#and one of the things I choose to ignore about the flash forward

[bartletslesbians]

... so do most people take "Columbia" to be Columbia University, and not Colombia the country? I always thought Toby meant he was spending time in the Physical location of the country. That's (one of the reasons) why Andy wasn't with him and why Jed didn't ask about the kids, but about where he was. Cause he was away from them in another country.

"Not such a bad place to spend some time.".

With 'place' and 'spend some time' I always thought it was the country, not teaching at a college. Though I might be literally the only person to think that lol

I've definitely seen that assumption reddit before! It never crossed my mind that it might've been Colombia the country, cause on the subtitles I had on the episode (I can't go back and check HBO now cause they removed it from a lot of non US countries) it just said "Columbia", which given that he's from New York made sense to me?

It's never specified what he's doing there; it could, technically just as easily be a month long project and then he's back in DC. But I like the idea that he was there as professor more longterm! Toby seems like someone who would make a great college professor (and one of those teachers some people are terrified of but everyone appreciates having for any given course), and I love that career for him after politics obviously stopped being a feasible option.

I took the "not a bad place to spend some time" as a little nod to the confession and trial that was to come, but again that could easily be an indication that it's not a longterm position at all!

But it is such a shame that the twins aren't mentioned at all in the epilogue; which makes sense given the way Jed and Toby parted, there's still a lot of tension, but I would've loved to know how that family is doing at that point.

[itostea]

care for me? (gojo x wife! reader)

——————————————————————————

in which you’re forced to share a bed with the husband you’re convinced hates you

warnings: there’s only one bed!!!! suggestive bc it’s gojo, they’re both a bit confused, pic from lving yamada kun at lv999

a/n: part of the gojo’s wife series (i recc you read the fic before this one to understand some things), also i’m posting this stuff on my phone now since i’m on vacay …meaning format will be extra ugly💀💀

——————————————————————————

“What exactly did you say to make the principal Gakuganji agree to us on a mission together?”

You think Gojo or rather your husband, doesn’t really understand how fast he actually walks. With the way he towers over every civilian in Japan and how much longer his strides are, you’re almost certain that his pacing is far from normal. It gets to the point where you’re jogging to keep up with him, a huff escaping your lips in exasperation.

“Don’t worry your pretty little head over that, ‘kay?” He gives you a lazy smile and with the blindfold wrapped around his head, you can’t exactly see the way he glances over at you–gradually shortening his steps for you to catch up.

You choose to ignore his comment about “your pretty little head” and instead sigh. “Sator–I mean ‘Toru,” you say carefully, gauging the way he gives a satisfied smile at your correction. After the moment you both had in the kitchen at a dangerously late hour, he insisted you call him a nickname.

He gave some recommendations: my hubby, my king, the strongest and most handsome husband. Naturally, you refused to call him those nicknames in public and even denied him the joy in private. So to avoid his needless whining, you compromised and decided on “‘Toru.” The way he brightened up that day made you feel giddy all over but you brushed it off with the fact that you were just glad he was actually talking to you.

“You didn’t do anything bad right?” You inquire, shooting him a glare.

“I think what I did was reasonable!” He chirps, reaching in a bag of candy to plop some in his mouth—the same bag he insisted on getting before you both went on the mission. You can’t help but feel a bit meek when his fingers inch towards your mouth and he gives a toothy grin, beckoning for you to open. You breathe out an annoyed huff, slightly parting your lips to let the sugary treat on your tongue.

He smiles, leaning forward to let his fingers linger in the plush of your lips. “Good girl.”

The way your breath hitches is visceral and you feel the pricks of embarrassment probe at your skin. Your eyes avert from his and you quicken your steps, trying your best to hide the fact that Gojo Satoru was having an effect on you. You miss the way his smile widens at your reaction.

You still avoid his gaze when he catches up. “You know I’m the one who cleans up after your mess whenever you piss the higher-ups right? It’s me who gets the scolding!”

“Scolding? Would you believe me if I told you stuff like that won’t happen again?”

