wants to do next year?" Cassian nodded. "What do you think?"

"As long as Auntie's spooky cabin continues, I'm in. Ness and I will help however we can."

"Then we should do it."

He nodded, watching as Azriel used his shadows to scare the boys at the perfect point in Eris's story. "Yes, yes, we should."

#acotar #acotar x reader #azriel acotar #azriel x reader #azriel #halloweenfics2023

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cre8inghavoc · 1 month

Text

What are friends for?

PT. 6

Status: ongoing!!

Updates: no set date.

WC: 3780

Pairing: megumi fushiguro x FEM!reader

Genre/Warnings:[18+] Characters are aged up. This story contains toxic boyfriend, cursing, name calling, self-doubt/hate, angst, breaking up, post-breakup, alcohol, drug use, drunk moments, new friends, dating!au, college!au, no curses!au, dark humour, dark jokes. SMAU.

RECAP:

"Why..." Your voice trembles with emotion. "Why are you so kind to me? You barely even know me..." you say, feeling a surge of sadness.

He holds your chin gently, tilting your head up to meet his gaze fully. A smirk plays on his lips, sending a shiver down your spine. He's so effortlessly attractive... his gaze alone stirs something deep within you, igniting a rush of desire. If only he knew the effect he has on you...

"And there's a lot you don't know about me, sweetheart."

You start to respond, but before you can utter a word, you watch in pure shock as he slowly brings his hand to his mouth, still locking eyes with you. With deliberate intent, he places your last edible on his tongue and swallows it.

You stare at him, utterly shocked. Trying to wrap your head around his actions and motives becomes a challenge, especially with the haze induced by the drugs clouding your thoughts. Why in the world would he take your last edible?

"Megs... why would you do that?" you ask, your words a bit slurred from the drugs.

"Why would you?" he shoots back, still close, his thumb tracing lazy circles on your cheek, his eyes boring into yours with an intensity that sends shivers down your spine.

"I... do you even know how strong it is?" you try to divert the conversation, struggling to keep up with his questioning about your own choices.

"Tell me," he urges softly, his gaze now heavy-lidded, a whole new energy flowing from him that sets your pulse racing. It's like he's looking at you with hunger, and before you realize it, you're squirming slightly, trying to ease the sudden heat pooling between your thighs.

"I... it's around 35mg..." you manage to stammer out.

He just hums in response, one knee finding its place on the bed for support as he leans closer, never breaking eye contact. Your heart thumps wildly as he inches closer to you, his eyes flicking between your lips and your eyes, a smirk playing on his lips as he notices your breath hitching.

You can't help but giggle at a sudden idea that pops into your head.

"What's so funny, angel?" he asks, his tone sweet and curious.

"Oh, just a silly thought," you dismiss, feeling a bit embarrassed about the idea.

"Tell me, I want to know," he insists, a smirk playing on his lips.

"Are you sure you want to know?" you tease, flashing him a playful smile.

"Absolutely, angel," he replies with a grin.

"I was just thinking about how our friends were so surprised to see us together earlier... wouldn't it be hilarious if we pranked our friends into thinking we were together? I mean, it's kind of silly, but..." you trail off, chuckling at the absurdity of the idea.

"Let's do it," he says, his smirk growing wider as he continues to stroke your cheek with his thumb.

"Really?" you exclaim, surprised by his response. You hadn't expected him to agree to such a stupid plan, but the idea excites you nonetheless.

"Yeah, it would be funny to see their reactions. So, how do we pull it off?" he asks, watching as your face lights up at his agreement. He can't help but find you utterly adorable.

"Okay, so I was thinking we could take some pictures together, like holding hands or something, and then post them on our Twitter pages. That way, they'll see them in the morning..." you explain, your excitement bubbling over.

"Sounds perfect. Give me your phone," he says.

You hand him your phone, watching as he opens the camera app and then takes your hand in his. Your heart flutters at the touch, and you glance up at him as he snaps the picture. As he focuses intently on capturing the picture, you can't help but feel a rush of warmth coursing through you at the sensation of his touch. It's just for the photos, you remind yourself, but the way his hand feels against yours sends shivers down your spine. Despite knowing it's all part of the prank, his touch alone manages to stir up a rush of emotions within you. Once he's done, he passes the phone back to you, a soft smile on his lips.

"You can post this one. It looks good," he says, still holding your hand.

You open Twitter and upload the photo, with Megumi responding to the tweet to make it seem more believable.

Setting your phone aside, you realize that he's still holding onto your hand, and the realization sends a wave of flustered excitement through you. The intensity of the moment seems to increase with each passing second, and you can sense that he feels it too from the way he's looking at you. His gaze locks onto yours, and you feel a magnetic pull drawing you closer together.

"Think I know another way to make it more believable..." Megumi's voice carries a hint of mischief as he speaks up.

As he leans in, his eyes flicker down to your lips, signalling his intentions, and your heart races in anticipation of what's to come. "Meg-" you start to say, but he leans back from your face, teasing you, and you hate how he's pulling away again. But something inside you snaps. Maybe it's because you’re intoxicated, maybe it's sheer desperation, but you can't hold back any longer. You need it... You need him... So, you grab ahold of his wrist and pull him back over you, his smirk widening. For a brief moment, you lock eyes, both of you breathing heavily, and without hesitation, he crashes his lips onto yours.

Finally... finally, his lips meet yours, and a fierce hunger flares to life within both of you. Fueled by raw desire and longing, you surrender to the intoxicating embrace, every touch, every kiss, a testament to the passion that's been simmering between you.

Suddenly, he bites your bottom lip, drawing a soft moan from you as he takes the opportunity to slip his tongue into your mouth. Climbing onto the bed above you, he grasps the back of your neck, deepening the kiss, eliciting another moan from you that causes him to groan in response. It feels as though his body has a mind of its own, perhaps the effects of the weed already kicking in. You find yourself instinctively reaching up to caress his chest, feeling the rise and fall of his breath beneath your touch. Slowly, your fingers trail down his abs, tempted to tug at the hem of his sweater and pull it off, but you know you shouldn't. Instead, you slip your hand under his sweater, relishing the sensation of his warm, bare skin against your fingertips. You feel his abs tense beneath your touch, revealing the effects you have on him.

Fuck… he's so toned…

The craving for more of him is overwhelming, but you know you shouldn't give in. Reluctantly, you pull away, locking eyes with him once more.

"We shouldn't," you murmur softly.

"Yeah," he agrees, still lost in your gaze.

All you can do is bite your lip and return his gaze, fighting the urge to pull him back in.

Suddenly, he swiftly lifts you up and gently turns you onto the bed, positioning himself beneath you. He situates you on his lap, his hand still on your cheek before trailing down your neck, his thumb grazing your lip before placing his hand around your throat.

"You're just so beautiful," he murmurs, applying gentle pressure, enough to allow you to breathe.

Then, he pulls you in for another kiss, this time even more passionate than before.

