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kentopedia · 3 months

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𝐢. 𝐨𝐟 𝐛𝐫𝐨𝐤𝐞𝐧 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐬 — 𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

after you find out about the marriage arranged between you and nanami kento, you have to find a way to break the news to your lover.

contents . . . sfw, breakups, light angst, f!reader, arguing, gojo x reader, masterlist linked above for more series contents — 2.3k

notes . . . hi everyone !! i'm so so excited to finally share this series, i've been having so much fun with it hehe. in case you haven't seen the masterlist, this is a nanami series, but this first part is gojo x reader... so idk how to tag it lol.

Twigs snapped beneath you as you ran through the garden, barely holding onto the last strain of composure that you had. It was nearing sundown, but you ignored that, reaching the edge of your family’s estate and approaching the creek, careless to any dangers. The sounds of the water grew louder and louder in your ears as you drew closer, turning from a faint trickle to a roar.

The look on your parent’s face when they’d delivered the news was still burned into your irises, replaying in your mind as you landed one foot in front of the other. How unexpressive they’d been, straight to business — as if they didn’t care at all. It was your future they were messing with, but it seemed they didn’t mind throwing away your happiness.

You arrived at the creek much faster than anticipated, your breaths heaving as you headed down the hill.

Satoru was already there, as you’d expected, running his hands through the murky water. His blue eyes shot over from the sound of the leaves crunching, an easy smile on his face, revealing sharp canines.

“What took you so long?” Satoru asked, looking over his shoulder with his typical, lopsided grin. Though, as soon as he saw the tears that were welling in your eyes, his face fell, giving way to a gloomy expression. “Hey, hey, hey. My darling…” he cooed, the tone of his voice so tender. “What’s the matter?”

You’d been doing a wonderful job at holding back your tears until then, but they began to spill down your cheeks, hot and heavy, dripping off your chin. Your nose began to burn. “I—” you started, then choked on a sob, burying your face in your hands, unable to continue.

The sound of the creek, rushing through the woods, at least spared you some embarrassment, as it blocked out your cries.

Satoru was quick to scramble to his feet and make his way over to you, not even thinking before he’d wrapped you up in a warm embrace. He smelled vaguely of the stables, still, as well as the outside, a thick air of sweat lingering on his skin.

“Take a breath,” Satoru said soothingly, rubbing your spine as you cried into his shoulder, coating his tunic with the weight of your tears.

“I’m sorry,” you said, squeezing your fingers into his top. The cloth wound up between them, wrinkling the fabric. “I’m so sorry, Satoru.”

“Whatever are you sorry for, my sweet?” Satoru didn’t draw away, but you could tell that he wanted to… He wanted to question what it was that had made you cry, when he’d seen you earlier in such a jovial state, so thrilled for your rendezvous as the sun bled into the evening.

The conversation with your parents still lingered at the forefront of your mind, laced with a tinge of distaste and betrayal.

How desperately you wished you could escape your responsibilities, run from them without guilt. But even now, already a few years into your adulthood, you still felt the burning need to please your family.

You pressed your eyes shut, deeply inhaling Satoru’s sweet aroma, in case it were the last you ever got of it. “My family has known this whole time. They knew, and they never intended to let me marry you.”

You’ve spent far too long with the stable boy, dear, and we’ve let you have your fun. Don’t think that we haven’t known, all these years, that he’s the reason you’re pushing all your suitors away.

Those were words you’d certainly never forget.

Satoru drew away, his eyes narrowed as he scanned your face. Still, there was no sense of panic, his icy irises as steadfast and confident as ever. “Is that it?” he asked, kissing your forehead, your cheeks, soaking up the tears with his lips. “Well, we’ll just have to do without their permission, won’t we? I know your family is very dear to you, but—”

Your face screwed up tighter, watery eyes blurring your vision. “It is not as easy as you make it out to be, Satoru. Despite what you may think, I do not wish for them to hate me. Not to mention, your livelihood depends on their employment. They will not pay my dowry if you are my husband. They will not employ you any longer, and I’ll—”

“That doesn’t matter,” Satoru said, insistent, his optimism succumbing to irritation as you argued. “We can surely find other means to survive.”

“Survive?” you frowned, features contorting as the tears, momentarily, restrained. “I do not wish to live a life where we have to fight to get by. Besides—”

But Satoru spoke over you, spilling words of grandeur, in a world where things worked out exactly as planned. But your outlook had never been as positive, and his dreams seemed no more than that, in the face of reality.

“Satoru.” You raised your voice, ever so slightly, and pushed him away, as if to finally make him hear your words. “You’re not listening to me. Even if we could, even if everything you’re saying happened like you want it to, they’ve already found me another husband.”

Silence. It was enough to hear the wind slipping through the trees, swaying the branches. Leaves fell at your feet, swirling around your ankles, a breeze suddenly picking up, as if aware of your quarrel.

The two of you stared at each other, basked in the last golden rays of the evening. For the first time in decades, it seemed, you were unsure what to say to one another.

Satoru scanned your face, his lips parting, jaw working as he fought for words. “Another husband.”

“Yes.” Your exhale came out heavy as you blinked away from him, glancing over his shoulder, so as not to face the intensity of his irises. “I’m getting older; men will not be so willing to take me as their bride. So my parents worked something out with a friend of my father’s. His son is a few years older than me,” you sniffed. “He’s been unwilling to get married, but now that his mother is sick…” you shrugged, confused and defeated, as you wrung your hands together. “I’ve been told her final wish is to see her son married.”

“What a wish,” Satoru rolled his eyes, scoffing, “to see your child in a loveless relationship.”

You said nothing. Satoru wouldn’t understand the ways of the nobility, wouldn’t understand the responsibility that you felt. He’d never met his parents, and never had the chance to care about them.

He huffed instead, running his hands through his snowy hair as he paced close to the water’s edge. It soaked the soles of his shoes, ruining the leather, but he didn’t seem to mind, too deep in his thoughts.

“You have no say in the matter?” Satoru finally asked, his shoulders slumping, as he turned back to face you once again. “You’re just going to let them tell you how to live your life, submit yourself to a man who might be cruel to you?”

“Satoru…” you began, considering defending yourself, before you conceded. “I’m sorry. I care for you, I do, but you must understand.”

“Oh, I understand just fine. You surprised me, is all. I thought you’d put love over things like that.”

You swallowed, shoving away the engulfing sadness as he paced back toward you, his wet shoes creating muddy footprints in the ground.

“You can’t honestly have thought that all our silly dreams would come to fruition. You knew all along that this was just a fleeting fancy, didn’t you?”

“On the contrary, I thought this was serious.” To your surprise, Satoru dug through his pocket, throwing a ring at you, one that was nothing close to extravagant, but beautiful all the same. “I’ve carried this for weeks now… just waiting. There was never a good time to propose, but I really did want to marry you. How’s that for fleeting?”

Your jaw fell slack. A fresh wave of tears began as you bent down, soiling your pastel gown in the grass and mud to pick up the ring. It was a simple gold band, shiny and smooth — probably months worth of his salary.

Nausea rose up in you as you dusted off the fine piece of jewelry, staring at it with affection. “Dear lord,” you said, not even bothering to wipe the snot that ran in a smooth stream from you nose, just like your tears. “Why did you have to tell me this?”

“I won’t spare you the kindness of ignorance. I want you to know exactly what you’re throwing away.”

“That’s not—” you shook your head, eyes glued to the ring. “I don’t want you out of my life. I love you, Satoru. I want to be with you, I just can't… But, perhaps, we can still see each other?”

Your lover stared, blinking once, then again, his white eyelashes fanning over pale cheeks. Then, a loud laugh escaped from him, deep from his chest, as if in horror. “You want me to be your whore?” he asked, aghast, infiltrating your space as he backed you into a tree.

You glanced up at him, eyes wide, pressing your hands to the smooth expanse of his chest. “I—”

“I love you. I love you, and I’d dedicate my life to supporting you,” his voice was pained, cracking on the vowels. “But that means nothing to you, does it? You’re so selfish.”

The word felt like a slap to the face — the same that your family had called you, when they’d admitted they knew of your dalliance. Either way, you would lose. You were selfish for bringing such disgrace to your family’s respectable lineage, or you were selfish for choosing your responsibility over your lover.

“i just don’t know what to do.” Your voice felt small; the weakness of it softened Satoru’s expression, if only by a fraction.

He exhaled. “Well, I know. Go back home, tell your parents to fuck whoever wants your hand, and run away with me. Be with me,” Satoru pressed his forehead to your own, desperate. “Please. I love you, I adore you, I’ll worship you. What more do you want?”

You swallowed, squeezing your eyes shut. “Satoru…” His hands went still on your waist. “I’m sorry. I don’t think I can.”

For the first time in all your years together, since the moment you’d met him as an infant, you felt a distance crack between you, breaking into a cavern. Satoru had been your best friend, your constant companion, the person you’d always thought would be a part of your life. Now, the risk you’d taken by falling in love with him had finally come to pass. You weren’t sure that your relationship could ever be remedied, after such a poor conclusion.

“You’re a coward,” Satoru finally said, spitting your name like it was a curse, and you flinched, dipping your chin to your collarbone. There was no love in those words, no gentleness; they were meant to hurt. “You think you’re different than all the other women of nobility, but you’re not. You want to be spoon-fed like the rest of them, waited on hand and foot, reliant on the money of your family and your husband.”

You sniffled, hands shaking as you clenched your jaw. Satoru had a sharp tongue — he always had — but it’d never been used against you. For the first time, you knew what it was like to be looked at by Gojo Satoru with disdain, and it was awful.

“That’s cruel… Don’t you understand what you’re asking me to do? You’re asking me to leave behind my family, my life, my security. You want me to leave everything with no plan at all?”

“I understand well enough.” He stepped away, backing up until you could no longer smell the sweat that clung to his sleeves, until you could no longer see the contrasts of blues in his irises. “Truthfully, I don’t believe I know you like I thought I did. I never assumed you’d be so hesitant to leave.”

Despite your tear-filled eyes, you stood taller, trying to keep some semblance of dignity. Like the noble woman you were, you refused to be seen as weak in the face of your emotions. If you were to leave Satoru, you would leave him confident that you were making the right decision. “Perhaps not, then,” you said. “You may have been taken into our home with love and care, but we are not as similar as you were raised to believe.”

Satoru licked his lips, then clicked his tongue, speechless, before he turned around for good. “Right,” he said, shaking his head. “I should’ve known that the spoiled girl you’d been would turn you into a spoiled woman. I’ve been a fool. Enjoy your sham of a marriage.” He began to walk away, slowly, before gradually picking up his pace, his back as taut as the bow of a violin.

“Is this really how you wish to end things?” you asked, shouting through the wind at his retreating form. “On such a vile note?”

“You’re the one that ended things,” Satoru said, and though you hoped that he would glance over his shoulder, spare you one last glimpse before you parted ways forever, he never did. “I only wanted to love you.”

You opened your mouth, words lingering on your tongue, before you shut it, and let him go.

Tomorrow, you would regret it. You would long for his warm embrace, his arms, so strong from riding and tending to the horses. You would long for his kiss, gently brushed against your hairline, a smile growing on his lips as you told him about the book you’d read. You would long for a time when you passed him in the hallways and received a grin, instead of a sneer.

But, for now, thrumming with guilt and grief and rage, you watched him walk away, hands balled at your fist. Maybe he didn’t deserve you anyway.

Maybe you didn’t deserve him.

thank you so much for reading! ‪‪❤︎‬ next part

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moonlitdesertdreams · 1 month

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Too Sweet

A/N: Hi friends. I haven't written anything in a while, as I've been tussling with my mental health and raging SAD from the weather near me. Please accept this Mandalorian drabble? Rambling? Takes place between the end of season two and Din's appearance in the Book of Boba Fett. Tags: The Mandalorian, Mandalorian x Reader, Din Djarin x Reader, Mandalorian x F!Reader, Apostate!Din WARNINGS: None Summary: You've been a safe place for Din Djarin for years. He comes to you at his most vulnerable, but always has to leave before you're ready. Title inspired by the Hozier song of the same name.

Word count: 1.6k+

Hours later, you’re still in shock.

Din Djarin is in bed next to you, sans helmet.

It wasn’t unusual for him to be in your home- hell, it would be more unusual for him not to be there between jobs. Your Mandalorian had spent years visiting, hovering somewhere in between a lover and a partner. He shows up in the afternoon one day, and is gone early in the morning before you wake. When he returns, beaten and bruised, you chastise him for leaving without saying goodbye. The routine was comfortable. Familiar.

Except every other time he had been there, you had never seen his face.

It feels like a dance each time he comes. You tend to his wounds quickly but gently, lathering cuts and bruises in bacta before wrapping bandages or slings where necessary to let the medication heal. Once you’ve played nurse, Din secludes himself to your study to eat dinner. And each time, without fail, he leads you to the bedroom to extinguish the fireplace and blow out your candles. His hands find your body, and he ravishes you in the darkness.

Key word being darkness.

Today was the same song and dance. He’d limped into your cabin without greeting, shaking snow from his armored body and settling himself into a kitchen chair while you fussed. A tube of bacta and half a roll of bandages later, he silently trudged away to eat in the study. There was a distinct lack of little green child with him today, which was a major concern after the past year. You suspected it had something to do with the oppressive sense of sorrow following him through the house. So you carried on with your usual routine, asking little to no questions. It wasn’t until he’d crowded you up against the sink, bowl still in your grip as you rinsed it, that he spoke.

“Mesh’la.”

Strong arms wrapped themselves around your waist, and you leaned back into an unarmored chest. In hindsight, you chastised yourself for not noticing the words lacked the electrical buzz of a vocoder.

“Din.” You returned.

He only grunts, right hand gliding up your side. It grips your shoulder, and presses until you turn to face him, bowl still gripped in your damp fingers.

“You know, words are- Din!”

The porcelain bowl shattered as it collided with the kitchen floor. You’d dropped it out of pure instinct, hands flying up to cover your eyes. As much as you’d tried to forget what you saw, it was burned into your brain. Wavy hair, long nose with a scar crossing the bridge of it. Big, brown eyes that couldn’t possibly belong to someone so stern and ruthless. It flashes across your mind, and you almost tear up at the thought of Din breaking his Creed after all these years.

But he’d pulled your hands away and explained - while your eyes are still pinched closed- that he was an apostate. The Child was returned to his own people, but at the cost of Din’s Creed. It had taken minutes of coaxing and reassurance, but you’d opened your eyes and cursed the universe for being so cruel as to hide such a face. From the set of his brow to the nervous biting of his lip, you basked in seeing so much bare skin. It took less time for him to attach his lips to yours and lead you out of the kitchen.

He’d taken you to bed, and now here you sit.

Your room isn’t anything special. Quaint and cozy if nothing else, with two small windows that face out over the mountain’s edge. A fireplace flickers opposite the bed, its warmth trickling out to the sheets and heating your toes. Two bookshelves border either side of your headboard, with a nightstand tucked on Din’s side of the bed. On it, the usually extinguished candles burn bright.

The firelight flickers against Din’s tan skin, highlighting each bead of sweat and curled tendril of hair where it sticks to his forehead. He’s naked, back propped against the headboard and covered in a maroon sheet from the waist down. You’ve donned a short silk robe, black and bordered with laces where it plunges between your breasts. You lay between his legs above the sheets, head on his chest. One of his large hands caresses your scalp and trails to the ends of your hair. The other hand is occupied by a half-full glass of old Corellian whiskey.

You trace a line of yellow bruises on his hip where they extend below the sheet on his lap.

“What happened to you?”

His chest rumbles. “I fought an Imperial Moff. And Imperial battle droids.”

Your eyes widen, and you sit up. Din’s hand leaves your hair to grasp at your waist, pulling you to face him.

“Stars, Din.” You reach out to touch a patch of black and blue skin over his collarbone. “No wonder you’re so beat up. I’ll get you some more bacta before we go to sleep.”