You pause, analyzing how he flashed a coy grin. Immediately, your eyes narrow. “Gojo Satoru.”

“It’s ‘Toru to you,” he voices, chuckling at how your frown deepened. “Relax. I didn’t do anything that bad. Just did enough for them to stop annoying my wife.”

You choose not to linger on how easily the words “my wife” falls out of your lips but it’s hard when he went so far just for your wellbeing. Your mind drifts to his lips pressed against your forehead, instantly regretting it as you feel your neck growing warm. You shake your head, trying to dispel the thoughts from multiplying, earning a curious look from Gojo.

Before he can ask why you went quiet, you stop in your tracks, looking at him with an expression so cute he nearly feels himself fall over. You click your tongue. “‘Toru. You annoy me more than them.”

He whistles, looking at the sight of the abandoned hospital–the location where the S-grade assigned to the both of you curse lies hidden. “Harsh.”

-

The lady in the front trembles as she inputs the data for the two of you. Her eyes scan Gojo’s wide grin and your blank expression that seems even more menacing with the red splatters on your clothes. You blink, tilting your head. “It’s not my blood,” you try to reassure her but that only seems to worsen her fear.

“R-Right!” She squeaks. “One room for Mr. Gojo, correct?”

Gojo nods with a hum, taking the keycard from the lady’s trembling hands. He gestures for you to follow him, walking with so much bravado that any onlooker doesn’t even question the bloodied state of your uniform. “You should’ve been more careful,” he says. “You made a mess.”

“Not everyone has infinity you know?” You mumble, following him into the hotel suite. Your eyes scan the seemingly fancy interior and furniture, not paying much attention until your eyes lock onto an unmistakable sight.

“‘Toru. Why is there only one bed?”

His disinterested hum only serves to make you grow more baffled. He shrugs off his jacket, cracking his neck with a hum. “That’s odd. I could’ve sworn I said two beds. The lady must’ve messed up seeing you all bloodied up. Must’ve scared her real bad huh?”

You’re almost certain that this predicament has brought you more stress than any mission you’ve been sent. And you’re amazed–no bewildered, that Gojo’s not even batting an eye at this.

“Oh? Don’t tell me you’re getting all shy now that you’re sharing a bed with your husband.”

“We’ve never done that before!” You squeak out, dropping your bags on the floor.

That was partially his fault, he thinks. Even so, he keeps his mouth shut. “You have any extra clothes you can wear?”

Even in your frenzied state, you still process the question, blinking in recognition. “No…”

He shrugs. “Then you can wear my shirt,” he points to the white button-up. “Might be gross but it’s better than nothing right? Besides that makes us even now. I got to see you shirtless when—”

“‘Toru!”

He grins an easy-going smile. “Ya know if you’re not comfortable with sleeping on the same bed as me, I can always sleep on the couc–”

“No!” You say a bit too quickly, straightening yourself out when he raises a curious brow. “No I mean like, I don’t mind that much. Besides, I don’t want you to hurt your back on the couch…”

“That’s the only reason?” He smiles and it’s not hard to realize he’s teasing you.

You nod, resolute despite your sweating palms. “Yes.”

“Then…” he shrugs. “You can take a shower first. I’ll leave the shirt near the door. Promise I won’t look. Unless you want me to.”

You can only give another nod, shooting a glare at his shit-eating grin. You take off to the showers, clasping a hand over your mouth as you silently scream in embarrassment. The warm water makes your skin feel hotter to touch and you only try your hardest not to dwell on the details. It’s just a night on the same bed together. Nothing more, nothing less.

You wish you could have kept that confidence huddled in your blankets–watching your snow-haired husband crawl into bed. You try not to linger on his bare torso for too long to be considered healthy and have to physically restrain yourself from jumping when his hand grazes your thigh.

He’s not wearing his blindfold or shades, meaning you can really see how his eyes watch your every move in interest. He leans closer, making you bite a squeak down. “You’re hogging the blankets.”