Caught off guard, you let out a gasp, unable to contain the rush of emotions coursing through you. It's almost impossible to resist him; he's undeniably attractive, and his presence alone makes you feel like you're on fire. The way he makes you feel special, calling you beautiful and igniting sensations that pulse through your body—it's intoxicating. The thought of him being able to sense just how much he affects you is both thrilling and utterly embarrassing. But in this moment, it's like nothing else matters except the desire that burns between you.

He gently pulls away from your lips, leaving you momentarily confused.

"Give me your phone," he requests suddenly.

"What? Why?" you inquire, puzzled by his sudden request.

"Give it to me, angel," he repeats softly.

You can't help but melt a little at that pet name. You love when he calls you that. Unable to resist, you hand over your phone, watching as he returns to the camera app and snaps a picture of you on top of him.

"What was that for?" you ask, a smile tugging at your lips as you gaze down at him.

He turns the phone to show you the photo.

"You look way too pretty like this," he remarks, and the words alone send a jolt of heat through you. It's as if he has a direct line to your desires, because just hearing him say that makes you feel even more aroused. You swear he must sense it, cause in that moment, his gaze drifts down to your thighs before returning to meet your eyes, a wide grin spreading across his face.

As you glance at the photo on your phone, you can't deny the aesthetic appeal of the scene captured: him beneath you, his hand delicately around your neck. It's undeniably alluring, and you can't help but enjoy this moment more. But beneath the surface, a conflict rages within you, tearing at your heart and clouding your thoughts. On one hand, there's an undeniable attraction pulling you towards him, urging you to give in to the intense desires that swirl between you. Yet, on the other hand, there's a voice of reason cautioning you against rushing into something new, especially when you're still healing from the scars of your past. It's a battle between the longing for his touch and the need to protect yourself no.... to protect him from potential heartache, because of how fucked up you are. Caught in this internal struggle, you find yourself torn between what you want and what you know you should do. You know you crave him, want him more than anything, but the timing feels all wrong. You've just ended a toxic relationship, and diving into another one feels… reckless. As much as you want him, you know deep down that you're not ready for it, that you don't deserve him, not now, not in your mental state. So, despite the overwhelming temptation, you force yourself to pull back, to resist the urge for something more, knowing that it's the best choice for both of you, at least for now…

"Hey... are you okay? Did I say something wrong?" Megumi's voice is laced with concern as you suddenly move away from him.

"No, no, not at all," you hastily assure him, trying to quell the rising guilt within you. "I'm just feeling a bit dizzy and tired, that's all."

You offer him a reassuring smile, wanting to convey that the time you spent together was enjoyable. But deep down, you wrestle with the guilt of holding back your true feelings. You want to be with him, but you know rushing into something new wouldn't be fair to either of you.

"Alright, let's sleep then," he says, pressing a gentle kiss to your temple.

"Goodnight, angel," he murmurs softly.

"Goodnight, Megs," you reply, feeling a warmth spreading through you at the endearment. With his kiss lingering on your skin, you close your eyes, allowing yourself to drift into a peaceful slumber.

You both slip under the covers and eventually drift off to sleep. This time feels different, though. With him beside you, you feel a sense of safety and security wash over you, as if all your worries have melted away. There's a peacefulness in the way you sleep, knowing he's right there next to you, and for the first time in a while, you find yourself able to truly relax and let go.

"W-what the fuck?!" Nobara's voice pierces through the room, causing you to jolt awake in surprise and terror. You lean up, your heart racing, and see her standing at Megumi's door, staring at the two of you in disbelief.

As you glance at Megumi, you realize the compromising position you both fell asleep in: his arm wrapped around your waist, your head resting on his shoulder, and one leg draped over his. Quickly, you move back, feeling the heat rise to your cheeks as you realize how it must look.

"Why didn't you tell us you're together?!" Nobara's voice is loud and accusatory as she addresses both of you.

You and Megumi exchange a sheepish glance before bursting into laughter at the absurdity of the situation. Just then, you hear Itadori rushing towards Nobara, concern evident in his voice.

"What the heck happened?! Are you guys okay?" Itadori questions, his eyes wide with alarm as he rushes into the room, not initially noticing the situation.

"We're fine, but look!" Nobara shows Itadori her phone, displaying your Twitter feed and the photo you posted.

"What the heck, Megumi? You said you weren't together?!" Itadori's surprise is evident as he glances up at Megumi. Suddenly, his gaze falls upon you, still in bed beside Megumi, and realization dawns on him. Shock registers on his face as he processes the unexpected revelation.

Still chuckling at their reactions, you exchange amused glances with Megumi, who simply shrugs with a smirk on his face.

You and Megumi exchange a knowing glance, silently agreeing to play along with the prank. Without saying a word about your "relationship" (or lack thereof), you both decide to keep up the charade by not giving any definitive answers. It'll be much more amusing to let them speculate and question the authenticity of your supposed relationship as you continue to post more relationship-like pictures on your feed. With mischievous smiles, you both nod in agreement, ready to keep the prank going for as long as possible.

As the week passes by, you realize it's been a while since you've hung out with your friends, including Megumi. It's not that you've been intentionally avoiding him, but there's a nagging feeling inside you, a sense that getting too close to him might lead to something you're not ready for… Truth is, you're scared… scared of getting too close to him, scared of losing control over your feelings, you're hesitant to pursue a relationship, not due to lack of readiness, but because you're grappling with the emotional scars left behind by your past.

Every time you're around him, you feel this undeniable pull, an urge to be closer to him in every way possible. It's not just physical attraction; it's a desire to hold his hand, to spend endless hours talking to him, to have him by your side always.

You don't even realize it, but you've been unintentionally brushing off Megumi's attempts to reach out to you. It's not like you're doing it on purpose; life just seems to be pulling you in a hundred different directions right now.

You've made some big decisions recently, like deciding to move out of your house and transfer to a new school. It's a mix of wanting a fresh start but also feeling scared… Your ex-boyfriend's threats still hang over you like a dark cloud, reminding you of the danger you're trying to escape.

The decision to move homes and schools wasn't easy, but it felt necessary for your own safety. You're terrified of what your ex might do, and you'd rather not take any chances. Initially, you were planning to stay with one of your friends temporarily until you figured out your next move. However, when Yuta and Maki suggested moving in with Inumaki, given the ample space in his house (due to his parents being rich), the opportunity seemed too good to pass up.

With five bedrooms available, one for each of you, and even a gaming room for Toge, the prospect of living with your friends fills you with excitement. Not only will you get to see them every day at school, but now you'll also have the chance to spend time with them at home. It feels like the perfect solution to your current difficult situation, offering safety, companionship, and a fresh start all in one.

As your move-out date approaches, you realize you haven't even started packing, let alone arrange for moving trucks to haul your stuff. Thankfully, you don't have much furniture to worry about; it's mainly your personal belongings in your room and your TV that you want to take with you.