He lifts your fingers from his collarbone to his mouth, kissing each fingertip. “You’re too good to me, cyar’ika.”

“You deserve it.” Is your instant reply.

If there was anything you knew about Din, it was that he never quite comprehended the good he brought to the world.

The Mandalorian brings the whiskey to his lips and takes a swig. You opt to push an errant curl behind his ear.

“I’m not a good man,” Your name falls off his tongue like honey. “Spent my whole life as kyramud.”

You tilt your head at the Mando’a. He’d called you some pet names for years- mesh’la, cyar’ika. But this… kyramud was new. Without his helmet, hearing anything out of his mouth was like a drug. But Mando’a warmed you to the core, building off Din’s comfort and fondness when he spoke the ancient tongue. You yearned to know more.

“Teach me Mando’a.” You kiss him gently, tasting the whiskey where it lingers on his lips. “So I can tell you why you deserve every bit of kindness.”

Din adjusts your legs so you’re sitting square between his, rear end on the bed and legs straddling his waist. He props you up with the ridiculous amount of pillows lying around.

“I’ll teach you anything you want.” Din strokes your knee. “Where do I start?”

You chew on your bottom lip. “What am I to you?”

“Ner cyare.” He pauses, debating. The whiskey makes another appearance, and you’re distracted by his Adam's apple bobbing deliciously in the column of his throat. “Naysol uj par ni. Each day I see you is aay’han.”

“What does that mean?”

Din tilts your chin up. “My beloved. Too sweet for me.”

You blush. “What about the end? Ay-hen?”

“Aay’han. Mourning and joy. At the same time.” He finishes the whiskey. “I mourn when I leave you here.”

Much to your annoyance, tears prick your eyes at the reminder that when you closed them, he would be gone before you woke. “Don’t remind me. Please.”

Din leans forward to capture your lips with his. The sensation only serves to make the stinging behind your eyes worse, and a single tear drips down your cheek. He’s quick to kiss it away, large hand curling into your hair. You climb all the way into his lap, suddenly desperate for closeness. His skin is hot and damp, and you’ve never felt anything better.

“Ni ceta. I never meant to hurt you.”

You sniffle against his neck. “Just promise me you’ll say goodbye from now on.”

He wets two fingers with his tongue and extinguishes the candles before cradling you in strong arms. Two words are murmured into your hair, quiet but sound.

“I promise.”

You grip him tighter than ever, warmth sadly fading as the dread of morning envelopes you.

The reflection of daylight off snow-covered ground wakes you.

It bounces in your windows, bathing the room in cool white light. You blink slowly, a heaviness settled on all of your limbs. It’s a familiar soreness that aches from your shoulders to between your legs, dredging up memories of the night before. Din’s bare face, and all the sweet words in Mando’a that he tried to teach you before you remembered he can never stay as long as you’d like. You sigh, letting one of your arms dangle off the edge of the bed. The thought of turning over and seeing the candles, thinking about him blowing them out on each visit was too fresh. It’s easier to lay and stew in your sadness, watching fluffy flakes of snow fall. The clock on your wall reads ‘1457’, another unintentional reminder of your late-night escapades.

You hate to admit that the feeling makes you tear up again. So you lay in bed, curled beneath a thick comforter while the fireplace crackles its last few breaths towards your feet. It’s easier to stare at the snow than it is to close your eyes and think about Din.

“Damn it.” You breathe.

“What are you damning?”

You swear that you stop breathing for a moment. Despite the fact that he had already spoken, you ask aloud, “Din?”

The sounds of bare feet padding across the floor nears, and the Mandalorian appears in your vision. Barefoot and clad only in a pair of loose gray lounge pants that tighten at his ankles. His abdomen is without cover, displaying an array of healing bruises and deep scars. You sit up, letting your feet hang off the bed.

“You’re still here?” You look at the clock again. “At 1500?”

Din smiles, kneeling in front of you. He presses a mug of steaming Caf into your hands and a kiss to your forehead.

“If it’s alright with you… I might be for a while.”

It’s your turn to smile as he smoothes away your bedhead.

“No arguments.” You sip at the warm mug. “I’ll keep taking my Caf in bed, though.”

___________________________________________________

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#The Mandalorian #Mandalorian x Reader #Din Djarin x Reader #Mandalorian x F!Reader #Apostate!Din #grogu #baby yoda #mando'a #mando x reader #mando x you #din djarin x you #din djarin #too sweet #hozier #din likes his whiskey neat #and his coffee black

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miniwheat77 · 1 year

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Burning Up. (Soap x Reader.)

!CW! NSFW, Smut, p in v sex, unprotected sex, Sex Pollen, fuck or die, reader being desperate (sorry if I missed any.)

(Summary): Reader and Soap go on a mission and Reader gets exposed to a plant that contains a certain chemical.

This was an ask, you can find it here.

You made your way down the hallway, deep breath leaving your lips. No matter how long you'd been in the taskforce, being called to your captain's office never got any easier. You always had so much anxiety flowing through you each time you made your way down that corridor.

You notice Soap sitting in one of the chairs in front of the desk Captain Price was sitting at. Instantly getting excited. Soap had to be your best friend in all of the base. The both of you got along so well and each mission you'd been on along side him was awesome. Even the ones that didn't go too well. You sit down in the chair next to him, ignoring the smirk on his face. "Alright. You're my only two available for this mission. You in?" Your Captain asks. You nod your head immediately. "Alright." He lays down a plan that had already been perfected by Laswell. "There's a warehouse in Iraq, they're killing our soldiers anytime we get close to it, haven't tried too hard but they've killed too many of our own. I need you two to infiltrate the facility, kill anyone you cross paths with, and find out what's so important in there." You nod your head, pulling a copy of the plan off of his desk and examining it. You go over exactly what you and Soap will do.

The following day, you were loading up everything you'd need onto the chopper.

You had spent the night going over everything with Soap.

Since you and Soap were so close to each other, you raised a lot of questions from everyone else in the taskforce. They constantly teased you and Soap, saying you were so cute together and made such a cute couple, but the thought of being anything other than friends with Soap seemed so foreign, you hadn't even thought about it. It felt weird thinking of him in that way. He was definitely your best friend on the base, and that's all he'd ever be.

Once you'd finished up loading everything you needed into the chopper, you were off. It was quite a long flight to get to Iraq from where you were, a few long hours of doing nothing but waiting. You were worried, what could happen. But that's how you always were. You knew how dangerous your job was, and most of the time it was never an 'if' you got hurt, 'if' you died. It was 'When' and that sat heavy on you sometimes. You'd seen a lot of friends and partners die alongside you in the service. You'd taken time off for their funerals, each one never getting any easier. Seeing their mothers and fathers crying over a casket, sometimes even an empty casket because their loved one had been so torn up. You thought about what you would do if someone on your taskforce got hurt, and it upset you a lot. Made you lose quite a few hours of sleep overtime. They were your brothers and sisters. The amount of hardships you'd come together and rose up against. The obstacles that'd been thrown at all of you. The hits you'd taken, that you shook off and kept moving through.

Taskforce 141 was something truly amazing. Something for history books. The thought of it makes you smile, and you have to remember you're near Johnny, and he'll tease you if you aren't careful. So you keep these thoughts to yourself. Choosing to look at a picture all of you had taken together. Johnny had his arm slung around you, a lazy smile on his face. He really was your favorite out of the taskforce. But you'd never tell him that.

When you arrive, the chopper drops you a few miles away like they usually do.

You and Johnny walk the distance it would usually take to get to the building, picking off the men outside one by one from a distance before closing in on your target. When you finish clearing the building of any threats, you start looking around. Expecting anything. A missile, nuclear weapons, drugs. You don't find any of that.

You find a false door and open it, finding a massive room full of plants. "Um.. Are they hiding flowers?" You ask confused. Soap stands near you, looking at them. Under lights, there are tons of pink and purple flowers. You approach them. Lifting a hand out to touch one of them. "Look like those bleeding heart flowers. But something is off." You pluck one of the bulbs from the stem. You roll it around in your hands for a minute, noticing it feels different than usual. The bulb bursting and a pink colored liquid coats your hand. You wouldn't have thought anything of it, if it didn't absorb right into your skin, not even a drop touching the floor. "Weird?" You say. You spot a couple other darker pink plants behind them, reaching for them. Soap was calling Laswell to send her pictures of them. They’ve got bigger flowers. They're a bright pink color, almost like they're glowing. They've bloomed, they look a lot like lilies. The stamen in the middle isn't a normal color. You spot that right away too. It's dark, almost black. It looks a lot like pollen. You rub your finger over the dark pollen, rubbing it between two of your fingers. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary, but there were a few inconsistencies with the flowers. "Look just like normal plants to me." You shrug. "There's gotta be something off about them. They wouldn't be protecting it so heavily if not." Soap shrugs.

Your skin feels hot all of the sudden, and you take a deep breath. "It's hot, I need to sit down." You push passed Johnny going into the office. There's a makeshift bed in the corner, cameras covering nearly the entire wall. They really were protecting this. Soap waits patiently for Laswell or Captain Price to respond, knowing it might take a few minutes for them to do research. You felt even worse as you sat at the cameras in the small chair. Beads of sweat gathered on your forehead and slid down your face. Soap steps into the office, looking confused when he sees you've pulled off almost all of your gear. "Uhh.. Y/N?" He asks. "Everything okay?" You look up at him. "Yeah I'm just a little hot, why?" You ask him. "Um.." He looks at his watch. He'd paid a load for it. It told him anything he needed to know. "It's only 70 degrees in here. Not that hot." You look at him confused. "That's weird." You mumble. You go to kick your feet up onto the counter again, but heat pooling between your legs, pleasure coursing through you has you doubling over, a gasp leaving your lips. Your knees hit the ground and you're breathing through whatever this is. You place your hands on your thighs, taking deep breaths. "Woah-" Soap rushes to your side, crouching down beside you. "Are you okay?" He asks. He rests a hand on your back, and your body reacts to him in a way you hadn't ever thought it would. Where he touches you burns, pleasure coursing through you.

"Ah, I'm f-fine. Just.. those plants are doing something weird to me I think." You laugh. You try to shake off the primal feeling of arousal. You swallow hard, sitting back up onto the chair. "I'm gonna call Laswell and ask." He breathes. A hiss leaves your lips and you tilt your head back. Holding your knees up to your chest and beginning to rock back and fourth. Soap calls Laswell. "Laswell, do you have anything yet? It's doing something weird to Y/N and I'm starting to worry about her." He breathes. "I'm looking. Is there some kind of lab? Any paperwork on the plants laying around?" She asks.

The first thing he sees when he walks into the small lab are tons of paperwork. "Found a ton Laswell. They have specimens and.. looks like a list of some kind." He explains. "Alright, send me photos." Soap nods. He snaps photos of everything and sending them to Laswell before returning to check on you. You've moved onto the makeshift bed on the ground and you're squirming. You've shed everything except for a tank top and your cargo pants. Cries leave your lips every once in a while and Soap hates this. "What hurts lass?" He asks. "How can I help?" A hiss leaves your lips, his voice is making the feeling worsen, moans leaving your lips as you rocked back and fourth. "Nothing hurts, I feel.. I feel fucking-" A cry leaves your lips and he jumps. "Johnny.." You whimper. "Does Laswell know anything?" You ask. "Not that I know of Y/N." he sighs. "You said it feels like.." He trails off. "Like I need to.. like I'm.." The words can't leave your lips and Soap thinks it's weird. "It's embarrassing, I feel overwhelmingly horny." You pant. Soaps eyes widen, his phone ringing drags him away from the conversation he's having with you. "It's a hormone, but it's chemically modified. They’re using the plants to transport it. In small doses, it increases libido, In larger doses..." Laswell trails off. "I've only seen this one other time in my entire field of work, it's when China was modifying doses of hormones to do something similar. The person who came in contact with it, luckily had the help of one of the creators. But.." She sighs. "What Laswell? Spit it out."

"She.. Y/N will need to be stimulated until the hormones wear off. If not... they could become too much for her body. And… she could die." She breathes. A sigh leaves Soap. "Okay. Tell the chopper not to expect us anytime soon, steamin' Jesus." He mumbles the last part before hanging up. "Laswell said the only way to get it to wear off is by... stimulating yourself. If not you could die. So.. You know." A laugh leaves your lips. "Fucking hell. Who would've guessed, fuck or die situation in the military." You laugh. A groan leaving your lips. "Yeah so I'll just.. let you do whatever. I'll be in the other room." He says awkwardly. He disappears quickly. He makes his way back into the room where the flowers were. Laswell would most likely need her own specimen. He makes his way over to the flowers, looking at them. Who would’ve guessed something so pretty could be so dangerous? He goes to take a step forward, going to cut one off at the stem. He doesn’t see the metal bucket sitting on the floor, stumbling over it. Sending him stumbling right into the table full of flowers. You hear the crash and stand up quickly. Peeking through the doorway and seeing Johnny laying on the floor covered in flowers and black pollen. The pink liquid absorbs into his skin immediately. You start laughing, not being able to contain it. "Oh fuck!” You rest your hands on your knees. “That's beautiful! Welcome to the dark side Johnny." You laugh, slapping your hand on the wall as you laugh. "Yeah, laugh it up. We both know how to fix this." He rolls his eyes. He stands up, dusting his vest off. Flowers and soil fall off of him and he looks unimpressed. “You got.. some pollen on your face.” You laugh. He shakes his head. “Ha. Ha. So funny.” He wipes at his face until the dark pollen is gone. He makes his way toward you. “Go on, I don’t know how much time you have left.” You roll your eyes. “Don’t listen through the door either, creep.” You shove passed him. “Not even in your dreams, you fuckin minx.” You laugh. Closing the door behind you. Soap should’ve listened to you.

He shouldn’t be standing outside the door, leaning up against the wall. But the warmth pulsing through his body is overwhelming. He can’t move his feet. He can’t walk away, he has a primal need, to cum. To hear you moan through the wall.

On the other side, it’s awkward for you. You shed your cargo pants and panties. Moaning out when fingertips finally stimulate your bundle of nerves. It had waited for so long. You didn’t like Johnny in that way, but now. Everything seemed to go away. It was almost as if you could smell him, his pheromones. You can’t keep the moans back, imagining Johnny’s fingers where your own were. After a few more minutes, your fingers dip into your opening. Drawing moans from your lips. You can’t help yourself, your needy body was finally getting what it wanted. Johnny’s eyes are clenched shut tightly. He’s palming himself through his pants, struggling. He understands now, the sparks of pleasure shooting through him. Knees buckling each time it hits him too hard. Just like it had done to you. He unbuttons his cargo pants, body shivering, blood rushing to his cock each time he heard you moan through the door. He slides his cock out of it’s refinement, beginning to stroke himself. He couldn’t keep quiet so he moves into the other room. Sitting down in another chair, pumping his cock quickly. He can’t keep quiet either and the first groan that leaves his lips has your movements freezing. You pause, sitting up, hearing the strings of moans leaving his lips. It’s too much. Way too much. You weakly stand up, only a tank top covered you now. You opened the door, it was quiet. Johnny couldn’t hear anything because of the groans leaving his lips. He was so desperate. You could hear him stroking himself. You lean against the door frame, knees weak as you look at him. “J-Johnny.” You whimper. He freezes up, but doesn’t move to hide himself. “You feel it too…” he trails off. You nod your head. “Come here.” He breathes. You emerge from the doorway, body on display for him. His cock jumps in excitement. Painfully hard and a blushing tip. Your tank top doesn’t cover much. Nipples hard though it. You’re sweaty. The curve of your hips is too much. You stand in front of him, and his fingertips glide between your thighs. His fingertips gliding over your opening has your knees buckling and he moves to catch you. “Fuck- I’m sorry.” You pant. He helps you steady yourself. “It’s okay. Take a deep breath.” He nods.