“Huh? Oh yeah,” you laugh awkwardly, throwing the fabric off your body for him. Gojo Satoru doesn’t have a favorite art piece but you in his shirt might just take the spot. He licks his lips, seeing how you unbuttoned a few buttons near the collar for more room–how you avoided his gaze. Cute, he thinks.

He raises a brow when you lay on your side, covering yourself in the blankets until you’re a heap of fabric. His lips twitches into a smile when he sees the way you curl up into yourself. Then again, he chooses not to mention it when he feels himself growing drowsy.

You’re not sure how much time passes but you can hear Gojo’s gentle breathing fill the room. You bring a hand to your legs, trying to ease away the goosebumps forming on your skin. At first, you assumed they were from nerves but now, you’re almost certain it’s because the hotel’s blasting the AC. And oddly enough, Gojo seems completely unaffected, even able to sleep peacefully.

You sigh, turning to face him. You’ve always known your husband was an attractive man but it’s not fair for him to look so good even while sleeping. His lashes are long and you find yourself staring a bit too long at his lips. Again, your mind drift to the moment when he pressed those same lips to your forehead and instead of being filled with embarrassment, you’re filled with a feeling that squeezes at your heart.

Subconsciously, you’re reaching for his face, grazing a finger down his cheekbones to the corner of his lips. His skin is smooth against your touch and you’re almost jealous that his skin was perfect too. You continue to map your way to his jawline, mesmerized at the sight.

“Enjoying the view?” He mumbles, his eyes closed though a smile crosses his face. You’re about to retrace your hand away from his face but he’s quick to clasp one around your wrist. You nearly squeak when he leans closer to your palm, his eyes finally opening to peer into yours. “Eyeing me when I’m asleep? I didn’t know you were such a per—“

“I’m not!” You yelp, snatching your wrist away from you him with a flushed face.

He hums, propping himself on his elbow to watch you. “Hm? Now you getting all embarrassed on me after you felt me up?”

“I did not feel you up.”

He merely shrugs with a grin. “It’s all good. I think you’re pretty cute too.”

You didn’t know it was possible to be this flustered until you shared a bed with Gojo. “I only touched you because I was cold!”

That wasn’t entirely a lie either. When you felt Gojo’s face, his skin was warm under your touch and you wondered if the rest of him was like that. Naturally, you refrained from thinking even further or else you really wouldn’t sleep a wink.

To your surprise, you feel see him pat the spot besides him. Your lips fall apart as you continue to stare. He only shrugs with a lazy smirk. “What? A husband has to make sure his wife’s comfortable right?”

It’s hard to say no when you feel the cool air of the AC bite into your skin—your limbs trembling. You hold his gaze for a few seconds, sighing as you scootched closer to him. He wraps an arm around your waist, pulling your frame closer until you’re against his torso.

You try not to dwell on the fact that you can feel how his muscles move against your shirt—or rather his shirt; how he nuzzled his face in your neck, breathing in your scent that this scene felt so naturally domestic.

You squirm in his embrace, shifting your hips around to find a more comfortable position. His arms immediately squeeze you tighter, making you squeak. “Stay still,” he says lowly against your ear.

“You’re holding me too tight,” you whine, wiggling your hips again. This time, his hand squeezes your hip.

“Yeah? Well if you don’t stop squirming, I’ll have another problem to deal with.”

“What—“ You say before the realization hits you and you’re left spluttering like an idiot. Your head turns to face him and you immediately regret it.

His blues bore into yours and you see how his lips twitch as if trying to hold back a laugh. “I—“ You start, turning away from him with your stomach doing flips. “Okay,” you squeak, clenching your eyes shut at your response.

He only grunts in response, spooning you with his chin atop of your head. Minutes pass and you relax in his arms. “‘Toru?”

“Hm?”

“Why are you being so nice to me right now? I thought you hated me?”

“What?” For the first time, he sounds awake. He leans up so you can see his hues peering down at you. You watch bemused as a tortured expression crosses his face for a second. “(Name), I don’t hate you. I never hated you.”

Your bewilderment grows. “But you…you never talked to me.”

He smooths a hand through his hair. “Can’t say I don’t have some regrets about that.”