But before diving into your own packing, you're determined to rid your home of any reminders of your ex-boyfriend. You gather up everything that holds a piece of him: his sweaters, sweatpants, photos of you both, the jewelry he once gifted you, and even the love letters from the beginning of your relationship, when he wasn’t such a shitty person. As much as you're tempted to toss it all out or maybe even burn it, you can't bring yourself to do it. Despite everything, you're not the kind of person to be petty. So, you pull out your phone and shoot him a text, asking him to swing by and collect his things.

You open the door to find your ex standing there, a smirk playing on his lips as he greets you. You can't help but roll your eyes at his cocky demeanor.

"Missed me, sweetheart?" he taunts, but you're not having any of it.

"Oh, shut it. Don't bother coming in fully," you retort, cutting him off before he can take his shoes off.

"I'm just giving you your things, then you can leave."

"Sure, whatever," he replies, rolling his eyes in response to your dismissal.

As you head to the kitchen to retrieve his belongings, you're interrupted by another knock at the door. You hesitate, wondering if you're just hearing things, but ultimately decide to ignore it and continue with your task. Grabbing the box of his stuff, you make your way back to the living room.

Meanwhile, your ex opens the door slightly to find a tall boy with dark hair standing outside. Recognition flickers in his eyes; he remembers this boy from last week, the one who stayed at your house. A smirk spreads across his face as he realizes how the tables have turned.

Megumi stares at your ex with a thousand thoughts racing through his mind. Why is your ex here, in your house? Was this why you've been avoiding him? The questions linger, unspoken, as a tense silence settles between them. He refuses to let his true emotions show, masking his hurt and confusion behind his usual nonchalant facade. He stares at your ex, determined not to give him the satisfaction of seeing how much he's affected by the situation. Breaking the tense silence between them, Megumi finally speaks up.

"Where's Y/N?" he asks, his tone casual despite the turmoil swirling inside him.

"She's busy right now. Do you need something?" your ex responds, clearly enjoying this more.

"Yeah, tell her to call me when she's not busy," Megumi replies evenly, refusing to let your ex get under his skin.

"Will do, bro," your ex says with a smirk, enjoying the tension before Megumi turns to leave.

Megumi walks back to his car with measured steps, his expression carefully neutral, betraying none of the chaos within. As he reaches his car, he pauses, taking a moment to collect himself before getting in. Once seated behind the wheel, he lets out a silent sigh, his facade finally dropping as he allows himself to acknowledge the uneasy emotions swirling inside him. With a heavy heart, he starts the engine, steeling himself to navigate the storm of feelings that threaten to consume him.

As you make your way back to the living room, the sound of your ex's voice blends with another, familiar one at the door.

Was that Megumi?

A sinking feeling settles in your stomach, and you quicken your pace, but it's too late. You watch helplessly as Megumi gets into his car and drives off, leaving you standing there in a state of panic.

Realization hits you like a ton of bricks as you grasp how the situation must have appeared to him, especially since you haven't spoken much since you shared your first kiss. The weight of the misunderstanding presses down on you, and you curse yourself for not reaching out sooner to explain the situation. You realize now that you should have let him know about your plans to move out and how you only invited your ex over to collect his belongings before packing up and moving in with your friends.

Driven by a mix of frustration and desperation, you quickly kick your ex out of your house once you gave his stuff, disregarding his protests as your thoughts are consumed by Megumi. With trembling fingers, you pull out your phone and dial his number repeatedly, each call going straight to voicemail. The unanswered rings only serve to heighten your anxiety, amplifying the sense of urgency to set things right.

Fuck... Megumi, please answer me....

You try calling him a few more times, hoping he'll pick up, but it's no use. The silence on the other end only increases your anxiety more. You know you should probably give him some space and time to cool down, but the fear of losing him grips you tightly. Your mind races with a bunch of thoughts, and your hands shake uncontrollably as you attempt to text him. You have to remind yourself to take deep breaths before you can even begin to type out your messages.

Looking back at the last messages you exchanged only deepens the feeling of self-loathing within you. You remember shutting him down when he invited you to hang out with his friends, and then ignoring his goodnight text. The realization hits hard– you've been acting like an asshole. And then, him seeing your ex at your house only adds to your guilt and shame. You wouldn't blame him if he decided to cut you off completely.

You really fucked up this time.

Now that your ex has retrieved his belongings, you're on a tight deadline to get everything packed by the end of the day. You have to move out tonight, especially since you're starting at a new school tomorrow. Plus, moving everything out today will make it much easier to settle into your new room before school starts. And, it's a good way to pass the time until 6:40 PM tonight, when you plan to head to the park.... Tonight will be the moment of truth to see if he decides to show up. You're overwhelmed with the need to apologize for your silence all week and for turning down his invitations to hang out. And then there's the mess with your ex, which just adds to the chaos. You really want to explain to him that your ex was only there to pick up his stuff before you move, but it's hard to make him understand when you hadn't even mentioned your plans to move to begin with.

It just feels like everything is just spiralling out of control...

please ignore the twitter likes being different and the times on the texts —I was kinda too lazy to fix them....

i originally wanted the time on y/ns text to megumi (her spamming him) to be set at 11:20am but it lit wouldn't work so i gave up...

Also, not totally sold on this chapter, feels like I rushed it a bit.... well not necessarily rushed but to be honest, I had a hard time figuring out how to end it. Had a few ideas but none of them rly felt good enough and i kinda wanted to set up the next chap with the way i was going to end it....

sorry if this is confusing its 3:40am and ive been writing for hours.... 😀

TAGLIST <3

@lavender-hvze , @xbarrjallenx , @atinymonbebestay , @1l-ynn , @chilichopsticks , @dr-fluff-meow, , @lostfracturess, @maya-maya-56, @ichorstainedskin , @luciiferslover

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mitsuristoleme · 4 months

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He Got That Boyish Look That I Like in a Man

written for @satoruoo as part of the Jjk Secret Santa (i hope you like it)

cw: aged up!yuuji. and by extension other characters. suggestive. fluff. mention of my poly!stsg x reader throuple. gojo and geto’s spouse referred to as [t/n] because technically they’re also a reader character and i’m to lazy to give them a name. megumi is a hater. 1.3k words. gojo is a menace but are we really shocked. gojo and geto’s spouse attempts to rizz up reader.

a/n: i actually have no idea how i wrote this but enjoy!! i love yuuji sm

People described yours and Yuuji’s relationship in many different ways.

Nobara was both happy that her two best friends (not that she would ever admit that she considered any of you her best friends) had found love in each other; and jealous that Yuuji had found a significant other before she had.

Megumi was utterly sick of the dumbassery (his words), something about you each being insane enough on your own.

Todo was glad that his brother/ best friend had a significant other but heartbroken because “how are we to talk about Jennifer Lawrence’s butt now?”

Yeah... Todo weirded you out when you first met him. Who yells “What kind of woman is your type?!” when you first meet someone??

Anyway.

You guys had started dating in your first year at Jujutsu High and the past four years that you had been dating were absolutely amazing. Perfect even. Yuuji is an amazing boyfriend. He cooks for you (the meatballs are KILLER), his body temperature is somehow always perfect for cuddling, and the sex is mindblowing.