You climb into his lap, taking him a little off guard. “Need you Johnny- need it so bad-“ you whine, rocking your hips into him. “I need you too sweetheart, you can have it.” He growls. He grasps the base of his cock, holding himself steady. “Deep breath sweetheart-“ he mumbles. You place both of your hands on his shoulders, lifting your hips up. The folds of your pussy part open around him, and Johnny’s eyes nearly roll back. He tries not to close them, keeping his eyes on you, and where you were about to connect the entire time. “My god-“ he gasps as you slide down onto him further. When your thighs rest against his, cock prodding at your cervix, moans leave the both of you. “Oh fuck- you’re so tight.” He gasps. Your pussy is pulsing around him. He grasps hold of your hips. Lifting you up before letting you slide back down. “Oh fuck-“ you cry out. A smile plays at Johnny’s lips. “I.. I never looked at you this way. Not ever.” He laughs, a groan leaving his lips when you lift yourself off of him to slide down again. “Me- me neither Johnny.” You laugh. “Fuck- can’t take it. I need to fuck you.” He groans. He stands up with you on him, swiping everything off of the countertop. Paperwork, microscopes, expensive equipment. He sets you on top of it. You unzip his vest for him, helping him get it off. His shirt following. You run your fingers over his toned chest, seeing something you’d never even seen before flash through your eyes. He was attractive, heat rises to your cheeks. This seemed so out of the ordinary.

Johnny grasps a tight hold of your thighs, gritting his teeth. He snaps his hips against yours, pulling even more moans from your lips. “Oh fuck Johnny-“ you cry out, moving your hips into his. “Sorry if I’m rough, I can’t help it.” He moans. “It’s okay- I like it.” You pant. He thrusts quickly, death grip on your hips as he fucks into you. You tilt your head back, moaning out. Johnny takes this as an opportunity to attack your neck. Nipping at the skin. Feeling his teeth on your skin sends you straight into subspace. Your eyes are screwed shut, and the noises that leave your lips are sinful. You can feel all of your other senses leaving your body, leaving behind pleasure. It’s all you could feel. Johnny sliding against your walls, tugging you closer to your high with each thrust he takes. It’s too much to bare. Your high is approaching quickly, settling right into your stomach. The pit forms and settles there. Each thrust Johnny takes into your spongy sensitive walls draws you closer and closer. He’s panting hard, trying to keep himself together. His cock is rock hard, pulsing hard. You’re squeezing him so tightly, and his eyes are transfixed on your opening swallowing him up like a black hole, and spitting him out into cloud nine. This is by far the best Johnny has ever felt. He’s got a death grip on you still, the squelch from him fucking into your soaking pussy is intense, sinful. Johnny respected you. He was always kind and had never looked at you as anything other than a friend. But he knows now. There’s no coming back from this.

You know it too. You’re both right on the edge, tied together by your highs. Pheromones seeping from your skin and tying together. A cry leaves your lips, and a string of whimpers leave Johnny’s lips, each louder than the last as he reaches his high. This is the hardest Johnny will probably ever come, stomach tensing up as he reaches his high, your pussy clenches around him, arousal seeping from your hole onto him. Coating him in your cum as you reach your own high. Johnny cries out, eyes screwing shut as he hammers his hips into yours. Fucking you like it’ll be the last time he ever cums. His warmth filling you, body jumping at his warmth. Your walls taking him in. The hormones in your body draw him in, swallowing his seed. The primal need for offspring, what the fuck did these people create in here? He takes a couple more thrusts, riding out your highs, his body doesn’t want to leave yours yet. You’re panting. Hands gripping the countertop. The pulsing and tensing up coming from the both of you is overwhelming. “Fuck..” he trails off. Finally tearing his eyes away from where the both of you connected. He looks up at you, and you’re already looking at him. For a few minutes, you’re staring into each others eyes. Not daring to tear them away. Johnny’s cock isn’t too soft for long, hardening up while he’s still inside of you.

“Think we’ll have to go again, love.” He breathes. Eyes still on yours. You nod your head, eyes still boring into his. He starts to rock his hips into yours, cock sliding much easier with his cum that’s already inside of you. A moan leaving your lips. You’re not sure how much more your body will need before it finally relaxes.

—

Your legs are wobbly and your skin feels cold finally. Johnny has just helped you down from the countertop. You don’t know how many times he’s filled you.

Johnny’s eyes are fixated on the way his cum seeps out of your cavern, spilling down your thighs. “Come on, I’ll help you get cleaned up.” He lifts you up, carrying you into one of the bathrooms he’d seen. He helps you clean up what he can and leaves you alone. Wanting to give you privacy to do the rest. The entire time you’re in there alone, his brain screams at him to go to you. Wanting to be by your side the entire time. The way Johnny looks at you is much different now. He’s got a longing stare in his eyes. You have it too. He can see it.

When you’re both cleaned up and dressed, you make a call to Laswell. When a few others show up. Ready to package the flowers and send them off for observation, and burn the rest. You and Soap climb onto a Chopper to go back to base. Your legs are wobbly and he has to help you into it. You sit down next to him on the chopper, brain screaming at you not to let him go.

—

A few weeks later, the hormones have completely worn off. You and Soap underwent some pretty intense testing everything and all of your blood work came back normal. No lasting effects from the chemicals you’d been exposed to at all. You still had that little voice in the back of your mind, and you pined after Johnny a lot more. Constantly thinking about him. You’re folding your clothes away, trying to keep your mind off of Johnny. It’s a struggle, he’s all you can think about.

A knock at your door brings you out of your thoughts and you go to open it. As soon as he hears the door handle, he’s pushing it open. You move back at his forcefulness. “Johnny? What are you doing?” You ask. He grasps a hold of you, smashing his lips to yours. You take a second to kiss him back, but when you do he relaxes. You feel the same way he does, he knows it now.

When he finally pulls away, he takes a deep breath. “I think I love you, Y/N.” He breathes. Holding his forehead to yours. “I think I love you too Johnny.” You breathe. He lifts you up, moving toward your bed and laying you down on it. “I need you.” He groans.

It settles in your brain. This isn’t the chemicals talking anymore. These are real feelings shared between the two of you.

Who would’ve guessed everything would turn out this way.

#call of duty mw2 #soap mw2 #cod mw2 #ghost mw2 #captain john price #price mw2 #alejandro mw2 #captain price #johnny soap mactavish #mw2 smut #john soap mactavish #johnny smut #task force 141 #soap mactavish #soap x you #soap mctavish x you #soap mctavish #soap call of duty

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thenyoumightaswellwrestleangels · 3 months

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Ask me about my sins (and I'll tell you about my love)

carry me slowly, my sunlight (these colours, they fade for you only) - series masterlist here

pairing: damian wayne x reader (gender neutral)

length: 1.8k

genre: hurt/comfort, fluff

warnings: the initial awkwardness of enemies to lovers who have JUST moved on to the lovers stage, there's a lil jealousy but it's smoothed over pretty easily

a/n: this is a bit of a longer one but whatever I hope y'all like it <3

The galas Bruce Wayne holds may have become a normal occurrence for Damian, but the thought of them and everything they entail still makes something uneasy stir in your gut. Damian assures you that it's fine - that it's understandable. He stares intently in the mirror, straightening his suit as he speaks soothing words.

"You haven't been in Gotham for very long," he says. "No one expects you to adjust to life here immediately… and no one will demand you do anything you're not comfortable with. Ever. If you never go to one of these galas, that's fine with me."

You stare at the pattern of the wood floor in Damian's room, your hands bunching the covers of his bed where you sit as he moves to stand in front of you. He doesn't touch you - he's not sure enough, yet. This newfound peace between the two of you is still so fragile and neither of you know exactly how to navigate it yet. It pains him, though - he often finds himself wishing he could reach out, wishing there was something he could do to bridge the gap between the two of you.

"You've adapted to life outside of the League very well," you say quietly, a sharpness coating your words. There's an accusation there somewhere, maybe born of jealousy, maybe born of fear. Damian doesn't take the bait, though - another indicator of the ways in which he's grown since coming here. Another moment that leaves a bitterness on your tongue.

"No," he responds simply. "It's just that the years I spent learning this new life, you were… still back there. You knew me in the League and you know me now. There was an in-between that you just didn't see."

You don't respond to his words, a swirling sort of panic rising in your chest at the reminder that there was so much of him that you missed, so much of his life that you were so far away for. Damian kneels in front of you, tilting his head to lock his eyes with yours, a gentle love shining in his irises that makes you wish you could run away - again.

"Please be here tonight when I get back?" he asks softly. "We can talk more about this then." You nod at his words and he reaches out slowly, taking your hand in his and pressing a series of delicate kisses to your knuckles. There are words neither of you can say yet, bridges neither of you are ready to cross, but he hopes - every day he hopes that you know how much he loves you. And every day you pray he can see how much you love him back.

Having spent his whole life circling you and watching you circle back, it's almost second nature for Damian, now, to check for you. No one else is aware of your presence, too focused on the press and the dresses and the endless champagne that comes with these events - not that any of them could find you if they tried, Damian thinks smugly. He knows, of course. He always knows. The flicker of a shadow seen through a window, a rustle on the balcony near him, the ever-present feeling of eyes on him.

Damian doesn't mind, he realizes. He takes no issue with your hawk-like gaze trained on him from a vantage point no one else can find. In a way, it makes him feel better. You're not here, in front of him, where he can keep you safe - but if you're around, then you must be okay. It soothes something in him - something new and foreign that pleads with him and demands he take care of you. It's an unfamiliar feeling, one that trips him up and knocks him off balance. He has a hard time placing the moment he stopped being possessive of you as his enemy and started becoming protective of you as his… well, he doesn't even really know yet.

He does mind when a girl his age bumps into him at the gala, a glass of something sparkling in her hand as she giggles and promises that it was an accident, her hand finding itself placed on his chest. And he minds even more when, amidst his attempts to escape the sudden intrusion on his train of thought he suddenly… can't find you or feel you anywhere. He removes the girl's hands quickly, excusing himself and slipping out, away from the noise and the politeness and the showiness of it all.

"You cut your party short," you say quietly, not turning to look at where Damian's climbed onto the roof of the Manor behind you, dress shirt ruffled and jacket unbuttoned. You don't need to turn to know he's there, silent as he is. You always know.

"It's not my party. I made my appearance," he shrugs, sitting down next to you and staring at you intently. You keep your gaze trained up, staring at the night sky as you sit stiffly, back straight and shoulders back.

"She means nothing to me," Damian says firmly when you remain silent. You tense at his words. "I don't even know who she was."

"...It's fine," you say stubbornly. Damian sighs. Silence covers the two of you, the weight of it bearing down on the uneasiness - the stubbornness and the frustration of you both. Damian shifts, finding himself unsure, once again. You had always been better at this than him - always been more sure of yourself when it came to mind games. He finds himself wishing suddenly that he had a sword in his hands - it was always easier to fight you like that.

"You're… jealous," he says slowly, like he's trying to figure out where you stand in the situation. You snap your head around to look at him and he winces internally. Wrong guess, he thinks.

"I'm not," you respond stubbornly and he thinks briefly that this isn't the tact he's used to seeing you use in verbal sparring matches. He's not sure if it soothes or stresses him that he seems to unarm you the same way you so effortlessly unarm him.

"We were apart for years, Damian," you continue quietly, looking away from him pointedly. "And… we were never actually together. And we were so young when you left the League. And…" you trail off, eyes shifting as you seemingly search for the right words.

"And…?" he prompts patiently. You sigh, slumping over ever so slightly, cracking your perfect posture for just a moment. Damian wonders if anyone else has ever seen you like this or if he's an exception - then kicks himself mentally for focusing on something like that right now.

"You came to Gotham for a second chance - a new life. I don't expect that you sat here waiting for me… I don't expect that there was never anyone else," you finish glumly, still pointedly looking anywhere but Damian as you speak. He makes a strange sound at your words, a strangled sort of panicked noise at the idea that you're presenting to him.

He turns suddenly, facing you completely as he reaches out, hands outstretching towards you so fast and determinedly that you jerk back, years of the two of you on opposite sides of a bloody fight flashing in front of your eyes. But there's no fight in Damian tonight. There's no violence in the way he cups your cheeks tenderly in his hands, pulling himself forward to press a kiss to your lips.

Your own surprised sound leaves your throat at the action, your hands reaching up to wrap around Damian's wrists as he kisses you. Maybe you both expect for you to pull him away, but you find your fingers wrapping around the delicate bones of his wrists and keeping him there, pressed against you.

By the time the two of you part, you're both gasping for breath and you find yourself half in Damian's lap, your chest heaving against his as his hands anchor you to him. He tips his head forward to touch his forehead to yours, leaning into you as you relax against him. A faint smile flits over his lips at the way you sag against his chest, letting the tension you've lived with for so long slip ever so slightly off your shoulders.

Eventually, he brings a hand to cup your cheek again, firmly this time, moving just enough to look at you. You're close still - close enough that you can feel his lips brush against yours as he talks and you can't help but notice the way his heart beats against his chest and into yours.

"It was always you," he says in that voice that you know is reserved for you - that voice that's gentle and loving and full of so much emotion that it nearly wavers. "There was never anyone else - not even in my thoughts. Certainly not pressed up against me like this."

You huff at his words, your cheeks beginning to feel hot as you pull away from him just enough to let your head fall to his shoulder, your face hidden from him. He lets you, thankfully, humming in contentment and just a touch of smugness as he pulls you closer to him, your weight a welcoming blanket.

"I think…" you begin, pulling your face away from his neck to look at him again. "I think this may have been inevitable. I think we… might have been inevitable." Damian grins at your words, his smile flashing in a way that makes your stomach swoop.

"I think you're right," he says firmly. Sounds of the gala float up towards the two of you as you sit together, leaning against each other. "I was, by the way," he continues. You cock your head to the side.

"What?"

"I was waiting for you. And I would again, if I needed to. Until the end of my days." Damian says it so simply, so matter-of-factly, and something in your brain feels fuzzy because of it.

"Well… I'm sorry to have kept you waiting for so long," you respond gently, a smile passing across your lips quickly. Damian's returning smile is just as small - just as shy. His voice, in his response, is soft in a way that blankets you.

"You don't need to apologize. Your mistakes are not sins to me and your missteps do not demand penance. You will never have to ask for my forgiveness because it will always be given… without question, without hesitation, without uncertainty. It's… inevitable."

You laugh at his words and Damian feels his heart soar.

"Yes," you agree. "I suppose it is."

#smsn.writes #damian wayne #damian wayne x reader #damian wayne x you #damian wayne x y/n #damian wayne fluff #damian wayne fanfiction #damian wayne imagine #damian wayne headcanon #damian wayne al ghul #damian wayne robin #robin x reader #robin x you #robin imagine

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hollytoshaw · 18 days

Text

noisy neighbour part two | harry lewis

✩ ✩ ✩

summary: in which y/n owns a coffee shop and harry is her noisy neighbour

word count : 5.7k

part one here

a/n: this is part two of my noisy neighbour series!!! read part one before this <3 there will be more parts to this as its a proper slow burnerrr. sorry for the slow updates i haven't forgotten about this series lol xxx

masterlist <3333

✩ ✩ ✩

Y/N had come to the conclusion that life was much better when she didn’t let silly lies get in her way. It had been a week since she had come clean to her noisy neighbour, or Harry, as she now knew him, and life couldn’t get any better.

After the pair had laughed about her moment of foolishness and how they were both a little too loud for their own good, they were able to move past it all and properly get to know the person they were living next door to.

Y/N found out more about Harry’s whole ‘Youtuber’ lifestyle. He was part of a group of seven boys that made videos that came out every Sunday, but he also had other channels in which he’d play computer games and do funny reaction videos—the source of all that playful shouting she had heard through the walls. He told her that he’d gotten bored of his old apartment and wanted a change of scenery, so he chose the small-scale but nonetheless nice flat next door to hers. He lived alone and was 27; his favourite colour was blue, and his favourite cake was chocolate. He liked coffee,cycling, surfing, and the occasional beer, and he loved travelling anywhere in the world, near or far; he just loved exploring places. He had two younger siblings, a brother and a sister, and was from a little channel island named Guernsey. Y/N had never been.