It’s the same like last time, when the two of you were in the kitchen. He’s looking at you so tenderly that you can’t bring yourself to look away. “I care for you,” he continues, trying to pick his words thoughtfully. “Much more than I want to.”

He still peers down at you, so close that you almost think he’s about to lean in for a kiss. You observe him with a wide-eyed look, only letting out a little gasp when you feel his lips press against your forehead again—the feeling familiar to you. Gojo resumes his cuddling shortly after, squeezing your hip once more. “I’m sorry,” he whispers.

You widen your eyes, remaining silent. You’re at a list of words, momentarily left speechless. Even so, you reach down to press a hand over his on your hip, squeezing it lightly. “I know.”

Gojo thinks he sleeps the best when you’re besides him. You’re soft against him, fitting perfectly in between his arms. He thinks, there’s no way he was going to let this moment pass—and he was a man who kept true to his wishes. The next time he was going to sleep in his house, he was going to do it with you by his side.

BONUS:

“‘Toru…”

“What is it again?” He grumbles, though there’s no bite in his tone.

“Why couldn’t we just teleport home instead of going to a hotel?”

A brief silence follows.

“Go to sleep.”

[hedwig221b]

Do you have any Sterek fic recs where Stiles either is stuck as or can transform into an animal? And choosing Derek as his “person”?

(My favourite would be a Stiles as a cat but there are so many animals with awesome potential)

Hi! I found these ones

the amber of the moment by redhoodedwolf

Ever since he was eight years old, Stiles had been running. Fate decided it was time to stop.

The Undisclosed by Taila_Tai

For once the pack doesn't panic when a new hunter arrives. The gleefully sadistic man has labelled himself a collector of all things rare in the supernatural world and wants one of the rarest creatures; a werefox. Content that the pack is safe, the wolves focus on why their human member is acting so strange, ignoring the fact that Stiles only started once learning who the man wanted…

Little pitchers have big ears! by wanderseeing

When Scott asked him last night if Stiles could stay at Derek’s house while the rest of the pack went off to find the feral werefox that bit his best friend, Derek took one look at the tiny animal cradled in Scott’s arms and thought: ‘That’s cute.’ And then, because he’s a moron, he also opened his mouth and said: “Okay.” AKA I spent too much time watching videos of fennec foxes on youtube and I just had to make write a fic about it. Sterek is there, but only if you tilt you head at a 45-degree angle and squint really hard.

Adventures in Kitten Therapy by InkyWings

When life in Beacon Hills gets you down, what you really need is some kitten therapy. The question is who needs it more, Derek or Stiles? Stiles gets turned into a kitten, lost and scared he winds up at Derek Hale's loft. Derek's not used to kittens appealing to him for help, but he can't help but find this one kinda cute…

Shifted by LLAP115, Wolfspurr

Of all the stupid things he’s ever done, Stiles is pretty sure this one takes the record, but it’s like a reflex that he just can’t stop. As soon as he sees the witch turn to face Derek, hand raised in Derek’s direction, he just jumps. There’s no thought process. No planning. Just an instinctual reaction that possibly reveals more about Stiles than he’s really willing to reflect on right now. The clearing echoes with a crash of noise and a blinding flash of white light. For a moment it seems as though the witch has called lightning from the sky, and Stiles only has a moment to realize that this is how he dies.

Only You Can Calm Me Down by AMatchInWater

Stiles turns into a fox after the Nogitsune leaves him and he thinks that Derek is his Alpha and not Scott. With Derek having left for South America with Cora, Stiles feels separated from not only his pack but his mate and goes feral. Of course Derek immediately comes back when the sheriff calls him and demands he come fix Stiles. It isn't until he's back in Beacon Hills that he sees just what he needs to fix.

At Home Under the Moon bywanderingeyre

There is no doubt in Derek’s mind that this fox is alone, in trouble, and needs to come home with them, with him. Derek takes a risk and lets his wolf go, calling his human side forward as he shifts. The fox barks in alarm and scrambles back to the bushes. Derek kneels and holds his hands out palm up. Derek pushes power into the next words and lets his eyes go red. “I promise. You’re safe. No one will hurt you.”