The first Christmas eve after you graduate, you follow him down the sidewalk, your hands intertwined, heading to have dinner at a restaurant with your old teachers, Fushiguro and Kugisaki. He’s excitedly ranting about the sushi restaurant Gojo-sensei, Geto-sensei, their spouse introduced him to. Admittedly, you’re barely listening, too distrated by the sparkle in his eyes, the bounce in his step, his ever so perfect side profile, and his muscular build accentuated now that hes wearing a fitted t-shirt and jeans instead of his jujutsu high uniform.

Yeah, you’re drooling over your boyfriend. What? It’s not a crime.

“Baby? Baby are you listening? Hello? Earth to y/n?”

Yuuji’s hand waving in front of your face brings you back to reality and you apologise to the boy for ignoring him, albeit not regretting staring at him at all. You grin abashedly as you tell your now pouting boyfriend, “Sorry darling, but really its your fault for looking so sexy and edible.”

His face flushes a warm pink at your words and he pulls you closer by your waist to press a kiss to your hairline. “Say shit like that in public again and we might end up with a problem sweetheart. We wouldn’t want to leave our old teachers hanging now would we?” His voice had dropped to a deep, seductive whisper, sending shivers down your spine.

With his sunshine boy personality, it was easy to forget that Yuuji was inhumanly strong, and a lot less innocent than he appeared on the surface.

The proximity of his face to yours was causing your heart to pound ferociously in your chest, blood rushing to your face, and maybe somewhere else too. His golden eyes shone with mischief and lust, flicking between your eyes and mouth. His grip on your waist tightened as he took his lower lip into his mouth and you had to fight the urge to kiss him senseless in the middle of the street.

“Yuu,” you breathed out, pressing a kiss to his jawline. “We should go or we’ll be extremely late and Kugisaki will never let us live it down.”

He lets out a huff and pouts, but starts walking to the restaurant you were supposed to be at nonetheless.

As soon as you guys enter the restaurant, you’re greeted by over enthusiastic yells by Gojo accompanied by his arms waving in the air to catch your attention.

T/n rises from the their chair and pulls you into an aggressive hug. You laugh as you hug your favourite teacher back, as they repeatedly tell you how pretty you look.

“Sensei, are you trying to steal my girlfriend from me?” Yuuji joked, as he received affectionate but mildly aggressive headpats from Gojo, all while Geto laughed in his seat. All the while, Megumi and Nobara ignored your existence.

“Yeah actually i am. These two aren’t cutting it anymore,” T/n laughs, gesturing to Gojo and Geto, who make gasps of mock offense.

“Thats not what you said last ni-“

Gojo is cut off by his black haired husband getting up and slapping his hand over his mouth. “Not in front of our students, you fool,” he hisses.

You head off to greet Nobara and Megumi as Yuuji chats with your teachers about his upcoming mission.

Megumi looks up disinterestedly from the book he’s reading as you approach. “Hey Thing 1,” he greets. Before you can give him a response to the blatant disrespect, Nobara shoves a Santa cap on your head.

“HO! HO! HO!” you immediately say obnoxiously, taking special care to say it right next to Megumi’s ear. He glares at your triumphant expression and mouths a silent ‘fuck you’.

Sticking your tongue out at him, you slide into the seat next to Yuuji and rest your head on his shoulder. He turns his head, momentarily distracted from the conversation he was having, and smiles at you. That beautiful dazzling smile that leaves you wonderstruck everytime you see it. He wraps an arm around your waist and turns back to his conversation with Geto.

He picks up his drink, condensation around the cold glass, and brings it to his lips. After four years of being together you realise just how attractive you find Yuuji’s hands and arms. They’re muscular and just the right amount of veiny. You’ve always known his hands were attractive, but something about the dim lighting of the restaurant, soft music playing in the background and being pressed against his side that makes you incredibly hyper aware of everything about him.

The rest of the evening passes by with Yuuji hands constantly resting on you, eliciting mock disgusted glares from Megumi, fake retching sounds from Nobara and fond looks from your teachers, who saw their relationship in their younger years in you.

When everyone gets ready to leave, T/n insists on driving “the kids” home. When your teachers’ car pulls up to your apartment complex, you and your boyfriend thank them for the ride and make the way up to your place.

The elevator ride up to your floor is shrouded in comfortable silence, Yuuji’s arms wrapped around your waist from behind, his face tucked into the crook of your neck.

You enter your house a little after midnight, absolutely wiped from the night you had. As fun as it was, keeping up with Gojo and Kugisaki’s energy at the same time could be pretty exhausting.

The small Christmas tree you and Yuuji set up a week ago twinkles away in the corner of the living room as you slip your shoes off. The moment you straighten up after putting away your shoes, Yuuji pulls you into a crushing hug.

“You look so beautiful tonight,” he whispers. “You look beautiful everyday but you looked extra beautiful tonight. You’re the only Christmas gift I need baby,” he continues, all sweet and perfect and you want to cry and kiss his face off.

“Well then, its a pity I bought you the collector’s edition of the Human Earthworm movies,” you grin.

He gasps and before he has a chance to respond, you kiss him.

He responds with just as much enthusiasm, kissing you lovingly, even going as far as to lean you back into a dip.

You laugh contently as you break apart and straighten up, still pressed into his body.

“I love you so much, Yuu.”

“I love you too baby.”

He scoops you up bridal style and carrying you to the bathroom, both of you giggling like middle schoolers. You wash your faces and finish your night routine, smiling at each other and bumping hips.

You settle into the covers with Yuuji pressed against you, your face resting against his chest. His comforting presence was lulling you to sleep. He had always been such a safe space for you, holding you through countless stressful breakdowns.

The last thing you hear before you black out is a soft “Merry Christmas sweetheart, I love you,” followed by a gentle kiss on the crown of your head.

please don’t copy or repost my work

comments and reblogs are appreciated

check out my masterlist

dividers by @/saradika

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captainofthetidesbreath · 3 months

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Now that we're through season two of Midst and are looking forward to the trailer for season three this week, I thought it'd be fun to return to the season two trailer to take a look at the "questions you may have" after the season one finale that it listed and see how many of them we got answers to and which are questions we still have!

——

Why the fuck did the moon explode? This is still a question we all have, audience and characters alike.

What's gonna happen to utterly doomed Midst and everybody trapped on it by an incoming wave of reality-devouring fog? Just as when Saskia was asked this, it is not really possible to answer this one succinctly—but we do get an answer.

Are Lark and Tzila gonna be okay? Yes! Physically, at least. For the time being.

Are they gonna figure out that Sherman's not dead? They did. It was harrowing.

What's Phineas gonna do now that he's been abandoned by the Trust, the very institution that raised him and gave him purpose and his sense of self-worth? And like, what is he gonna do? Go to therapy. I cannot believe, in the best way, that the answer is literally "go to therapy" here. After that, it's go to the Un (!!!) to rescue Sherman. He's always running after one Guthrie or another.

Will Jonas Spahr do the right thing? He's done a lot of things. Some of it was definitely not the right thing, and some was an attempt at the right thing, and some of it was a failure to commit to the right thing. So, mixed bag at best. It can be said that, ultimately, Jonas Spahr has come to a place where he is trying to do the right thing.