She told him all the little details she could think of about herself in return. She was always sort of bad at introductions, cringing when they used to say ‘’Tell us three facts about you’’ in school, never knowing what to say. But she managed nonetheless. She told him all about her dream of having a cafe of her own and how she came to do so. She loved old music, mainly Abba, to which he laughed and told her he knew already, making a playful jab at the singing he had heard from next door. She too lived alone but was 26; her favourite colour was green, and her favourite cake was lemon. She also liked coffee, not so much cycling or surfing, and opted for cider whenever she went to the pub. While she hadn’t been travelling much herself due to paying off her university debts and then starting up her coffee shop, she still shared the desire to travel anywhere in the world—far away from London.

It was such a breath of fresh air for Y/N. Owning a cafe all on her own meant early mornings and late nights, and her weekends were either spent visiting her parents or nestled away in her flat watching episodes of Vanderpump Rules or trying new recipes for baked goods that she was thinking about selling in the cafe. Because of this, she had found it hard to find time to make friends, and while she had her fair share, she barely saw them; they either had big city jobs or were living outside of London and starting a family. It just felt nice for Y/N to just sit and chat with someone a similar age to her and talk about nonsense for a while.

While the conversation the pair shared was cut short by Harry needing to get to work and record a podcast, they shared numbers (only in case one of them got a parcel for the other, of course), and Harry said he’d pop back in soon to finish where they left off.

So that was it. It had been a week, and she hadn’t seen him since, but that was all she could think about. It wasn’t even like Y/N had a crush, or so she convinced herself, but she longed to talk to him again; it just felt nice. While the occasional old lady that came into the cafe was great to chat with, asking away about how her day was going or what their plans were for the day, she still preferred the little chat she had with Harry; it just felt different, and she couldn’t put her finger on why.

But then she got all in her own head. Maybe he didn’t come back in because he realised she was a bit weird, having lied about living next door and that he was only being friendly and entertaining the conversation, but in reality, he didn’t want to be talking to her at all. Y/N knew she was probably getting a bit ahead of herself, but she couldn’t help but think the worst. She had always been a bit of a pessimist.

It was now Monday again, and the cafe had just begun to die down after the lunch rush. After cleaning tables and putting cups and saucers back in place, Y/N finally felt like she had it all under control. There was no one in the shop, and looking at the time, the clock read 1:00 p.m., a perfect chance for Y/N to have her lunch break. She had scoffed a croissant earlier that morning and topped herself up with flat whites throughout the day, but now she was starving. She walked over to the door, flipping the ‘open’ sign to ‘close’ and walked back behind the counter to prepare herself something nice to eat.

She wasn’t long into making a ham and cheese toastie when she heard three loud knocks on the glass door. Usually she’d shout ‘’We’re closed’’ and continue what she was doing, but another three knocks followed, and she thought she’d just let them in and eat her sandwich another time.

As she turned around, she saw a hooded figure standing outside the door—it was lashing rain in London today (shocker) —but she could barely make their face out through the raindrops on the door. Nearing closer, she realised it was Harry. After a week, he’d returned. Maybe her pessimism wasn’t always right.

Letting him in, she moved back as he took his coat off, the black puffer soaked from the awful weather.

''Hello, you,’’ he smiled, lifting the hood of his jumper from his head. ‘’Didn’t realise you closed this early.’’

‘’Hiya,’’ she smiled back. ‘’Just closed for lunch, that’s all.’’

Furrowing his brows, he replied, ''U-Oh, right, I can come back later if you’re busy.’’

She laughed, taking his coat from him to hang it up on the coat stand next to the door. ‘’Don’t be silly. I’m only having a toastie, nothing special.’’

‘’Lovely stuff,’’ he said, clapping his hands together and following her towards the counter.

‘’How’ve you been?’’ she asked. ‘’Horrible weather today, isn’t it?’’ Classic brit filling empty silence with talks of the weather.

‘’I know, proper pain in the arse,’’ he laughed. ‘’Been good, though. Just back from a holiday with the boys, but so typical, I’ve come back to the shittest weather possible.’’

''Ooh, lucky you,’’ Y/N smiled as she resumed the making of her lunch. ‘’Go anywhere nice?’’

‘’Went to the Maldives for two days for a video,’’ he said nonchalantly, ‘’was a good laugh though.’’

‘’Wow, that must've been unreal.’’ she gasped, placing her sandwich on a small green plate before looking back at him. ‘’Can I get you anything to eat? I feel like a knob if I’m sat scoffing my face and I’ve not made you anything.’’

Harry smiled, watching as the girl moved her plaited hair so that it was out of her face. He thought she was quite pretty with her hair tied back, freckled cheeks, and a peach-coloured blusher on her face. She was wearing her same old green apron, but instead of the jumper she had on the last time he saw her, she had a striped long-sleeve top paired with black jeans. Yeah, she was really quite pretty, he thought.

‘’No, I’m fine, thanks. I got a meal deal in the airport earlier,’’ he paused. ‘’And I’m trying to keep off the cakes, but they do look bloody brilliant today.’’

Y/N laughed, ''Well, you’re in the wrong place if you’re trying to keep off the sweet stuff. I got cakes coming out of my ears in this place.’’

The conversation felt easy for Y/N. It was almost weird to think about their first few conversations, stiff and awkward, thinking the other was a bit rude and not really interested in making small talk. But now, it felt like they could talk for ages; the initial uneasiness was now a distant memory.

‘’So what brings you here?’’ she started. ‘’Surprised you’re not straight to bed after that long flight.’’

They sat down at a little table in front of the counter, Y/N enjoying her lunch and Harry watching, fumbling with his fingers.

''Oh, trust me, I’m knackered.’’ he laughed. ‘’But I thought I’d pop in. Remember, I said I would last time, finish where we left off, and all.’’

Course Y/N was remembered. It had been all she thought about for the last seven days.

‘’Oh right, yeah’’ she said between mouthfuls of her sandwich. ‘’Well,tell me all about this Maldives trip then.’’

✩ ✩ ✩

A few days had passed since Y/N and Harry’s last encounter. And that was all she could think about.

After leaving her cafe to go back to his flat, the pair shared a few jokey text messages: Harry sending her random pictures he’d taken on his holiday and Y/N sharing snaps of new baked goods that she’d made, with him responding with a classic ‘Save me one.’ It was nothing serious, but it was nice to have playful conversations away from her busy working day and Harry’s video shoots.

Despite only a small proximity separating the pair, Y/N longed for the next time she might bump into him, almost hoping that a parcel would get delivered to the wrong address to give her some reason to knock on his door or that he’d finally succumb to his sweet tooth and trod down the stairs to try whatever fresh baked treats she had to offer.

It made her laugh that only a few weeks ago she’d dreaded the thought of seeing him and hated the thought of having to make small talk with him, but now it was all she’d thought of. And don’t get her wrong, she was no romanticist or anything of that sort but when she found something she liked or in this case, a person she liked talking to, it was hard for her to take her mind away from them.

Another day had come to an end for Y/N. The aroma of freshly brewed coffee lingered in the air as she wiped down the last table in her cosy little shop. It had been a long day for her, filled with the hustle and bustle of customers coming in and out. She felt swept off her feet trying to make sure everything ran smoothly and made a mental note that maybe it was time to hire some help.

Now, as the clock struck closing time, Y/N couldn’t wait to retreat to the comfort of her upstairs flat. Locking up the cafe, she made her way up the narrow staircase and into her home. The familiar creak of the stairs under her feet echoed in the empty hallway—a comforting sound that signalled the end of another day’s work.

As she reached the door, she let out a contented sigh—peace at last. Turning the key in the lock, she pushed open the door and stepped into her sanctuary.

The soft glow of string lights greeted her, casting a warm and inviting atmosphere through the room. She’d forgotten to turn them off the night before and was surprised the batteries had lasted the day. Kicking off her shoes, she padded across the hardwood floor to her living area, where a plush green sofa beckoned her to sink into its comforting embrace.

Her days always went the same after work. She’d come upstairs, sit down on the sofa, and stick some random television show on for some background noise, needing to just sit for a moment after being on her feet all day. The stress of the day always melted away as she allowed herself to just be in the moment, relishing the peace and quiet of her own space.

Next to the sofa, a stack of books awaited her attention. She had been reading some Dolly Alderton novel that a friend had recommended, and so far she was loving it. There was nothing quite like getting lost in the pages of a good book; all she needed now was a nice cup of tea, and she’d be in heaven.

It’d felt like hours had passed as Y/N finally got to the end of another chapter. The gentle hum of the TV in the background continued as Y/N settled down the book and turned her attention to her phone, wondering if she had any new messages from a certain someone. And lo and behold, she did.

Clicking the message open, she saw a picture that Harry had taken from what she assumed to be his living room. Her view was similar, just at a different angle—the Shoreditch’s streets looking equally as ‘London’-esque from both their windows. He had added a little message to the bottom of it: ‘This weather is mental. Think it calls for tea and some cake.’ Y/N hadn’t seen the message with her phone on ‘Do not disturb’ and her eyes well focused on the piece of fiction she was reading, and he had sent it over twenty minutes ago, but she assumed he was still next door, not wanting to dare step out in the treacherous rain.

She wondered if he was hinting at her to send him a text and offer some cakes from downstairs. Or maybe even invite him over to try the pastries she’d sent him a picture of only a few days ago. Of course, Y/N didn’t really know if he was hinting at anything, but she really hoped he was. The time on her phone showed it was just past 7:00 p.m., and having eaten a small lunch earlier in the day, she too was in the mood for some cake and tea, not really bothered by the thought of cooking dinner and having to wash up loads of pots and pans in the kitchen.

She lifted herself up from the comfy sofa and into her kitchen space, opening the fridge to see if she had any nice delights to cure her craving. There sat a small blue tupperware, inside two vanilla cupcakes, left over from the day, perfect. Two. Perfect.

Whether he had been hinting or not, Y/N took the tupperware in hand and stuffed her feet into her fluffy slippers. Unlocking her door and making her way down the stairs towards his door, she felt giddy. She thought it was a nice gesture to turn up with a little treat that he had longed for, and she hoped maybe the two could share a nice chat over a cup of tea as they looked out on the London rain. It’d be nice.

As she got to the door, she lifted her hand up, ready to press the buzzer to his blue door, but as she did, she heard the faint strains of music drifting through the air, accompanied by a girl’s laughter. Her hand froze, and a wave of disappointment washed over her. Doubt crept into Y/N’s mind, and she couldn’t bring herself to interrupt whatever moment Harry was sharing with another.

With a heavy sigh, Y/N turned on her heel and retreated back up the stairs to her flat. She knew she was being silly, but she felt a sting in her heart, and she couldn’t shake the image of Harry’s front door from her mind.

Back in her kitchen. Y/N set the cupcakes on the counter; her appetite for something sweet was now long gone. She wondered if she had misinterpreted Harry’s kindness and their conversations as something more. Sure, the two had shared a few playful texts, updates throughout the day, and random pictures, but that was the extent of it so far. Y/N felt like an idiot.

She never did respond to Harry’s text that night.

✩ ✩ ✩

Another few days passed, and Y/N had finally gotten over her little strop. Well…sort of. She didn’t have much to go on other than the fact that she’d heard a woman’s voice and lots of laughter, which she knew didn’t necessarily mean Harry had a girlfriend, but she'd rather nip her feelings in the bud than wonder about the what-ifs that could of been had he opened the door. Plus, Y/N felt a bit silly. He’d never given an indication that their chats were anything more than friendly, and the texts they shared weren’t suggestive in any way—I mean, you could probably send your mother the same things. So she knew it was better to cut her little strop short before she got herself all tangled up in her feelings.

She’d had another long week in the cafe, busy with big orders and endless amounts of coffee, and she knew it was definitely time she put out an advertisement for a job vacancy. But that was a job for another day as she was currently getting ready to go out with a few friends in a pub just near Old Street. It had been a while since she’d found the time to meet up with people (with their big city jobs and her never ending hustle in the cafe) and considering she’d given Harry radio silence for the past few days, this was the most socialising she’d done outside of the occasional old lady in the cafe. So, Y/N was buzzing. She reached for her favourite pair of Adidas Sambas, their sleek black design accentuating her style. The leather was very worn despite carrying many stories of past adventures. Y/N made a mental note that she’d get a new pair out of her next paycheck. Her outfit was bold yet chic, a lot different from her usual jeans, t-shirt, and green apron combo. A leopard print midi skirt is paired with a black fitted crop top and a leather jacket over her shoulders to give the outfit unmistakable flair. She always enjoyed dressing up, even if it was just for a quick pint—it just gave her something to do and was a nice change from her usual get-up.

With a flick of her wrist, she grabbed her essentials—a phone, cardholder, and keys—and headed out the door. It wasn’t raining in London for once, with spring slowly creeping in, so Y/N didn’t bother with an umbrella, deciding her jacket was enough protection from whatever the weather had in mind. It felt nice as she walked along the busy Shoreditch streets with the city lights beckoning, couples holding hands, groups of friends laughing—it made her heart squeeze, and she felt like the night was promising her excitement and all sorts of possibilities.

The pub night was everything Y/N had hoped it would be. It had been a welcome contrast of warmth and laughter, and seeing her friends, who usually worked nine to five, was a breath of fresh air. With flushed cheeks from all the lively conversations and talks of fond memories, not to mention the five pints of fruity cider she had drank, Y/N left the pub with the cheesiest grin on her face. A few kisses to the cheek and warm hugs later, Y/N waved goodbye to her group of mates and headed back towards the Old Street roundabout.

The city seemed quieter now; most of its energy was subdued despite it only being 10:00 p.m. Walking around familiar streets, she felt a sense of comfort in solitude but wished she hadn’t forgotten her airpods because there’d be nothing better than a peaceful stroll accompanied by her favourite indie music playlist in the back.

The pub was only about a ten-minute walk from her flat, so it didn’t take too long, and Y/N felt herself subconsciously speed walking as the cold London air got to her, now regretting her choice of jacket. As she neared closer to her doorstep, she could see a hooded figure placed on it, a backpack in front of them, and a phone in their hand as they scrolled aimlessly. Her eyes felt a bit hazy from the cider, and she approached apprehensively, her mind wandering to the possibilities of it being a crazy ex-boyfriend or a drunken friend hoping to rest their heads for the night. But as she moved closer, her anxiousness eased. It was only her neighbour. Harry. Harry, who she’d given the cold shoulder to for the past few days.

His friendly face looked up at the sound of her approaching footsteps. A slightly flustered expression on his face.

‘’Hi Harry,’’ she smiled. ‘’You alright?’’

Getting up from his crouched position, he moved aside, letting her stand in front of her own door. ''Oh, you life saver, been waiting ages.’’

She looked up at him, a glow on her face, not too sure if it was caused by the pints or his general presence. ‘’What for?’’

‘’I’ve been a right numpty and locked myself out.’’ he laughed.

‘’Oh shit,’’ she laughed back, buzzing from alcohol. Y/N was a lightweight by definition; the smell of alcohol could probably get her drunk, and at this moment she felt buzzed.

‘’I know, pain the arse,’’ Harry said, pinching in between his eyes. ‘’Can’t even try to get a key cut because everywhere’s shut.’’

‘’You got any friends that’ll let you crash for the night?’’ Y/N asked, feeling genuine concern for the poor boy sitting outside their doors. She hadn’t even asked how long he’d been there—it could have been hours.

‘’Tried a few but got no response,’’ Harry sighed, "I guess no one wants a rogue sleepover at 10 at night.’’

‘’Good friends you’ve got,’’ she teased, confidence of drink taking over her.

‘’Oh shush you,’’ he playfully said back.

A small silence fell over the toy as Y/N fumbled around in her bag to find her keys, the street light giving her enough of a torch to be able to find them. Every time she drank, she’d experience a small panic that she’d managed to lose all of her belongings, but luckily for her, everything seemed intact.