I'm Grumpy, He's Derpy by LordHarmony

The cat jumps onto the back of the couch, carefully making it’s way towards Derek, only to lose it’s footing halfway across and tumble with an undignified yowl back to the floor. Oh god, Derek thinks. It’s one of those cats.

To Me, You're Purrfect by Beautiful_noise

The original prompt idea was by captain-snark and went like this: "There are many a fic where Derek is unknowingly stuck in his wolf form and taken care of by Stiles but i really want fic where stiles accidentally turns himself into a cat and goes to Derek cos he thinks Derek might recognize him..being a wolf and all. Except, Derek does not. But also Derek is a secret cat person. And tells Stiles he’s gorgeous as he pets him, because Stiles would be a totally gorgeous cat. All lean with big paws and huge amber eyes and a fuzzy white tummy." And that's basically what this is.

He Must Be Out of Food by lipah

Stiles gets turned into a normal house cat by a witch and Derek takes care of him until they can fix it.

Cat-astrophe (Not really) by x_Lazart_x

When Stiles accidentally gets turned into a cat, he didn't expect to get stuck staying with Derek. He certainly didn't think he would end up enjoying it. Let alone missing the alpha when he was human again.

Finding Home by MadMim, Renmackree

When Stiles is kidnapped by witches, the pack is able to find the dead witches but no Stiles. The pack want to grieve and move on but Derek and John can’t stop looking until Stiles is found. All their search yields in a small fox. A fox who Derek can’t help bonding with, that only helps bring him and John closer. But the Stiles shape hole still haunts them both.

Consequences Of Fighting Witches by MichelleDWinchester

Stiles was well used to things that go bump in the night, I mean come on he lived in Beacon Hills after all. So when a Witch comes to town and starts causing mayhem, Stiles charges in no holds barred as per usual with no regard for his own safety. This time however there will be consequences for such bravery that will impact not just him but the entire Pack too. Stiles will soon be forced to re-examine his perspective following a climatic night that will change his life forever.

[masterlist link]

[onlybeeewrites]

Choose Me

Request: Heyyyyy….me again…can I request where the reader is crushing on aaric graycastle….like she's having a really really bad crush….the ending is upto you darling 😘…angsty or fluffy