What even is the right thing? This is highly subjective, both in reference to Spahr and in general, so whether we received an answer to this is up to interpretation. There are few clear and unequivocal answers in this story.

What is Imelda's deal? Zealotry!

Why did the Trust even bother rescuing Moc Weepe even though he's this weird sleazeball piece of shit who stabbed his closest friends in the back? That massive ridiculousness of an abacus was more than just an inconvenience, it represented the fact that Weepe has enough Valor to be a member of the Upper Trust! Also, Imelda sees his cunning and ruthlessness as an asset and something that the Trust needs, which should concern everyone.

And what is a mirrorhawk? This has not gotten clearer, and I suspect never will! They're apparently edible though, given herbed mirrohawk dip was served at an Upper Trust luncheon.

What is a bocular horse? "You really know what it is. It really barely needs mentioning. You've seen science fiction. Yes, that picture you've got of the bocular horse in your mind right now, that's it."

What is going on with Weepe's voice? Apparently the same as what's going on with the rest of him, given his voice has gotten more gravelly lately against all odds.

Is Landlord gonna die? They told us this one in the season two trailer directly: no. He does make a couple of lovely reappearances.

Why did Lark kill Fuze? What is she trying to hide? Tying up loose ends, trying to prevent him from identifying her as the one who killed Maximilian Loxlee. Why she killed Maximilian, however, is a new question we've got.

Is the nutcracker okay? It was! Then Saskia threw it out, so...

Will the rapidly depreciating value of Valor ever restabilize, or is the market doomed to implode? Still waiting on this one, and the Trust is sure trying to stablize the market. It's not looking great though, gonna be honest.

Is the Trust bad? It's pretty bad over there, to put it mildly.

Did Saskia's dogs really eat the melted corpse of enterprising businessman Atticus Concord? The answer to this hasn't changed since season one, so it's still at: apparently! Also, we learned the dogs' names: Lloyd and Bartimaeus.

#Midst #Midst podcast #Midst things #long post for ts

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johnwickb1tsch · 5 months

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you're the worst thing (i'm addicted to) PART 2

a john wick x Helen'sSister!Reader fic You are Helen's baby sister. When you meet John Wick at Helen's graveside, he invites you to dinner to celebrate her birthday. Set a few years after the first movie, 2-4 never happened. Use of y/n. Warnings: canon typical violence. Future reference to threat of noncon, (not John! because he's our assassin sweetiepie). Mourning. Smut. Grey areas. Questionable decisions. Sweetheart!John, BAMF!John Depressed!John - If you can handle the movie you should be fine here... PART 1

PART 2.

You tell him that you’ll meet him there. After your little crying jag, you have to go home and clean up. Maybe with some painkillers and a nap with an ice pack on your eyes you won’t look like death warmed over. He offers to pick you up, but you decline, knowing it would make the drive twice as long for him.

For a moment he seems like he wants to argue, but in the end he lets it go.

The restaurant is in Manhattan. It’s the sort of place you could never afford, and maybe even if you could, it wouldn’t exactly be your scene. You smooth your dress over your hips as you get out of your cab, hoping you won’t embarrass John. It was the nicest thing you own for a respectable rendezvous, a dark green paisley Etro dress with long sleeves that you’d scored at a thrift shop. It bared your shoulders with a wide neckline, but not much cleavage. You were behaving yourself tonight, despite the little suggestions the devils on your shoulders were whispering into your ear.

Despite the fact that you arrive early, John is waiting for you outside, looking utterly edible in another black on black three-piece suit. Does he buy them in bulk? The thought makes you smile a little, a thing he returns in small measure. There is a sadness that cloaks this man like a mantle, and for a moment you wonder if that is what people see, when they look at you. You’re not sure you’re qualified to help him at all, but maybe, just maybe, there could be some solace in your shared grief for the same woman who left you both behind.

“Hey.”

“Hi.”

Nervously, you look through the window at the glittering lights and swanky diners laughing over their expensive glasses of wine. You feel unbearably self-conscious. “Am I dressed ok for this place?”

“You look beautiful.” He says it so matter of fact, his tone completely platonic. And yet…

And yet.

He looks at you with a haunting intensity that grips you to the bone. He isn't even looking at your body. He's looking at your face, almost as though he's seen a ghost.

You know you remind him of her, and you wonder if maybe this is a bad idea.

But he shakes himself out of it, offering his arm, and even though you have an inkling that maybe you shouldn't, another part of you that is usually kept locked up in the dungeon with the rest of your worst impulses pushes you to take it, because you want to. Bolstered by his approval and your own special brand of foolhardiness, you slip your arm through his with your head held high.

You haven't technically done anything wrong yet. Lusting after your sister's husband in an abstract way you never had any intention of acting on isn't exactly new. But the rest...is edging into a murky gray area.

What would Helen think? She'd probably be amused, truth be told, at least by your own inner turmoil. You remember that she told you once that she never got jealous when women went all googly eyed over her model-handsome husband, because she trusted him so completely. He doesn't even look at them, she said.

Well. He'd looked at you, like he was a wolf and you were a tasty little bunny. Just the thought made you flush all over again, your fingers involuntarily flexing on John's bicep.

Dear lord, it was like granite.

He looks down at you, curious, and you know you look as embarrassed as you feel. “Sorry,” you quickly apologize, looking anywhere but at his burning anthracite eyes. He pats your hand, but says nothing, sparing you the embarrassment of making up some lame excuse.

You go inside, and the maître d’ is exceptionally solicitous. Welcome back, Mr. Wick. This way please, Mr. Wick. He and Helen must have been quite the regulars.

Once you are at your table John waves off the maître d’, opting to push in your chair for you. His fingers brush your shoulder afterwards. It was probably a mistake, but you cannot suppress a small shudder. He does not look at you as he seats himself, opting to pick up the menu.

You follow suit, your skin on fire.

It was an accidental touch, you tell yourself.

He didn't mean anything by it.

You glance up from your menu, to find he is looking at you out the corner of his eye.

You tell your treacherous heart that attempts to pound out of your chest to settle the fuck down.

“So...what was Helen’s favorite dish here?”

He doesn't look up, and for some reason you are relieved.

“Guess.”

“Hmm.” You scan the offerings. It is mostly French leaning nouvelle cuisine. It all looks delicious, and very expensive. You know the moment your eyes find the line, and you smile. “The magret de canard.”

This time he does smile with you. It is tinged with nostalgia, and your heart aches. For him. For you. For the woman you are remembering together.

“She took me to Europe when I graduated from high school. She ordered that dish in every restaurant in France we went to. She said it was so delicious there was no point in trying anything else.” You cackle with another memory. “Then when we got home she was determined to learn how to make it. It went ok until the sauce. Holy shit, the black smoke in that kitchen was like a tire fire!” You wipe away a tear that is borne of mirth and memory.

When you look across the table again John is smiling gently, as though he can see it perfectly in his own mind’s eye.