‘’So what are you going to do?’’ Y/N said as she went to put her key in the lock.

Harry paused for a moment. While the two had shared the occasional message and nice chat over coffee, he felt a bit bold with what he was about to ask. Not being the most social person, he had weighed out the options of whether or not it would be awkward if she'd say yes to his question—he'd more than likely have to sit chatting for a while and then maybe have an uncomfortable sleep on whatever sofa or bed she’d have to offer—but at the same time, he reminded himself that it was only Y/N and whatever awkwardness could have come between them had well and truly been dissolved by their initial meeting. And truthfully, Harry was all for saying outlandish things and asking rogue questions, so if she did say no, he’d just take it on the chin and find somewhere else to go.

‘’I hate to ask,’’ he paused sheepishly. ‘’I really do. But by any chance, I could come in for a bit, or at least till one of my friends picks up their phone and lets me stay around theirs.’’

‘’You hate to ask?’’ Y/N smirked, cocking her head to one side. ‘’Am I really that insufferable?’’

Harry’s eyes widened at her words. ''N-no, no, not at all. It’s just that I thought, ’’

‘’Stop your blubbering for a moment,’’ she laughed. ‘’It’s fine, really.’’

‘’You sure?’’ he smiled. ‘’Don’t have to say yes, 'coz you feel sorry for me.’’

And yes, Y/N did feel a bit sorry for the blubbering boy sitting in front of their adjacent doors. She couldn’t imagine anything worse than being locked out of her own flat and left out in the cold in London with nowhere else to go—it was a frustrating inconvenience to say the least. Plus, Y/N was always a bit of a generous soul, never really able to say no to people, always biting her tongue when she felt awkward, and with a few pints combined, she was feeling especially generous.

‘’Honestly, no bother.’’ she replied, unlocking her door. ‘’I’ll probably be awake for the next few hours anyway, so companies are good.’’ An absolute lie on Y/N’s part. Any drink would usually send Y/N into a tired haze, and she couldn’t think of anything better than sticking on her pyjamas and curling up in bed, but it’d have to be put on hold for the night.

Following her up the stairs and into her living area, Harry let his eyes analyse the room. Fairy lights adorned nearly every wall, blankets crowded on the sofa, a few plants dotted around the room, and an endless amount of cookbooks—while Harry didn’t know too much about Y/N, he could still recognise that her little flat was an exact replica of her as a person.

‘’Nice place,’’ he said, placing his backpack down on the wooden floor.

‘’Cheers,’’ she smiled, ‘’similar to yours?’’

‘’Similar size, but mines full of cardboard boxes at the moment,’’ he laughed, ‘’yours has a lot more life to it.’’

‘’Took a good few IKEA trips to get it this perfect, I won’t lie.’’ Since walking in, Y/N had dropped her bag by the door, walking into the kitchen space to find some snacks or atleast a drink to give to her unexpected guest.

‘’You want a cider?’’ she asked, rummaging through the fridge to find a can of Strawberry Old Mout that she had left over from the last time she had a guest in her flat. She couldn’t help but feel a bit nervous as she looked around the brightly lit fridge - it felt weird having Harry in her flat. Different somehow, more intimate than their casual chats down in the cafe or over text. But especially after her little moment of weakness the other day and the fact that he more than likely had a girlfriend, she pushed those thoughts aside and focused on being the good host she was.

"You know what- I’ll take one," he replied,thinking nothing sounded better than a cold cider after his shambles of an evening. ‘’Only if you’re drinking too - don’t wanna start getting leathered on my own,’’

‘’As if you’d get leathered off of one cider,’’ Y/N laughed, passing him a can and cracking open her own, ‘’Plus I’m 5 ciders deep already so think it’ll be me getting leathered, not you.’’

Harry shared a laugh with her, holding his hands up in defeat, ‘’Alright, you piss head. You just been necking ciders on London streets then or what?’’

‘’Oh shut up,’’ if she had been closer to him, Y/N probably would of swatted him on the arm for the absolute nonsense that left his mouth but the kitchen counter separated the two, so she kept her arms to her side, ‘’I was just out in the pub.’’

‘’So that’s what the mysterious Y/N gets up to when she’s not running a cafe,’’ he said, raising his eyebrows as if he’d uncovered some maddening truth about her.

‘’Mysterious?’’ she snorted back regrettably but she couldn’t help it and plus after a few drinks, her snorted laugh always seemed to appear.

‘’Well ye-yeah, mysterious.’’ he paused, taking another big gulp of his drink and Y/N wouldn’t have been surprised if he’d managed to finish it by now. ‘’Haven’t heard from you in a few days and then you come swanning in after a few pints, I’d say that’s pretty mysterious.’’

‘’God, you talk some shit,’’ she said, laughing at his use of words.

‘’S’true though, haven’t heard from you.’’

‘’I haven’t heard from you either?’’

‘’You liar! I texted you the other night and got no reply,’’ Harry said, clutching at his heart in a playful manner, ‘’really hurt my feelings.’’

‘’You’re such a windup,’’ she grinned, ‘’Didn’t take you as the type to be hung up over no replies,’’

‘’Broke my heart really. I was waiting for you to reply and say you had a cake and a chat waiting for me but got nothing.’

So maybe Y/N hadn’t taken his hints wrongly.

‘’And then my sister turned up and I couldn’t even come round and pester you for a slice of lemon cake,’’ he continued, ‘’my plan went out the window,’’ His sister! Y/N mentally scolded herself in her head for being so silly that night and thinking the worst.

‘’Your plan?’’ she challenged.

‘’Yeah, my plan to butter you up and then steal every last slice of cake you had going for you.’’ he joked.

What an idiot, Y/N thought. But a funny idiot, nonetheless. ‘Ah, well, you should have told me your sister was round and I would have been more than happy to share something with her - sure, she would have been better company than you anyways,’’ she joked, in return. She couldn’t tell if it was the ciders making her head feel dizzy or nonchalant playfulness, but she felt giddy and confident.

‘’No one likes a liar, Y/N.’’ he beamed, ‘’We both know that’s a massive lie.’’

‘’Hmm maybe.’’

‘’So, pub, did you say?’’ he questioned, ‘’W-was it a date or?’’

‘’Think I go to the pub on a first date?’’ she said, raising her brow in amusement.

‘’Nothing wrong with a pint and a bag of crisps for the first date.’’ he defended.

‘’It’s that where you take all your unlucky ladies then?’’

‘’Ha! Unlucky. It’d be the luckiest night of their lives,’’

‘’Oh I bet,’’ Y/N laughed, ‘’But no, just a few drinks with some of my friends. Nothing mad.’’

‘’Very cool.’’ Harry grinned.

‘’Shut-up,’’ Y/N grinned back in return.

The two fell into a silence, each other not really knowing what to say. Y/N could feel the lull of the alcohol weaning off and she knew she’d be drifting off if she stayed up any longer. She didn’t want to come across rude, enjoying his company but her bed was calling her name and she needed to call it a night knowing she had to be up in the morning to sort out admin for the cafe.

‘’I think I might head to bed, I’m feeling knackered.’’ Y/N sighed.

‘’Leaving me all alone, one cider deep?’’ Harry laughed.

‘’Sorry but I don’t think I can keep my eyes open for any longer,’’ A giggle uttering from her lips, ‘’You’re more than welcome to stay on the sofa thought until you get your keys sorted and all.’’

‘’You’re a star, Y/N.’’ Harry smiled in return as he made his way to the couch to make himself comfortable for the night. He couldn’t have been more grateful for her in the moment, thinking back to not so long ago when he was out in the cold, locked outside of his flat. Course, they’d made familiar with each other the past few weeks but he couldn’t get over the kindness of the girl - or pity that she had for him - but either way he was thankful nonetheless.

‘’There’s a few blankets on the side and some cushions so it shouldn’t be too uncomfortable,’’ Y/N paused, walking over the basket of random throws and cushions she had by the corner of her living room, signalling him to choose his pickings. ‘’Right, I’ll see you in the morning. Night Harry.’’

‘’Night, Y/N. Thanks again.’’ And that was the last thing he saw, her gleaming smile, cheeks red from alcohol as she walked down the hall to the last room that he knew now was her bedroom and headed to bed.

Y/N woke up with a pounding headache the next morning followed by a dry mouth and a queasy stomach. She hadn’t even drank much but in her defense she rarely ever did so any alcoholic beverage would always send her sideways the next day. Blinking against the harsh sunlight streaming through her window, she groaned, regretting the cheap ciders of the previous night. Her memory was a bit hazy, blurred by the fog of alcohol but she did remember one thing. There was a Harry on her sofa.

Dragging herself out of bed, she quickly sorted herself out, combing through her hair and fixing her pyjamas, not wanting to look an absolute state in front of the boy. She stumbled to the kitchen, head throbbing with every step, desperate for a glass of water. But as she walked into her living space, he was nowhere to be found. Surely she hadn’t been so drunk she had imagined the whole night.

She could remember everything from the loud music of the pub, the dancing and laughs she shared with her friends. And she most definitely remembered the blue eyed boy that was sat outside her front door, locked out from his home.

She did a quick check of her phone to see if she had any texts from Harry but the only notifications were a few Instagram tags from her mates and a text from her mum asking what she thought of the banana loaf she had made. Nothing from Harry.

Walking around the kitchen to grab a glass for her water, she noticed out of the corner of her eye the little notepad she had on her kitchen counter was opened, a few words scribbled on it and a black biro pen next to it.

On the note read ‘Thank you for letting me stay last night, you’re an angel. I had to leave early this morning to meet the landlord for a spare key but I really do owe you. Let me know when you’re free, I’m thinking of dinner on me? Thank you again, Harry x’

With a little smile on her lips as he fingers traced over his messy handwriting, she felt a sigh of relief. Dinner on him, it was and she couldn’t wait.

a/n: thank you for reading. sorry for the wait!!! there defo won't be a long wait for part three. this is such a slow burn but promise it gets more cutesy in part three <333

#w2s #wroetoshaw #w2s x reader #harry wroetoshaw #harry lewis #harry w2s #sidemen #w2s fic #w2s imagine #wroetoshaw imagine #wroetoshaw oneshot #hollytoshaw #chris md #arthurtv #sidemen x reader

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accioprocrastination · 9 months

Text

The Reunion

Jake "Hangman" Seresin x wife Reader

A/N: Military inaccuracies, angst and fluff

I haven't proof read this so apologies in advance...

Summary: You're redeployed to the same base as your husband

Reader POV

You touched down in North Island this morning so it's not out of the ordinary that you've spent all evening getting to know the team already stationed here.

It's nearing two a.m. and you're beginning to hit your limit of social interaction. You take a seat on one of the bar stools against the wall closing your eyes momentarily wishing you were home.

"I am so tired I need to go to get out of here and Javy is barely standing, so I'm going to get him something to eat. If any of y'all want food we're leaving now." Jake says walking up to the table where you're sat with a couple of your colleagues.

"Food sounds great." You respond without question. His eyes twinkle as they meet yours and you stare at the laughter lines that momentarily form as he gives you a quick smile. God he's good looking and he knows it.

"I should probably go too and try and adjust to this timezone." Preacher says from next to you getting up and walking out without a more elaborate goodbye. You roll your eyes at his constant holier than thou wisdom.

You watch silently as Jake struggles to make Javy put his jacket on, smirking at the futile effort.

It's only Bob and you left sitting here as Jake continues his fruitless attempt to put Javy's jacket on him.

"I'm hungry - I'm going to go with them. Are you coming?" You ask Bob. He shakes his head.

"No I'm good." He says quietly. You've noticed how he tenses up around your husband and have refrained from commenting.

"Did something happen with Hangman and you? He gets mouthy when he's nervous." You try to defend Hangman having no idea what he's said or done to make Bob feel uncomfortable.

"Nothing's happened I just don't like him." Bob says not opening up to you. It's probably a good thing he's so reserved, so that he doesn't unknowingly start slagging off your husband to you.

You still feel a stone drop in your stomach at his confession.

"How do you know him?" Bob asks watching you staring at the scene before you. You tear your eyes off of Jake and look at Bob.

"We've been stationed together before. Lots of times actually." You explain not really telling him anything.

"He doesn't act like a human." Bob counters and without him elaborating you know what he means completely.

"He takes a long time to open up to people." You state.

"I don't think he feels emotions like normal people." Bob says staring at Jake as he beams at something Javy is slurring at him.

"He's not the person he pretends to be. I think he feels things more deeply than a lot of us and he doesn't know how to handle it so he plays Hangman... I'd rather fly with someone with that level-headedness than an emotional wreck." You remark.

"I think that's the first time anyone's called Hangman level-headed." Bob sniggers as the other two reach the door.

You smile sort of mentally agreeing with him that, that was a poor choice of words. "I know him better than other people. He's not that person when you get to know him." You shrug getting up.

"Does he know that you're in love with him?" Bob asks watching you.

You smile at the WSO completely ignoring his question as you say goodbye, "I'll see you in the morning Bob."

You head to the bathroom, leaving Jake to ensure that a very drunken Javy manages to sit down in the only diner open at this ungodly hour in the morning.

Jake has been stealing glances at you all night and you know he's making himself frustrated because of your no PDA around colleagues rule.

He was the one to enforce the rule and he'll never vocalise that he hates it.

You're drying your hands as the door to the bathroom smashes against the wall. It swings open to reveal a guilty looking Jake who has tried to open the door with a bit too much enthusiasm.

"Shit, sorry!" he says taking a step inside. He stops right behind you and breathes a sigh of relief that you're finally alone for the first time this evening.

You throw the paper towel in the bin, breaking your eye contact through the mirror and turning to face him.

"Lieutenant" you tease him, knowing that he loves it when you call him that. His eyes instantly darken and he steps closer, giving you a look that you can only describe as hunger.

He leans in like he's going to kiss you then stops abruptly, barely a hair's breadth away from your face.

Jake's giving you such a mischievous grin that you have to wonder what he's currently thinking. "You didn't tell me you got promoted to captain, Captain." He whispers.

"I wanted to tell you in person." You inform him as you take ahold of his left hand.

"Congrats darlin'" He says quickly breaking the hand hold and lifting you up slightly to kiss him.

You jump up and knot your legs around his waist. "I-" he starts but you cut him off.

"Please stop talking and just kiss me already." You say.

"Your wish is my command." He spouts before his lips finally meet yours.

You run your fingers through his hair as he manoeuvres to sit you against the sinks. He groans above you - still taking care to gently set you down.

You deepen the kiss to muffle him. He doesn't comment on how your legs tighten around his waist in response.

He breaks the kiss and you huff out of frustration before he starts kissing down your jaw and your neck.

"I have wanted to do this all day." his words tickle against your neck.

"Javy's waiting." you remind Jake and he halts.

His strong arms cloak around you in a tight hug. You hug back with the same force.

"He can wait another minute." Jake says refusing to let you go.

When he loosens his grip to let you go, you tighten your hold on him. "One more minute" You say into his shoulder. Jake is more than happy to oblige to your request.

"God I missed you." He murmurs before you echo the sentiment.

Jake is uncontrollably giggling in the passenger seat of your car which makes you laugh harder at your own stupid joke. It is so rare to crack him like this.

His arms are wrapped around you like a blanket as you walk inside the hotel.

Your laughter cuts off as you both spot an elderly couple in the elevator and Jake untangles himself from you to be more presentable in front of them.

You step in and press the button to your floor as he talks with the elderly couple.

"Thank you for your service" the old lady says to Jake.

"It's my pleasure ma'am" he responds as the elevator pings their floor.

Once it eventually reaches your floor, you practically run out pulling him by the hand.

The second the room door closes behind you, he pounces and pulls you onto the bed.

Jake climbs on top of you, trapping you beneath his body to reiterate what he was saying earlier.

"I missed you." he sighs, needing you to know how much.

"I missed you too." you reply smiling widely.