“She was a terrible cook.” He says it fondly, like it amused the hell out of him.

“I know. I am too, I’m not throwing shade here. Do you like to cook?”

The side of his mouth ticks up in a smirk. “Yes. I find it relaxing.”

Figures. He would be so perfect. One of many reasons Helen undoubtedly fell in love with him.

When the waiter comes John orders a filet, and you, the duck. “For Helen,” you say with a wistful curl of lips. He stares at you silently for a long beat before nodding, returning your smile perfunctorily. You marvel that you can already tell when his expressions are genuine, and when he’s playing the part he needs to for the sake of social nicety. Your heart aches for him. It must be so painful to be here, where he'd dined with Helen so many times. Maybe more like sticking a finger in a wound, than a brave act for the sake of nostalgia. What were the two of you thinking?

It occurs to you, from things Helen had said, that maybe this is more than just her favorite restaurant.

“This is where you met, isn't it?”

His eyes are fixed on a particular spot at the bar. “Right over there. She was meeting a client, but he canceled. So we had dinner together.”

You raise an eyebrow. “You didn't happen to have anything to do with that?” All Helen had ever told you about John's occupation was that he worked in security, but she had implied multiple times that he was resourceful, smart, and not someone to be fucked with.

The corner of his mouth ticks, his eyebrow rising slightly. You congratulate yourself for lifting him at least a little out of his funk. “I'm afraid it was just luck on my part.”

“Fate,” you correct, toasting with your water glass, because you haven’t been brought drinks yet.

“It's nice to think so.”

“So then you had dinner.” You know the story. “Where did you sit?”

“Right here.”

You feel a chill, knowing that once, your sister had sat in this very place, across from this very man, and changed the course of her life forever. You marvel at what that must have been like. You never fall for men quickly, usually keeping them at arm’s length for as long as you can manage. You’ve never experienced love at first sight, or first night, but looking at this handsome man across from you, it's not so hard to imagine.

“Did you fall in love that night?” you ask quietly.

“I did. I think for Helen...it took a little longer.”

Immediately you shake your head. “No,” you contradict, wanting him to know this. “She called me, the next day. She told me she'd just met the most amazing man and that she wanted to spend her life with him. I thought she was crazy.” You look around at the intimate setting, the low soft lighting and the swanky surroundings, a little misty eyed. Then, you look at him. This handsome devil with the soft eyes of a poet.

Helen hadn’t been frivolous. She hadn’t even been particularly romantic. Meeting John Wick changed all that.

“Maybe I understand a little better now.”

You look at each other from across the table. There is a longing in his eyes that you know you do not have the power to heal, and yet you would if you could. You would give a great deal to see this man made whole again—you’re not really sure why.

He looks away first, and you feel…raw.

“Thank you. I…was the best version of myself, for her.” His long fingers trace a circle in the white table cloth, a hairline of a frown appearing on his brow. “I've slid backwards a bit, since.”

Hoo boy, did you get that.

“That’s ok,” you say softly. “We do what we have to, to survive.”

He looks up at you with those soulful dark eyes through his long hair. Your fingers itch to brush it out of his face. To touch him, and you absolutely know you shouldn't. Shouldn’t even think it. But there is something in the way he's been looking at you today. Something almost like…hunger, and your belly flutters with a thousand butterflies made of bad ideas and midnight longings.

“So…what about you? Are you seeing anyone?”

You shake your head with your heart in your throat. Is he asking out of politeness, making chit chat, or does he want to know if you’re unattached?

The truth is you’ve never had a relationship that lasted more than six months, and a nervous little laugh escapes you.

“I’ve…never met anyone who it was worth the sacrifice. Things are always nice at first, but then he starts to try to mold you into the person he really wants you to be, and you realize all along he just wanted someone to cook his meals and wash his socks.”

John lifts an eyebrow at this, the corner of his mouth turning up ever so slightly.

“Maybe you should try dating someone who can afford a housekeeper.” He looks up at you then, his dark eyes soft yet penetrating, and you swear he can see straight through to the depths of you. The look almost feels like a challenge, somehow. You try to meet him head on, but in the end the unbearable heat of it makes you squirm, and you look away.

The waiter saves you from what you might say next, bringing the bottle of wine John ordered.

Thank god, because you need a drink.

#john wick #john wick x you #keanu reeves #john wick fic #john wick x reader #john wick x y/n #john wick x you fic #john wick x reader fic

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webslingingslasher · 1 year

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It Would've Been Fun, If You Would've Been The One.

requested off this prompt list, i changed it up some to flow better with the story, but same idea. (i am on my period and off an edible but i fucking cried writing this. sometimes we have to leave things behind and it's hard and fucking sucks.)

Pairing: Peter Parker x Reader

Warnings: angst/SAD

Summary: you love peter, he doesn't love you, he loves his girlfriend.

Word Count: 3k

Women support women.

Unless that woman is Katie Klournox, then women do not support all women.

Her head is thrown back while she laughs, it’s a delicate laugh. It’s a laugh you could overhear at the booth next to you in the restaurant and smile at. There was something so innocent in the sound, a twinkle of real joy, it was utterly contagious.

At least it has to be, because Peter seems like he’s thinking the exact same thing while he looks over her. Proud of how he’s made her laugh, her hand grips at his bicep, painted, ringed hands clutched his jacket. She leans into him, her joy takes over the space.

You nearly choke on it.

Peter can’t contain it, cuteness overload, how did he get so lucky? He pressed a kiss to her temple, “Wasn’t that funny, was it?” You followed her hand with your eyes as they rested on his chest, she leaned up, his lips followed, he placed another on her cheek.

Katie’s flush matched Peter’s lip color.

“I have never laughed so much in my life, I swear.”

Peter wraps his arm around her shoulders and pulls her in, he rolls his eyes at her remark. “One of these days I’m gonna get a massive ego and you’re going to wonder where it came from.” Katie poked his side, he giggled. “Never, if you get a massive ego on me I’m gonna be the proudest girlfriend ever.”

The title stung every time you heard it.

Peter moves to pull at her waist, you can’t help but watch and dare to imagine if it was you. He pulls her in slowly, you watch each second scared to blink, you didn’t dare miss it. His lips rested on hers, she fluttered her eyes shut, you watched as they both smiled for a moment before pulling away.

It’s been ten minutes and they haven’t acknowledged your existence, you can’t remember why you opted out of Flash’s offer for lunch.

You assume you’re a masochist, nothing like self torture.

Peter whispers something and she slaps his chest, you watch her carefully. She’s happy, and so is Peter.

You can’t decide if you hate her because you want to be her, or because she was braver than you were.

Peter could’ve been yours, he was yours. You had him and lost him, best friends from the start, and instead of coming clean you watched as another girl scooped him up and you couldn’t even hate her for it.

You hated how good she was for Peter.

It made you sick how good Peter was for her.

It’s been fifteen minutes, they’re lost in their own language and smiles. You’re not even hungry, you stand and no one says a word.

As you calmly walk away a part of you wonders that if even for a second, did either of them notice you sitting there? Either answer is just as unsettling.

—-----------------------

Saturdays are for the boys.

That was the joke, anyway. It was actually you and Peter hanging out but it’s been a while, at first you were able to ignore the fact he was dating Katie, you could just pretend that wasn’t real and dream about mutual pining like it was before he met Katie. But then Katie started coming too, an invite from Peter each week started to leave a sour taste in your mouth.

It was your day.

You had Saturdays, she had the rest.

It was the one day you could pretend that this was an alternate universe where she never existed, but now she had to watch someone kiss Peter in the kitchen, and on the couch, and that one fucking time you caught them in his room, the time where his shirt was off and hands on her bra, the first time you ever felt a piece of your heart die.

You tested the waters a few weeks ago, a simple text.

‘Can’t make it tonight.’

He read it, he just never replied. You assume he meant to but got interrupted by his girlfriend calling, or texting, or sitting on his lap.

Peter never asked about it either, you stopped going after that.

He hasn’t mentioned it.

—--------------

You were a woman of routine.

Peter always stopped by your locker in the morning, until he didn’t show up one day. He didn’t say anything about it either, like the thought never crossed his mind, you weren’t the priority, Katie was.

Sometimes you wonder if you hadn’t encouraged him what could’ve happened. You just remembered how excited he was, the pure joy burned into his face when he was hit on, when he was asked on a date.

They shared a computer science class, she was two people down on his right, one day she stopped him after class and asked if he wanted to go out with her. He was so ecstatic, the hot girl in his class asked him out.

You couldn’t help yourself, he was too happy. He wanted this and you told him to go for it, she was able to get there first. It was a race you didn’t know you were competing in, and you couldn’t match the energy. There was no point in discouraging him because you couldn’t build any yourself.

But you told him to do it, and now he has a girlfriend and his girlfriend actually genuinely loves him. You bring yourself back and can’t help but wonder if one thing had been different, would everything be different today?

—----------------------

It’s been a month of no contact with Peter.

Was a part of it you not wanting to see them be miserably happy? Yes.

Was it also part of Peter not trying to keep you in his life either? Yes.

You thought it would be harder, and it was at first. But then the realization came.

You had no one to blame but yourself, you couldn’t be mad at Katie for doing what you couldn’t and you couldn’t blame Peter for going after it, and you sure couldn’t blame either of them for being a happy couple.

You could blame yourself for being scared, you could blame yourself for being bitter, you could blame yourself for hoping it crashes and burns so Peter has no other option but to come crawling back.

Alone in your room you realized all of the blame fell entirely on you, and you had no one to share it with.

If it weren’t for class you would forget the way his voice sounded, sometimes you wish it could forget the way he says Katie’s name, like it’s his favorite word. You nod and hum while pretending to listen, you don’t care to learn more about her than you have too, you’re scared you’ll like her too much. You count back in your head when the last time either of you have had a real conversation, you feel sick when you can’t remember. You shake your head and blink when Peter snaps his fingers in front of your eyes.

He laughs, “Are you even listening?”

You blink blankly, “Honestly? No.”

Peter’s shoulders slump, “Oh.”

You feel bad. You’re sick with self pity but still want him to feel better.

Love is a sick monster.

“I’m sorry, Pete. I’m just out of it today, say it again?”

You smile at how his eyes light up, it dies when he begins to speak.

“Ok! So Katie was telling me-”

You look at him and nod, instead you’re thinking about wanting to lie and bed and never get out of it again.

—---------------

You should miss Peter more but you don’t.

You miss how it used to be with Peter, how Peter used to be with you but how it is now there was no point to miss him.

If you were to hangout with him the conversation or attention always falls back on Katie, and the part that sucks the most is you can’t blame him at all. Because if he was yours you would only wish he’d act the same.

Is it wrong of you to dodge Peter? Maybe, but you also didn’t have the mental capacity to deal with him much anymore.

That’s why you’ve been ignoring his calls.

You watch his contact photo appear, you count the vibrations and watch as the screen falls black. It’s lit with his face again, after the third round you finally pick up.

“Hello?”

“You’re hard to get a hold of, you know that?”

Funny he says that, he hasn’t called or texted first in over a month.

“I’ve been busy, what do you need?”

Straight to the point, on Peter’s end he furrows his brows. You know he’s not calling to chat.

“Can you come over? I need you for something.”

It shouldn’t make your heart race but it does, he’s choosing you over her for once. Unless she’s busy, but you refuse to think about that, he’s choosing you, you’re sure of it.

“Now?”

“Yeah. Please.”

He did choose you over her.

But only because it involved something she didn’t know about.

You’ve never heard silence quite this loud before, his bathroom is so empty of sound the reminisce drops of his earlier shower echo on the tile of his shower. You hold his skin taught as you pull the needle and thread through, you hear him hiss and can’t help the sadist in you as you tug tighter.

He’s called you over to help patch him up. Not because he chose you but because you were his closest means of service, you had a tugging suspicion he knows you’ll do anything for him and he’s using that to his advantage right now.

Normally you’d ask him what happened and tell him he needs to be more careful, this time you didn’t even say hello. You saw what he wanted immediately, what was understood didn’t need to be explained.

Peter can’t stand the silence, he breaks it.

“I know it’s late, were you doing anything?”

The question makes something ache in you. It’s Saturday, it was your day once upon a time, doesn’t he remember? You never replaced the day, instead you sat at home and did something for yourself, a new hobby or even setting the day away to hang out on social media, projecting yourself into other people’s life.

“No.” You counted four more stitches, then you could leave.

“I would’ve called Kate, It’s just, you know.” He lets out a dry laugh.

You settle your movements for a moment, he admitted what you knew but didn’t want to entirely admit. He asked you not because he wanted you, not because you’ve done this a million times before, not because you’re his best friend, not because he missed you.

But because you weren’t her.

You stay silent until you’re done. You’re calculated in your movements, you pull your gloves off, wrap the needle in them and toss them. Normally you’d wipe it off and patch it, he can do it himself. You stand calmly and walk around him.

He waits until you’re in his room, he notices you gathering your things to leave, he stops you confusingly.

“Thanks, by the way.”

You nod.

“Wanna stay? We can hang out if you want, Kates coming over at nine but-”

There’s no need to let him finish what he considers an offer.

“No, I’m just gonna head home.”

He pauses, he can’t recall when there’s been this much tension before. He thinks before trying again.

“You can get some pizza if you want, I haven’t ate yet today and Kate-”

You squeeze your eyes and breathe deeply through your nose. You shoot the words out, venomously and quickly, almost amazed you have to spell them out for him.

“I don’t think we should be friends anymore, Peter.”

He looks down.

He plays with his fingers.

He breathes slowly.

He blinks with tears in his eyes.

He whimpers the words quietly, you have to search to hear them.

“I know.”

You bite at your cheek and nod.

You know he knows now, he’s let you slip away and you know it. It was a mutual break up, you just didn’t know until now.

“You know?”