"I don't think you understand how much." He says before kissing your jaw.

"I miss laughing with you", he presses another kiss against your jaw.

"I miss turning to see your face whenever someone says something I know would make you laugh", he kisses you again.

"I miss our friendship." He says continuing the trail of kisses.

You push on his shoulders moving him to switch positions with you.

"Trust me, I understand how much." You respond kissing him on the lips.

"I wish we could be together all of the time." You tell him breaking the kiss to talk some more.

"I don't like when we meet up after months apart and I'm not sure where we stand." Jake vocalises his anxiety as you run a finger down his cheek.

"We're never in a bad place. We could not speak for months and I'd still be around waiting for you. I know it can be weird to readjust to each others' routines but I'm always going to love you regardless of what happens in between us being together physically in the same place." You say meeting his gaze.

You know he worries when you're apart and you watch as he relaxes into the sheets.

"Sometime I feel insecure that you look at me and know my insecurities, doubts and fears and I don't understand why you love me." He admits.

"You're everything to me. You know that right?" You question.

It's unfrequent that Jake opens up to you like this, so you're not overly surprised when he deflects. "So when we argue about what colour to paint the kitchen?" He tease you about your last big argument.

You roll your eyes, smiling at him. "I still love you even when you're wrong." You say before kissing him again.

"Ditto!" He mumbles against your lips.

You pull back and he smirks knowing you're about to rebuttal.

"I cannot believe that you have brought that up! Now all I'm thinking about is that we still haven't chosen a colour." You declare, jokily hitting Jake's bicep making him laugh.

"We'll pick something soon." he yawns, tiredness hitting him like a tidal wave. His eyes sting from the brightness of the hotel lighting.

You watch Jake turn to look at the clock on the bedside table. It is already 3.24 am.

"You tired princess?" you ask him running a finger along his eyebrows making his eyes flutter shut. It's an unfair tactic that you know will make him more sleepy.

"Wide awake sweetheart." the lie falls from his lips seconds before he is unable to stop another yawn.

You clamber off him instantly.

"Nooo." Jake complains grabbing the back of your thighs to try and stop you getting up.

"I'm not hooking up with you if you're going to lie there yawning." You remark standing up to go brush your teeth.

Jake pouts, "when did I get so old that I can't pull all-nighters?" You smile down at him silently wishing you could both stay awake talking for a few more hours.

He rubs his eyes trying not to fall asleep; longing to do more than kiss you. You both know your husband will be asleep the minute you come back and turn the light off.

#jake seresin #tgm #hangman imagine #jake hangman seresin #top gun au #hangman x reader #jake hangman fic #top gun #top gun hangman #hangman fluff #jake seresin fluff #hangman #top gun fic #top gun maverick #tgm fic #tgm x reader #tgm au

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eyesofshan-if · 4 months

Note

what are your favourite IFs and ROs?

oooh... juicy 🧃to be honest, i haven't had much time to read other ifs, so i don't know that many of them! but here are the few that i'm actively follow and obsess over (and look up to as literary masters because gosh)

infamous by /infamous-if. literally everyone and their mother knows this if and what can i say 🥲 i'm one of the many sheeple too. i'm so obsessed?? with the way amy writes messy relationships and people because i could never make them feel natural. like i try and it just reads like two toddlers squabbling in a parking lot. somehow she manages to make writing a fictional song in a fictional music competition fun. the ros feel like living breathing people. it's amazing to read and to learn from. but yeah august, seven and orion all have a vice grip on my heart

/merrycrisis-if and /collegetennisoriginstory!! i'm head over heels for three out of the four ros in the tennis game. allie's diction is so good and flows so well it intimidates me. like where is this vocabulary coming from. the words are so light?? and there's an upbeat feel to each sentence and the pace feels like skipping home after a long day ends. how is there humour that is actually funny in every sentence. why am i already in love with the ros even though i've only spent one scene with them. truly the slice of life god. she's making me want to go to university but i am already!! in university!! and disclaimer its nowhere near as fun 🥲!!!! i use her work as a writing study for my own 😭 g, rayyan and SAMMMMMM!!!!! gods i want to hold them in my hands and go 💋💋💋💋💋

other ifs i follow are ATOC (it got me into the if community and xelef? mwah mwah), golden rose, fallen hero (ortega my love), the exile and when twilight strikes. but it's been a while since i've read them so my memory might be a little rusty. still, they're all wonderful books and i check up on them from time to time :))

if you have any recommendations though, i'm all for suggestions!!

#asks #not gonna tag them because i would actually die of embarrassment #actually this whole post is embarrassing #maybe delete later 🥲🥲#i feel like i just word vomited everything here lmao #AYO WHY IS IT STILL TAGGING THEM #WAIT WHY IS IT STILL TAGGING THEM AFTER I TOOK THE @ AWAY

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arachniee · 3 months

Text

i. medical haywire

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ various! hazbin hotel x female seraphim! reader

જ⁀➴

summary: as the seraphim responsible for the management of heaven's medical areas, your days are mostly spent in the comfort of labs and clinics. though, those mudane days seem to shift into more interesting ones after meeting the princess of hell and her little group.

જ⁀➴

warnings: mentions of death, mentions of blood, too much caffeine intake, not proofread; there might be grammatical errors, all lowercase letters

જ⁀➴

heaven was as bright and bustling as ever, regardless of the time of day. whether it'd be the sun shining, or the moon. every corner of the city was filled with fun and joy, not a single hint of negativity. heaven was paradise, after all. a paradise that everyone wanted to get a taste of. it was the embodiment of dreams, everyone would agree. this was place that granted them a life that was worth living, even in the afterlife.

however, you wouldn't say that this was your dream. in the presence of the night, you remained unfazed as you continued with your work. eerie silence seeping into the laboratory room you were currently in, despite being all alone, this somehow bought you comfort instead of uneasiness. being surrounded by laboratory equipment and machinery, your attention shifted from the blood sample in your hands to the medical files on the metal table near you. it wasn't just any pile, almost every corner of that table was filled with piles and piles of folders almost the size of mountains.

after you received the report of an extermination angel's murder, you haven't slept in days. an angel was behead, that kept you up at night. each time you thought about it, your curiousity and thirst for knowledge were eating you up from the inside and out. you wanted to dwell deeper into the topic, but you still had medical areas to run. and with the recent news that you received about the extermination, you wanted nothing more than to just drown yourself in your own misery. every six months, really?

extermination angels return with more wounds than what others would expect. and with thousands of them returning with injuries that range from scratches to more notable wounds, the extermination is something you do not look forward to dealing with. you are definitely not surprised, these sadistic fuckers are too overconfident in their own actions, lacking in armor and more driven to attack, and because of that, you're the one who has to suffer with treating them.

and now that those demons know what they can do to angels, you're expecting more bloodshed during extermination. and that means more work. and not mention that the extermination angels should be in the best condition possible to participate, thus, you have to monitor all of them regularly. and with your more 'common' patients, the residents of the city, you haven't seen and felt daylight nor the moonlight in who knows how long now. you haven't even slept yet, only taking naps here and there that only last around half an hour or so.

as you checked your watch, you noted that the project you were currently working on would have to be continued in the next few hours instead. you followed quite a strict and busy schedule, which is not surprising for one of the highest of seraphims. you tidied up the lab a bit, rummaging through the almost endless amount of files and folders, grabbing a few before your eyes fell onto a folder that had a letter "v" in the middle. you momentarily paused your actions, frozen in place as you stared at it. you eventually pushed it aside and grabbed the files under it before you stood and made your way out, turning off the lights and locking the door.

the halls were dimly lit, casting an unsettling sense of uneasiness. though, you walked through them without a care in the world, this was heaven after all, no one would harm you here. each door you passed was dark and disturbing, expected as it was almost two o'clock in the morning. your steps echoed down the empty halls as you walked to the laboratory's cafeteria. your last caffeine intake was almost an hour ago, you need to grab another mug before you collapsed with more work piled up on your desk the next morning.

unsurprisingly, the lights were still on in the cafeteria since the cooks would usually prepare the food early in the morning. you had to commend them for their dedication though. as you entered the kitchen area, you were greeted warmly by the workers, you nodded at them in acknowledgement, greeting them as well, though with a little less energy. they understood why, and they were grateful for your dedication to your job as well. it must be hard to keep everyone in check, managing a lot of stuff all at once. before you could reach one of the coffee makers, one of the newer staff members extended a mug of steaming, hot coffee into your reach with smile. you looked at them with raised eyebrows and tired eyes, the young angel just wanted to express his admiration, and maybe this was the way that he thought you would appreciate the most at the moment. maybe he was right, so you gently took the mug from his hands, careful not to spill any onto him.

he visibly beamed at you when you expressed your gratitude by muttering a small 'thank you', hoping that he, even in the slightest way possible, was able to help your mood and tiredness. you stayed in the cafeteria for a few more minutes before you had to go back to work. the young angel's mood dampened a little bit, but he understood and bid you goodluck with a smile. after that unintentional break you had, you walked to your office, a little more energetic now, was it because of the caffeine or the interaction you had with the young man? you're not sure. he reminded you of an old friend you had, but you shook those thoughts away as your office finally came in sight.

you were slightly surprised to see someone standing at your door, their knuckles knocking onto the door. you were always told you had such light, unaudible steps, now you realized how right they were. if you hadn't spoke, this person wouldn't have heard your arrival. even in the dark hallways, you were able to make out the person's appearance, and you didn't quite expect to see her here, especially at this hour.

"emily?"

you stated, your voice was somewhat husky, you figured it was because you hadn't interacted and spoke to someone in who knows how many days due to your work. the young seraphim slightly jumped at your voice, not expecting you to appear right beside her in the dark. she let out a nervous laugh, she was jittery, you could tell with how she played with her fingers and avoided eye contact. and when she finally spoke, you knew your hunch was correct.

"h-hey! no wonder no one was answering me, i thought you fell asleep in your office again!"

her smile was strained, it was quite obvious. you didn't question her as you gestured for her to enter your office with you. you placed the files you were carrying on the table, taking another sip of the coffee in your other hand as you nodded your head to one of the chairs, emily understood and with unsure movements, she sat down on the chair in front of your table. the atmosphere was tense, you could tell. she couldn't seem to stay still in her seat, eyes darting all around the room. the silence was deafening, though you wanted to break it yourself, you didn't want to overstep boundaries and ask her directly about why she was acting so... troubled. and it didn't take long before she took a deep breath and spoke.

"i heard there's going to be a meeting with the princess of hell."

her voice was quiet, but to you, it was loud and clear. you knew about the meeting, of course. sera and the others have informed you about this meeting a few days ago. you were one of the most important figures of heaven, so your presence there was mandatory. and you weren't surprised that emily knew about this meeting, as she herself was also a seraphim. though you wondered why she spoke of the meeting in such a tone. you expected her to be happy, especially since you knew of her curiousity about hell and the demons who reside in it. as you stared at the file in your hands, you gave a brief glance to her as an acknowledgement to continue. she hesitated for a few seconds before she eventually spoke again.

"sera didn't tell me. no one did. if i hadn't passed by and accidently heard them talk about it, i wouldn't have known."

at her words, you finally lifted your gaze. she wore a sad expression, her eyebrows low and down as her lips were. she seemed visibly upset. yeah, maybe sera was going to tell her and was about to do so, but the meeting is in two days. usually, sera would speak to her about the meetings at least a week before they were held. and when she found out that the meeting is on the day after tomorrow, she had her doubts that sera would tell her. maybe it was childish, but to emily, she thought that she at least had to be informed, she wanted to help her sister, in the preparation and such. but with how sera didn't tell her, nor did anyone, she figured that they may have not wanted her to attend and join, nonetheless know, about the meeting.

"she knows how much i want to know about hell, so why didn't she tell me? am i not allowed to join the meeting?"

you knew why sera didn't want her to know about it. yet you knew that you aren't the one in the place to tell emily any of those reasons. you knew the answer to both of the young seraphim's questions, but you made no move to answer them. that was not for you to tell. you didn't want her relationship with sera to be waned by whatever may happen during that meeting, and you understood why the older seraphim made an effort to ensure that emily doesn't know about it.

you didn't want to give emily any false hope, but you wanted to do what you could to make her feel better. so instead of giving her a sure answer, your eyes fell back on the file in your hand before you spoke.

"i will speak to her about it."

your reply didn't gurantee her anything, but as soon as she heard those words from you, she immediately smiled and brightened up. you and sera are very good friends, yes, but sera held onto her duties and responsibilities with an iron grip. and if one of those involved emily's safety, you knew convincing her wasn't going to be an easy task.

if it were anyone else, emily was sure that sera would just dismiss them, claiming that she was doing the right thing, but if it were you, then there's a silver of hope. she's beyond grateful that she had a friend like you, someone she could open to about all this. though, this all felt foreign to her. the feeling of not being included.

chants that vary from 'thank you's and 'you're the best's echoed in the room, emily was practically bouncing in her seat from the excitement. you were satisfied that you were able to bring up her mood, even just a little bit. the conversation continued, mostly from emily. she told you all about the events yesterday, rambling about random things. you would nod to her statements, eyes still focused on the tasks that need to be done. as soon as she started talking a little slower and quieter, you lifted your eyes to see a half-awake seraphim, blinking in and out of sleep. your initial thought was to offer her a drink of your coffee to stay awake, though as a doctor, you knew very well not to do so, that would be ridiculous with your title and knowledge in health.

you advised her to rest, letting her know that you would inform sera of her whereabouts soon. emily couldn't really make out what you were saying anymore, so she just nodded her head along with each word that escaped you. oh, how the tables have turned. you shook your head with a small smile before you stood up from your seat, making your way around the table. gently, you scooped the young seraphim up into your arms in bridal style, adjusting your hold on her to make sure she wasn't uncomfortable, and after the softest of snores left her, you knew.

as you reached one of the couches in your office, you gently laid her limp, sleeping form. you didn't really have any blankets here, as you never really sleep here (and you never expected anyone else to). so you just took off the dark blazer you had on, leaving you in your white dress shirt. your clothes were no doubt expensive, the sublte but intricately made accents in your favorite color.

you turn away momentarily to glance at your watch, it was almost five in the morning. as hectic as your schedule is, you have more work in half an hour, so you had to get ready to go back in the lab. you wrote a small goodmorning note to emily after grabbing a piece of paper and a pen, leaving the neatly folded note on the coffee table in front of the couch, you may or may not have also put a few candies as well. after hearing a satisfying pop from your stretched limbs, you braced yourself for another day of war. war against tiredness and work. but now you also had to add the little promise you had made to emily, you'll have to converse with sera soon.

a knock came from the door, one of the nurses on shift informing you that adam requested to meet with you at 8 am today. you pinched the bridge of your nose, already feeling the in coming headache. when will you ever catch a break?

#hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel emily #hazbin hotel sera #hazbin hotel adam #x reader

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senanatheskenana · 9 months

Note

Hello! I loved your Sinclair post about their S/O leaving them. If you would like too could you please write a part 2 where the S/O comes back and the talk it out? Happy ending if at all possible only if you want too, I hope you have a great day!

I'm glad you enjoyed it :)

I hope this is ok, i tried my best but i've been a little bit rusty after my break from writing <3

Part two of this

The Sinclair Boys' S/O Comes home.

Bo Sinclair

Bo had exhausted nearly every option of where to find you.

He knew that even if the chance of getting you back was slim, he had to at least apologise- promise to be better. For once he needed to prove to someone that he was worth the fight.

Most of all, he needed to see you.

And he never admitted it, but a part of himself needed to see if you looked even a fraction of the way he did.

Bo turned up on your doorstep, hat in his hand, face covered in dirt, sweat, and who knows whatelse.

You had to admit he looked awful- worse than you'd seen him in months.

Even when Bo recognises he's done wrong, he doesn't always feel bad and her certainly never apologises for it.