He knows what you’re referring to, he sighs and sits on the side of his bed. They say break ups are bad, imagine losing your best friend because you don’t love her how she wants.

“Yeah.”

You cross your arms, you look towards the door and imagine bolting. You can’t afford to lose the closure.

“How long?”

Peter sniffles and runs a hand through his hair, “I think after that saturday you canceled, I just had this feeling and the more I talked about Kate the more it sunk in.”

“It was hard, Peter. It was really hard. I couldn’t bear being around you, but I couldn’t bear being without you. I was watching myself lose you in real time, I just couldn’t handle it anymore.”

The conformation hit Peter, he was right. The one time he didn’t want to be right and he was, he was holding out on one last line of hope that he had it all wrong, that this wouldn’t have to end with losing you.

“I don’t want to be right this time, Y/N. Tell me it’s not true.” He doesn’t know how to be a friend without you.

You smile sadly, you both have tears in your eyes.

“I’m in love with you, Peter Parker. And you don’t love me back, there’s no other way this works.” You blink a tear down your face.

Peter blinks out his own, his voice cracks. “I’m sorry, Y/N.”

This isn’t how it should be, it should be different. But neither of you are sure who should change their mind.

You shake your head, you give a teary smile and blink more tears away.

“Don’t be. You loved me the best way you could and I can never forget that.”

Peter cracks. He sobs, his chest carries broken cries. “I don’t know how to be without you.”

You cry just as hard, “I don’t know either.”

He wipes tears and breaths shakily. You follow suit.

“But we’ll figure it out.”

He nods, he has no words. He can’t offer you anything and knows it.

“I don’t want you to think I’m ending this with resentment. I really like her, Peter, and I really wished I didn’t. It would make hating her a lot easier, and you’re good for her and she’s good for you and I get why you love her and I understand why she loves you. I just can’t watch you love someone the way I love you and know it will never be me.”

He wants to apologize for not loving you how you want.

“Can I have a hug before you go?” It’s all he wants, he just needs to feel safe for one last second.

You oblique, you lean into him one last time. His skin is warm and flush, you forgot how sturdy he felt. His hands spread across your back, you close your eyes and melt into his touch. You can feel him one last time, it feels better savoring the moment. You miss every time you’ve taken his presence for granted. You wish you could replay a movie night one more time, or a bunk bed sleepover one more time. A grilled cheese and scrabble night, a night before May’s birthday, cake making night, just one more night where you were able to both forget how things are now.

You pull away and smile at him, it’s going to get harder the longer you wait.

Peter misses the days you both lived in delusion, always praying on hidden hope. He misses that secretive privacy with you, he wants one more with you.

A lie you’ll both share.

He catches you at the door, “Hey, you think maybe after some time we can get over this and go back to normal?”

You turn and give a small smile.

One last secret.

“Maybe.”

#peter parker x reader #peter parker angst #peter parker blurb #tasm!peter x reader #tasm!peter x you #tasm!peter angst #peter parker

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leviathans-watching · 10 months

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what assumptions make

day 1: fluff, misunderastandings

includes: lucifer & mammon

wc: .7k | rated g | m.list

a/n: monday's post for @ombrotherlylove2023!!

Lucifer sighs in exhaustion, pulling his coat off. The meeting had gone way longer than he had expected, and after an already busy day, it had utterly wiped him out. At least now he’s home. And at least Diavolo recognized the toll he was placing upon him, giving him the next morning off, much to Lucifer’s relief. He really should still attend the meeting that’s scheduled, as it is his duty, but that’s something to think about tomorrow.

It’s quiet, which is unsurprising for the late hour. It’s late enough that his brothers are all probably settled into bed, and he wonders if they left him any leftovers. It was Mammon’s turn to cook so he at least knows the food will be edible, which, while good in terms of having to eat what was made, decreases the chances of there being any left for him to actually eat. He’ll look after he’s changed out of his day clothes, and maybe even showered. He should shower, but he’s just so tired.

No, he needs to get the day’s grime off of him.

Moving quietly through the house and down the hall, Lucifer heads toward his room. Pausing outside the cracked door, Lucifer frowns. Hadn’t he left that closed? The sound of shuffling then grabs his attention and he strains his ears. Someone’s taken it upon themselves to invade his privacy and he has a good idea of the culprit. Normally, anger would swell up inside of him, but he’s just too tired…

Pushing open the door, Lucifer crosses his arms. It looks as if his suspicions are correct. “Mammon,” he says, and his brother jumps guiltily, pausing his apparent search of Lucifer’s dresser.

“Oh,” Mammon laughs nervously, “hey, Lucifer. How’s it goin’?” He’s in his pajamas, and Lucifer notes, almost absently, that the shirt he’s wearing is an old one of Beel’s.

“Why are you in my room?” Lucifer asks, then holds up a hand. “Nevermind, I don’t want to hear your excuses. Just… put back whatever it is that you’ve taken and get out.”

Mammon swallows. “I haven’t taken anything.”

Yet, probably. It’s a good thing Lucifer got back when he did.

“Right,” Lucifer snorts. Normally, he’d push harder than this, but he’s just too exhausted. He’ll do a thorough search of his belongings the next day. “But fine. Now, remove yourself from my space.”

Mammon takes his cue and departs quickly, giving him one last look over his shoulder as he leaves. His eyes are filled with something unusual but Lucifer really can’t put in the effort to dissect it, instead readying himself for a shower. He’s got a building headache and hopes the warmth of the water will help keep it at bay.

After mustering up the energy to wash himself after several minutes of just standing there, Lucifer turns the water off. He exits his bathroom with a towel wrapped around his waist, and flicks on the light in his room. His headache is worsening, and all he wants is to eat and then to fall into bed. But going to the kitchen sounds like a real pain, and he wishes he had something in his room. Maybe he should get a minifridge like some of his brothers had; that would certainly make things easier.

But also give his brothers more chances to take things from him, unfortunately.

Something on his dresser, where Mammon was, catches his attention. Lucifer moves closer. It seems to be a bottle of painkillers and a wrapped plate. Lucifer inspects it and finds three clumsily-shaped onigiris. If these were here and nothing obvious was missing…

Lucifer sighs as his chest fills with warmth. How wrongly he had pegged Mammon.

In this one instance.

Even though he was acting upon rightfully held suspicions, Lucifer feels bad. Mammon did this, acted with surprisingly good and kind intentions every once in a while, at the most unexpected of times. He had a way of knowing what Lucifer needed without him even having to say anything, something that served Lucifer well.

He’ll have to apologize properly in the morning. But for now, there’s no harm in indulging in Mammon’s care–taking the medication, eating the food, and then falling right into bed, falling asleep before his head even hits the pillow.

leviathans-watching's work - please do not copy, repost, or claim as your own

#ombrotherlylove2023 #obey me #obey me game #lucifer obey me #obey me lucifer #mammon obey me #obey me mammon #lucifer avatar of pride #mammon avatar of greed #lucifer & mammon #mammon & lucifer #obey me fluff #obey me cute #obey me fic #leviswriting #leviswriting-obeyme

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