Until now.

~~~~~

You stand there on the porch, staring expectantly at Bo as he struggled to find words. His throat was dry, and all of the things that he wished to say- the large speech he had spent days rehearsing and rewriting- melted into nothing at the back of his throat. He looked at you briefly before diverting his attention downward at his shoes.

"Beauregard, please say somethin'. I don't wanna stand in the cold all day," when he doesn't seem to respond, you more to shut the door on him. He panics and in a moment of adrenalin, sticks his hand in the doorframe to stop you from closing it. He doesn't so much feel it as he does hear the scraping crunch, letting out a hiss when you immediately reopen the door to let his trapped fingers go.

The next thing he knows, he's in your kitchen with a bag of ice wrapped around his hand. The lights in the kitchen are too bright for Bo, making everything but you seem hazy in the sleep deprived state hes in. You can see that hes not in a good state, but it worries you how he got here

"Bo, did you drive all the way by yourself?" you hope he says no, that Lester had driven four hours to get here. However, from looking into his truck, you know it was just him.

Bo looks at you like you're stupid. "I drove. Din't ya see the truck?"

"Don't make that face at me, Beauregard. Why are you here?"

He stares at you a little longer again, his resolve cracking further. It's been so long since he's seen you and now he can barely look at you out of shame.

"Sugar, you know i ain't the type to apologise for anythin'. An' i know you deserve someone who does..." but now he looks you in the eyes like a kicked dog, "I haven't be'n treatin' you like I shoulda."

"Bo-"

"No, please lemme say this cuz i wanna get the chance before you chuck me out." he sighs.

"I know I'm no good for you, and i know i dont deserve the time of day from you but i do love you... Sugar, i love you so much it hurts when you ain't around no more. It's like i'm continuously choking on smoke. Now I ain't trying to guilt you into comin' home- Ambrose. "

"Bo please just say it"

"I'M SORRY- I know that don't make up for how ive treated you- or anyone," Bo shifts and mores to grip your hand, "But i wanna be better for you, i wanna show you i love you, and make you feel loved"

You remain silent for a time and he feels his stomach sink slowly to his feat and he deflates, retracting his hand.

"I-I'm gon' head out soon, get outta your hair for good. I just wanted you to know i was sorry."

"No you're not, you're in no state to drive Bo. Stay the night here. We can head back together tomorrow" at that his face lights up. "You can have a shower before you get anywhere near me though," you tease.

He smirks and scampers up the staircase, "Yes, ma'am"

Vincent Sinclair

Vincent made no attempts to find you.

After all, why would he try to bring you back if you were only going to leave again.

He figured he may as well cut his losses and try to get over it.

So he tried.

For weeks.

Then for months.

But he just couldn't.

He saw you in everything he did.

He could swear that he saw you in his paintings or in visitors' cars.

Hell he thought he saw you getting out of Lester's truck right now.

Until he realised you actually were.

But something was different.

~~~~~

Through the glass he could see you hopping out of the cab of the truck, thick winter sweater consuming your figure. He's sure its one of his.

Vincent rushed through the house to the front door, swinging it open on its creaky hinges. You hardly get the chance to look at him before he's wrapping his arms around you tightly.

Lester stands to the side watching.

"Yer lucky i was drivin' west otherwise she might not've made it t'all"

Vincent turns away to sign to Lester but you dont catch it because he's moving his hands so fast.

"She's tryin' to get back to ya but ran outta gas before i found her"

He was shocked. You were trying to get back to him? Why, he was sure you wanted nothing to do with him this entire time.

He signs slower so you can understand,

'Why did you come back?'

You look at him sadly. In truth you felt bad for running away with no notice- leaving Vincent all alone with no explanation.

"I had to." you started, "Because i love you. And it wasn't fair to run away, i know, but i was scared of what you might think, or do"

Though you cant see, Vincent looks puzzled under his mask, you can tell. he signs again.

'Why did you leave- what were you afraid of me for?'

Your eyes water and you look down, arms wrapping around your torso.

"Vincent, I.." the words get stuck in your throat and he moves to cup your cheeks but you grab his hands before he can. You don't think you can say it. Your trembling hands guid his callused palms to your stomach. His eye widens when he feels the protrusion there.

There was no way. He stiffens and stays like that for what feels like forever until your shoulders start to shudder with sobs. Vincent snaps out of it and panics, trying to calm your cries. He moves to embrace you again before frantically signing to you.

'No please darling, don't cry. I'm not upset- i could never be upset with you'

You sniffle, "I'm sorry i left you. It was only meant to be for one day- to go to the clinic but then i found out i was pregnant and then i got scared that you wouldn't want it so i went to a hotel to try to think about what to do but i never manages to figure anything out."

Vincent feels his heart crack a little bit at your distress. He should've been more intuitive- maybe let you know that he'd care about you no matter what.

He gently puts his hands back on your tummy and looks at you. He doesn't even need to sign for you to know what he was trying to say.

'It'll be ok'

Lester Sinclair

Lester was a good guy, you knew that.

To you, he was perfect.

He never even raised his voice at you, and you're sure that if he even scratched you, he'd feel horrible for days.

And if you were honest, you still missed him.

You knew what he was doing was wrong but you still loved him.

Before you can stop yourself you're calling his mobile, waiting for the beeps.

He picks up after a single ring, like always.

~~~~~

"Heh-hey hun!" he tries his best but you can hear he's happy that you called him. "Is everythin' ok up there?"

You had to admit, it was sweet that even now, he cares about things like that.

"Hey, Les..." you don't really know what to say but he's patient, "Sorry im not really sure why i called."

"It's ok, please, i ain't gonna complain" you can almost hear his smile through the phone.

"I'm sorry about what i said-"

he cuts you off, "No, no you're right. What we was doin' was horrible, i know. But i- i wantcha to know that i told Bo that i ain't doing his dirty work anymore."

That surprised you. You know that Bo's a strong, stubborn character and Lester wants nothing than to impress his older brothers. This was big.

"I'm glad, Lester. Just stay outta trouble." You tease him and he giggles.

"I'm tryin' my best out here." an uncomfortably long period of silence takes over the line before he speaks again. "Jonesy misses ya... she just sorta stares at the door at night, expectin' ya to come walk through it."

It sounds sort of sad when he says it like that, he realises. "Not that I'm tryin to trick ya into comin back, im jus' sayin' that maybe you'd like me to bring her up to you some time." It's a ploy so that he can see you again, he knows.

"Oh no, Lester don't go all the way out here to let me play with YOUR dog, thats unfair." you pout through the phone and he laughs again.

"I don't know- i'd get to see you again, so it seems like a good trade, hun."

You dont know what got into you.

"Lester, I miss you."

The line is quiet again for a few seconds before he replies, "Really?"

"I know you've done some horrible stuff, but i still love you, and i dont know, if you're tellin' the truth about leaving that stuff behind, then maybe we can make it work."

He fights back a squeal of delight when he hears that.

"You stay right there, Huneysuckle, I'll be coming to get you as soon as i can." you laugh at his enthusiasm, "I'm getting in the truck, ill see you soon!"

#house of wax x reader #house of wax 2005 #bo sinclair x reader #bo sinclair #lester sinclair #lester sinclair x reader #vincent sinclair x reader #vincent sinclair #xreader

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am-i-the-asshole-official · 1 month

Note

AITA for telling my Grandma I'm not going to have a specific conversation with her and just walking away?

So context, I (28) am currently between jobs because one of my ex-coworkers was the asshole who got me fired, and I haven't found anything new.

My mother (50) and I both live in my Grandma (80)'s house which is divided into an upstairs and a downstairs. Grandma lives in the downstairs. So do my mom and sister. I live alone in a two bedroom upstairs which belonged to my late aunt.

Right after my aunt died, I wanted to clean the apartment, organize, donate, toss, keep her stuff. To make sure everything gets where it'd ought best go, but my mother told me I had no right to go through my aunt's things alone and sort keepsake from takaway; if I was to do anything it was to be with her.

Well, three years of me trying to get my mom up here to sort through it with me because I want to respect her wishes, and my stuff accruing in a layer over top of my aunts stuff because I can't get rid of it, and the apartment is a lifetime and three years mess. My mom never made the time to do what she told me I wasn't allowed to do without her, me respecting these wishes which she probably doesn't even remember. I've been living up here too afraid of trespassing against my aunts memory to clean the cobwebs full of her red hair. Because my mother said, I had no right to do it.

And that cleaning anxiety is on top of executive dysfunction, depression, having too much shit, being a sprawler type adhd, and working a 40 h/week 'part-time' retail position. I didn't have it in me to clean by myself, and the mess kept getting worse and no one would substancially help me no matter how much I asked. Not my mom and not my sister (who gets a pass because she's got post-exertional malases from Long Covid).

Now fast foreward to two weeks ago. My mother final finds the motivation to clean the upstairs apartment because she's got a boyfriend now, and they wanna have sex upstairs where my grandma can't hear it. They didn't ask me if it was okay or anything: just decided that my space is now OUR space because it's convinent to her. I don't really care, and I'm annoyed, but finally someone to clean the fucking apartment with. She said, two weeks ago that he'd be coming around in about four months time. We spent the day getting a lot of cleaning done. Not anywhere near all of it, but a lot. And I've finally gotten what I see as permission to start sortitioning my aunts things. I'm pacing myself cleaning on that four month timetable.

And then today she bursts into the apartment to announce that BF will be here in a week, and she starts hauling major ass with my late aunt's heavy as shit sewing supplies. For my part, I vent the new timeline to my friends and then get to work cleaning my bedroom so I can move the stuff I have sprawled over the living room into my bedroom. Because my bedroom being messy is what's getting in my way the most.

When she's done hauling boxes, she goes to start cleaning the bathroom, and because she's in too much of a hurry on this new self-imposed and sprung upon me timeline, she hurts herself cleaning the toilet. Spasms her wrist, locks up her back. I help her downstairs but she's obviously done for the day, probably done for the week even. I get back to light cleaning with breaks, pacing myself to the new timeline I have to deal with. And I get a call from my grandma.

G: "Hey anon can you come down here." A: "I'll be down in a minute." I pull on pants and a shirt and head down.

And here we get to the key events all that context was building toward.

G: "What happened with your mom." A: "She hurt herself cleaning." G: "I know that, I mean why was she cleaning your apartment. You're an adult who's lived here for three years, and she's the only one working, and now she can't move. Why's the apartment you live in such a state that she needs to clean it for you."

Now, I know my grandma. A mule would be jealous of her stubborn demeanor. She's on an oxygen machine 24 hours a day and she still smokes two packs a week. You can't change her mind once she's made it up.

So I'm doing calculations in my head while she's laying into me, and I conclude she's made her mind up: She thinks I'm 100% in the wrong and nothing that came out my mouth would convince her that my mom is just as much an adult as I am who is responsible for her own decisions that got her to overworking when cleaning and hurting herself in the process, and also several inter-related key factors in why so much cleaning needs to be done on an 'oh fuck, immediately' timescale.

Doing the math makes me a bit angry, and I don't like the type of person I get to acting like when I'm angry, especially because anything I say will just make her more upset, so I say, "Grandma, I'm not going to have this conversation with you."

And I walk away. I leave while she yells at me to come back and let myself be yelled at. I'm angry, so I mindfully do not to slam her door on my way out and go back up stairs

After some scrumbling and a bit more light cleaning with breaks to pace myself, best I can, to this newly imposed and unreasonable timetable, my room is 90% clean and ready for me to put my stuff in it. And now that I'm not as angry anymore, I started to feel guilty that I didn't even try to explain anything to her. I just decided she'd made up her mind and made up mine to walk away without even trying. So, I typed this up to ask:

AITA for refusing to engage her in that conversation and just walking away?

What are these acronyms?

#aita #am i the asshole

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nsharks · 5 months

Text

bleeding blue | part fifteen preview

Pearly sunlight weaves through the trees, casting freckles across the calm current of the creak. Somewhere, a raven bleats loudly, but your ears block out the sound. The skin between your brows wrinkles with concentration as you tightly grip the wooden makeshift spear, its carved point hovering just above the water.

Numerous fish writhe below you, and your eyes dart between them studiously before finally settling on the meatiest one. With a quick stab, your spear pierces the water, but all it hits is the mucky bottom of the creak. The fish startles with a splash and swims off downstream.

"Fuck me," you huff, standing up from your squatting position on the rock to soothe the growing ache in your thighs.

Fishing shouldn't be much different than hunting, yet, it's been hours and all you have to show for it is a small chub the size of your palm. With a sigh, you decide your craving for fish isn't worth all this effort and leap off the rock, carrying your measly catch in one hand and spear in the other. Maybe the still waters of the pond could be an easier spot to try someday.

You chose the creak over the pond because it's a greater distance from camp. The longer walk allows you to fixate on the emerald green leaves fluttering in the breeze and the soft chatter of swallows that are returning after their winter migration. It's the most beautiful day in a while, and the warmest, too. For the first time, you departed the cabin without a jacket, opting for only the long-sleeve tee from Ghost. You had the sleeves rolled to your elbows while fishing, but as you trek back through the wild grasses, you push them down and allow the fabric to brush your knuckles.

There are hardly any flowers left on the Pink Sorrel after all your foraging. Arriving at camp, you amble over the plucked stems, bound across the trench with ease, and spot Blue on the other side of the gate offering Grim a wad of grass.

"Hey," you greet. "Open the gate for me?"

Grim is given a pet across his back before she leaps up to undo the locks.

“Hey. How’d it go?” The flicker of her eyes to your near-empty hand is answer enough. "Fucking noodles. That's it? I thought there were lots of fish there."

"There are. I just suck at catching them."

She gives you an apologetic smile. "Oh," she chirps. "Ghost was looking for you, by the way."

"He was?"

"Not sure what for." Her brows furrow. "I'm also not sure where he went. He was here, and then—" Her blue eyes glimmer like water in the sunlight as they shift to something in the distance. "Oh, there he is."

The very person you'd spent hours of alone time trying not to regard arrives as a shadow, lugging what appears to be—you squint—a fucking corpse behind him. Upon closer inspection, it is certainly a body, and with how wonky the limbs look as they drag against the ground, it must be a Grey. That's a little more reassuring, and a lot less bothersome, than if it were a human corpse.

He drops the corpse in front of the trench, rubs his gloved hands together, and then passes through the parted gate.

"Is that what you wanted Twix for?" Blue asks, nodding to the Grey.

Ghost explains himself in an even more gruff baritone than usual. "Knew I smelled something." He looks at you. "I wanted you to check south while I checked north."

"Oh. Sorry," you say lamely and hold up the small chub. "I was, uh, fishing. Looks like you found the source, though. Just one?"

He nods. "Only found one, could be others."

As you drag in a deep breath, you recognize the faint smell he must be referring to.

"Why did you bring it here?" you ask curiously.

Blue is the one to answer. "To burn it. Sometimes it seems like they attract each other, haven't you noticed?"

#simon ghost riley x you #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #fanfiction

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astroboots · 6 months

Note

*oliver twists voice*

“Please sir may I please have some more?”

hamster steven 🥺 my little sister asks for updates all the time lol

Series Masterlist | Moon Knight Masterlist | Astroboot’s Masterlist

Pairing: Steven Grant x female reader

A/N: omg nonny! this is the world's most effective way to make me write more Hamsteven content! How could I ever deny your little sister... and a Charles Dickens reference?!?!? Aye aye!

Summary: You try to create a special meal for Hamster Steven so he can regain some normalcy.

You will be the first one to admit that you spend way too much time on tiktok. It's a slippery slope, and ever since you looked up tutorials on hamster care tips, your FYP seems to have picked up on the trail and now every two videos you flick through is hamster related.

Hamsters in tiny teddybear hats. Hamsters put in elaborate escape labyrinths, Crystal Maze style. Hamsters being treated to miniature meals inspired by human meals.

The internet is a wild place.

There's a squeaky noise next to you on the pillow that interrupts you just as you are about to scroll onto the next video.

You peer up from your screen, to see the big shiny eyes of your boyfriend-turned-hamster, standing on his hind-legs, as he's staring back at you. You're not sure if it's just your imagination, but he doesn't look happy. If you didn't know any better, you'd think he was giving you the stinkeye you for spending so much time on tiktok.

You glance up at the clock on the corner of your phone. 00:51.

Okay, maybe it's not just your imagination. You've somehow unwittingly spent more than two hours on your phone, without paying attention. Steven is definitely judging you for that.

"Sorry, Steven. I must've lost track of time," you tell him, and at your apology he lowers himself back on all four paws, waddling over to your chest and curls himself up on the curve of your breast.

It's become his favorite spot to rest... certain things don't change regardless of what form he takes.

You run two fingers over his head, stroking the soft fur and he seems to melt at the touch, the round shape of him going flat with relaxation. It's adorable. Steven has always been fond of having his hair stroked like a particularly cuddly pet.

It really does seem like certain things haven't changed much at all despite his transformation into a hamster.

... Except, that's not really true though is it.

In the past few days since Steven has turned into a pet, his limitations has been more than apparent. Because of his tiny size, he's in constant danger.

You had left the window open to air out the flat while you were cleaning, only to have a particularly menacing seagull make a dive for him and had to chase it out with a flyswatter so it wouldn't devour your boyfriend whole.

In his current form he's not quite able to do any of the activities that he normally enjoys, reading is out of the question, even if he could turn his own pages (which is difficult when you do not have opposing thumbs or no grip) you're not sure what his vision must be like, the letters must read gigantic to him.

He doesn't seem to particularly enjoy the yoghurt drops you got him from the pet store, and the enthusiasm he had at first for the almonds and walnuts you'd given him seems to be waning and on more than one occasion you've caught the wistful and longing gaze Steven has had on his expression when you sit down for a meal by the table that he couldn't partake.

But ramen doesn't really seem fit for a hamster's diet, so you could hardly give him a taste.

Poor Steven has had little to no normalcy left since his transformation and as the days go by and the solution to his dilemma isn't anywhere near in sight, you feel a pang of sadness for him.

Absentmindedly, you continue to pet his fur as you pull up your phone again and scroll through the videos when your eyes linger over the video you saw earlier of a hamster being treated to miniature spaghetti meal.

The video has a full on painstakingly detailed tutorial, step by step, on how to make the tiny meal. Cutting regular sized spaghetti into tiny lengths, Sizzling small portions of minced meat on the frying pan and huh... who knew that hamster are actually omnivores, and likes eating meat... you always assumed they were vegetarians. In the video, the person takes two cherry tomatoes puts them through the blender for the sauce and it all looks rather simple.

You look down at Steven in his hamster form, sound asleep on your chest. He's curled up into a little ball, his nose and whiskers twitching in his sleep as his hind leg kicks back in response to whatever dream he's dreaming.

Adorable as he is, the pang of sadness from before returns as your chest constricts. You want to give him a sense of normalcy after everything he's been through. However small.

Carefully, you scoop him up in the cup of your hands and place him gently on the pillow. Luckily Steven is a sound sleeper and sleeps right through it as you move into the kitchen to prepare the meal according to the video instructions.

There's leftover spaghetti in the fridge, saving you from having to boil it fresh. You forego frying any meat, because even though hamsters may be omnivores, your Hamster Steven is a full blooded vegan.

You also decide to forego the blender. It's late and you don't want to wake up Steven so instead you end up trying to smash up the cherry tomatoes with a mortal and pestle that leaves an absolute mess.

With your sad attempts at a culinary effort completed, you pick up the tiniest little sauce bowl you can find in the cupboard, as you start to plate up the spaghetti and mashed tomato sauce, topping it off with fresh basil that you had luckily picked up from Sainsbury the other day.

It looks nowhere as good as the video, just looks like wilted spaghetti with a tiny pile of crushed tomatoes rather than a miniature version of spaghetti bolognese. but you guess that's why you're an office worker and not a hamster content creator. You try to tease the spaghetti back into place with your fingers until it looks a bit more decent.

Better.

But it's still a long way to go from the special dinner that you had wanted to make for Steven to make him feel pampered.

Turning to the kitchen drawers, you try to find the small tea candles to set the mood. It's as near a romantic ambient as you are able to create for Steven.

Then you find one of the nicer dinner napkins stowed away in the back of the drawer and set the table. While you're at it you grab several sprigs of rosemary and whatever fresh herbs you're able to find in the fridge and set them in a shot glass that you use as an impromptu mini vase, for the bouquet of herbs you have gathered. You place down your creation in the middle of the table, then you stand back admiring your work.

Not too shabby.

Almost looks like a tiny hamster restaurant.

You return to your bed, where you had left Steven to sleep. Paws still twitching peacefully in his sleep when you gently wake him by picking him up, and set him on the table.

He blinks slowly and blearily, sleep still clouding his gaze, not fully taking in what you are trying to show him. It takes a few moments, until his eyes clear and then they go wide at the meal in front of him and he darts forward like a sprint.

His little paws grabs at the straw of spaghetti voraciously, as he slurps up the spaghetti, flecks of red sauce painting the fur around his mouth. He eats it with an enthusiastic frenzy, gobbling up the whole of it and drops it in his excitement only to round the plate and pick it up again to eat the remainder.

"Is it good?"

His head pops up to meet your face, with the tiniest of nods.

He squeaks happily, then he dives right back into stuffing his face and you can't help but smile.

It's a little moment of normalcy even in this craziness and that's good enough for now.

Dedications & Credits: To my lovely @guruan / @guruan-is-not-here who has finally been freed from tumblr jail. This chapter is dedicated to her because she sent me the cutest video of a hamster having a tiny bowl of pasta and sitting on a chair like it was a restaurant.

#🐹 hamsteven #steven grant x reader #steven grant #moon knight #marvel mcu #oscar isaac

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minustwofingers · 5 months

Text

love is a laserquest p.1

masterlist

pairing: rockstar!ellie williams x reader

request: @thatgiraffefromtlou so kindly included me on a post about writing something inspired by these beautiful edits :) thank you !

summary: after a serious of unfortunate events, columbia grad y/n y/l/n finds herself using her hard-earned journalism degree interviewing vapid stars and writing articles that she's convinced are rotting her mind. ellie williams has just dropped the album of the year and it's all anyone is talking about, but all she wants is to be off the press train. a certain interview with a certain interviewer might change this.

warnings: no cws, but i will say that i don't know anything about this career path so i apologize if i'm totally butchering it!

a/n: see ? see? i promise i haven't forgotten about you guys/this blog/this request. this is admittedly a short installment, but you've all been so good about waiting and i had a little itch to write tonight. hopefully more of this will be posted soon. i hope you enjoy!

tags :) @intrnetdoll @dazedshoon @lovecaraya @pctcr @sariyaflowr @loser-keiji @prettyplant0 @666findgod @sawaagyapong @rystarkov @buzzybuzzsposts @addisonnie @galacticstxrdust @elliesbabygirl @pinkazelma @ariianelle @lu002 @blairfox04 @sparkleswonderland @elliesflower @muthafuckingstargirl @elliewilliamsissubermommyoml @eviestevie-14 @quicksilversg1rl @guacala @crtcrp @overtrred28

wc: 1.8k

enjoy!

“Hi. I’m Y/N.”

You sit and extend your hand, smiling as diplomatically as you can manage to the girl sitting across from you.

She ignores you.

“I said hi,” you repeat.

One painted eyebrow arches the slightest, but she doesn’t look your way.

You grit your teeth. A question list that you’ve meticulously prepared is memorized and tucked away in your mind, but now you’re just furious that you spent so much time preparing for an interview with someone who wouldn’t even look you in the eye.

While you wait for the camera crew to get ready, you sit and observe the room—movie posters behind both you and Lina, bright lights that are already making you sweat shone down from above, and a homey oak wood coffee table between you two to give the air of casualness.

God, you hate this. All you want to do is go home.

“Ready?” a cameraman says from the side.

You send a game smile his way. “Ready.”

“We’re rolling.”

“Hi!” said the girl across from you, suddenly laser-focusing her attention on you with so much bubbly energy that it made you feel like you’d gotten whiplash. “It’s so good to meet you. I’m so glad that we were able to do this.”

“Me too,” you respond, saccharine sweet. “You have no idea how excited we are to have you, Lina! It seems like all anyone wants to talk about nowadays is your role in Ontario.”

The interview’s length is oppressive and mind-numbing. By the time you ask your last question and Lina sends you her last dazzling smile, you’re already on the brink of offing yourself on the camera for all to see.

“And cut,” said someone over your shoulder.

You relax, letting out a long breath. That was the last one for the day. You got to go home now.

But since you were a normal human being, you give Lina one last try to redeem herself.

“It was great having you,” you say in a way that you hope reads as genuine. “Thank you for coming in.”

Lina doesn’t respond—she’s already back on her phone, intent on ignoring you.

The drive home is awful and long and full of LA traffic. It was something you’d never quite forgive your younger self for—not advocating for yourself sooner. If you had, maybe you would’ve already been taking the subway alongside all the other New Yorkers, surrounded by serious people wearing serious clothes and carrying serious things around in their briefcase.

Instead you got the quirkiness of Southern California, all arid air full of cigarette smoke and lost aspirations. When you first came to LA, naive and blithely optimistic about your prospects as a journalist, you thought that living near Hollywood would be exciting, all the energy and dreams like firecrackers to the social scene.

Then you got off the plane and realized it’d all been a lie. There’s no hope in a place like Hollywood. It’s the most hopeless place in the world, knowing that all your servers and Uber drivers and retail employees are all working 3 other jobs to make up their rent as they chase a dream that will never happen.

Because no one ever makes it big. Well—no one really. One year into your life at PopNow! has made you interact with more people who have, you suppose, “made it big”, and each interaction is dependably more absurd than the last. Like Lina. God, you hate Lina.

You reach your apartment right when the sun is kissing the horizon, the royal purple of the night descending upon the sky. That was another thing you missed—the stars. You’d missed them when you were at Columbia, but that was when you knew you went back home to the midwestern countryside. Now you’re stuck in the light-polluted hell of California, and there’s no way to know when you’re going to get out.

You should have turned the job down, you think to yourself as you get ready for bed. The face wash you rub into your skin obediently forms into silky little bubbles. You should have just done whatever you’d had to do to stay in New York, even if it meant being unemployed and living in a broom closet with 3 other people.

But you’re a writer. And you’re getting published, and that’s all that matters.

Or at least that’s what you tell yourself.

The assignment is in your inbox when you wake up the next morning at a prompt 5:30am. As you go about your normal routine, you let the words in the message sink in.

Alyssa’s in the hospital. Emergency appendectomy.

Alyssa’s the most senior writer at PopNow!, regularly netting the juiciest recorded interviews.

…interview today that needs to be completed…

You angrily beat your legs back into scissor kicks as you run through the motions of your favorite apartment-friendly pilates routine. Today was supposed to be your day off.

…musician Ellie Williams…

…2pm…

…great opportunity…

You have no fucking clue who Ellie Williams is. She’s never been mentioned on NPR or the New York Times, the only two news sources you bother to follow, so she can’t be that relevant. Or at least not relevant enough to warrant you losing your one day off. But that’s what it’s like to be working in showbiz. Your days don’t belong to you anymore.

By the time that you’re in the studio, hands folded and question list memorized, you feel like you know all you need to know about Ellie.

She’s got everything you need to be a world-wide sensation. Humble, small-town beginnings? Check. Sympathetic backstory that makes even the most hardened viewer’s heart soften? Check. Conveniently conventionally attractive features, well-placed tattoos, and a certain swagger that seems so natural it has to be somehow hard-coded into her genes? Check, check, and check.

You’ve interviewed hundreds of Ellie Williams. You’re ready for this.

Jan from production sets out glasses of water on the table in front of you, one for you and another poised in front of the empty chair.

“You ready?” she asks, not unkindly. “Don’t be nervous. I know that this might be a bigger one than you’re used to, but there’s a reason why Stephen asked you to fill in for Alyssa. You’ve got this, honey.”

“Thank you,” you say. The smile you send her back is tense, because as much as you hate to admit it, you are nervous. It’s ridiculous how something you don’t even care about for an industry you think is bullshit is capable of getting under your skin, but you’d done very few recorded interviews. When you imagined what kind of hard-hitting journalism you’d be doing back when you were at Columbia, it was nothing like this.

You sit and wait, bouncing your leg and hoping the rest of you looks at ease. The set is as corny and soulless as always, one tall houseplant shoved half-heartedly between the two blue cushioned chairs like an afterthought. There’s a stack of magazines on the coffee table between you two, as if you’d crack open People mid-shot.

You hate your job so much. You always feel so bad thinking this way—there are people out there who would probably actually kill for the chance to be rubbing elbows with the celebrities you did on a regular basis—but whenever you start feeling too guilty, you think of how you ended up here, your dream internship getting whisked away by fucking nepo baby Becca, and then you let yourself be angry again.

A door slams shut, and suddenly you’re all business again.

The first thing you notice about Ellie Williams is that she’s actually very tiny, especially in comparison to the burly camera man that she squeezes by to make her way on set. She’s looking a little preppier than she does on stage, donning a pair of wide-legged black trousers, chunky black docs, and a haphazardly buttoned forest green shirt with the sleeves rolled up just enough for you to see the entirety of her arm tattoo.

“Hi.” You rise from your chair to offer a hand, feel the pressure of her fingers gently gripping yours. “I’m Y/N.”

Ellie blinks. “Uh, hi. I’m Ellie.”

“Is everything alright?”

“I thought Alyssa was going to be interviewing me,” says Ellie. She drops into the chair opposite of you, crossing a leg over the other thigh.

“Emergency appendectomy,” you supply.

The way Ellie reacts makes you regret this immediately.

“Oh,” she says, cringing. “Shit—oh, can I swear in here?”

“We’re not rolling yet,” you say gently.

“That’s, uh, really too bad,” she says. Her tattooed hand reaches up to scrub the back of her neck. “I’m so sorry.”

Now it’s your turn to blink and stare at her blankly. “Um, thanks? I don’t really know her.”

“Right, right.” Ellie lets out a long sigh that you take as an offense. The interview hasn’t even started, and the languid way she reclines back in the chair reads as already bored with you. “So, do we just go ahead and…”

“Yes,” you say, feeling the heat rise in your cheeks. “Uh, yeah, we’re ready.”

Brilliant start.

The interview begins in earnest, and for once in your life, you’re actually rattled by this girl, by the way she tilts her head at your questions, tongue running over the flat of her front teeth. She has freckles sprinkled across her nose that didn’t show up in any of the photos you’ve seen of her on stage. The ones where she’s awash in blue light, guitar slung over her shoulder and hair sticking to her forehead. It’s disquieting, honestly, how she could just spring a surprise like that on you.

By some miracle, you manage to get through your list of questions without forgetting anything, but sometimes you stutter on your delivery and have to fight to keep yourself from grimacing. Nothing that she tells you is ground-breaking, nothing you don’t already know. In other interviews, you’re normally able to slip into a sort of conspiratorial voice, prying out information and digging a little deeper than your interviewees intend. But with Ellie, you’re paralyzed, stuck straight to the script that had been sent over to Ellie’s publicist for approval.

Not like you’d get away with anything when it came to Ellie, either. She has bags under her eyes that you can see concealer creasing in. It’ll wash out post-production under the bright studio lights, but up close it’s obvious that she’s not interested in entertaining any bullshit.

When it’s over, you’re sure your face is on fire with how hot your cheeks feel. Ellie looks just as nonplussed as ever.

“It was nice to meet you,” you squeak out.

She takes her time answering you, busy with draining the glass of water Jan had set out in front of you both and, once it’s empty, fiddling with the buttons on her sleeves.

“Likewise,” she says, and then before you can think to say anything else, she’s gone.

#ellie williams x reader #ellie williams x you #ellie williams x oc #ellie williams x y/n #ellie williams imagine #ellie williams self insert

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