Pairing: Aaric Greycastle x Fem!reader

Word count: 2.2k

Warnings: mild mentioned violence, cursing, Aaric’s true identity

A/N: this was so much fun to write!! This is also my first time writing for Aaric so please have mercy <3

~~~~~~~

The forest around you was thick with trees, their branches creaking in the wind of the early afternoon. You tried to ignore the ache in your side as you pushed forward, each step bringing a dull throb from the injury you’d sustained earlier thanks to that asshole from third wing.

It wasn’t deep—just a shallow cut from a branch that had whipped past you—but it still stung, especially now with the adrenaline of the Threshing fading away. Now leaving you with a deep toothed fear and anxiety of either not being chosen, or being burnt to a crisp if you did stumble upon a dragon.

Rhiannon seemed to leave out the part of how terrifying this actually was. The waiting. The stumbling around blindly. How your mind can play tricks and your thoughts become your worst enemy.

Your thoughts, however, weren’t focused on the pain. They were on him. Aaric Graycastle. The person who had haunted your thoughts for months since you crossed parapet. The same guy who was in your squad. The same one you’ve been in class with. Training with. Spending every day with for the past three months with. The one who always seemed to appear at just the right moment with his sharp wit and quiet confidence.

The one who, despite your best efforts, had wormed his way into your heart without even fucking trying. You knew you were being foolish. It was stupid. Ridiculously stupid.

Your best friend and squadmate, Sloane had pushed you to confess your feelings so many times. Almost too many times but you always hesitated. The idea of exposing yourself, of showing Aaric the depth of your feelings, felt like too much.

What if it ruined things? What if it changed your bond forever? You were squadmates. These were the people who you could trust and depend your life on. So would it be worth the risk? A sharp hiss of pain pulls your back from your thoughts, the sound slipping from your lips as you shifted the weight on your injured side. You winced, trying to ignore it considering you had bigger problems to focus on—like dragons to find and bond with, if you were lucky.

Then, the unmistakable sound of a twig snapping behind you caught your attention. You spun around, your hand instinctively reaching for the sword at your side. Your hand trembled as you prepared to fight for your life again.

But it was only Aaric who stepped out from the shadows of the foliage. His beautiful eyes softened when he saw you, and the concern in his gaze made your heart skip a beat. “What happened to you?” His voice was gentle but firm, and before you could even respond, his gaze dropped to the side of your body, where the fresh cut marred your leathers.

“I’m fine,” you said, trying to brush him off, but your voice faltered. “It’s nothing. Just a scratch from a run in with someone. I’ll live,” you insist. You didn’t need him worrying about you. Not when they had bigger things to worry about. Considering even less dragons are bonding this year, the odds weren’t in their favor.

He was at your side in an instant, his hands hovering over your injury before he grabbed your arm, his grip firm but not harsh. His brow furrowed, eyes flashing with something that looked an awful lot like panic.

“Nothing? That’s a gash, not a scratch,” he snapped, his voice sharp with frustration. You winced as he pushed back the edge of your leathers, his touch more forceful than usual, but not unkind.

“It’s not bad,” you insisted, trying to downplay it, but Aaric shot you a glare so fierce it nearly made you flinch more than the pain.

“It’s never ‘not bad’ with you,” he muttered, his fingers working quickly as he assessed the wound. “You always act like you’re fine when you’re not.” The warmth in his voice, the sheer intensity of his concern, sent a strange flutter through your chest.

But before you could even process it, he shook his head and went back to tending your wound, muttering under his breath. You swallowed, the heat rising in your cheeks. “It’s not your fault,” you reassured him, softer this time, but he didn’t look convinced. His focus was locked on you, like nothing else in the world mattered in that moment.

Then, a rustling sound broke through the tension. A low, rumbling growl followed. Your heart stuttered. Aaric stiffened beside you, his hand instinctively reaching for his weapon.

And then from the shadows, the dragon emerged. The moment was interrupted by a sudden rustling, followed by a low growl. Your heart skipped a beat.

From the trees, a massive dragon emerged, its scales shimmering like molten emeralds in the filtered light. Its amber eyes fixed on you.

The dragon puffed out a huff of steam, hitting you from head to toe. Before you could respond, another dragon appeared, slightky larger but no less magnificent. Its sapphire blue scales gleamed in the sunlight as it landed beside Aaric. The two dragons locked eyes with each other before turning back to you and Aaric.

You didn’t know if it was the bond with the dragons or the moment that had shifted everything. And fear gripped you tightly with these two unfriendly powerful beats that could kill you both in seconds.

Before you could stop yourself, the words spilled out. “I’ve had a crush on you for months. I couldn’t tell you before, because I was afraid… I was afraid it would change things.”

Aaric froze, his eyes softening as the silence between you grew. He opened his mouth to say something, but the dragon beside him gave a low, rumbling growl, as if urging him on.

“I… feel the same,” he admitted quietly, a faint blush coloring his cheeks. “I didn’t know how to say it either but I-“

Before you could utter another word, a low growl echoed through the air, a strange pull tugged at your chest. The hairs on your arms stood on end. Goosebumps rising on your skin.

And then, a voice, rich and velvety, echoed in your mind, “I have waited for you, sweet one.”

Your heart raced, the connection undeniable, the bond forming before you could blink. The dragon’s amber eyes fixed on you, and for a moment, everything else—Aaric, the injury, the chaos—faded away as the realization settled. Not only in your mind, but your heart.

A dragon chose you.

Now your focus was just you and the dragon, the one who had chosen you, the one who would stand by your side from this moment forward. The dragon dipped her head toward you, a soft rumble vibrating in her chest.

You blinked, unsure if the words you thought you heard were just in your head.

“I am Niranth. You are my chosen, my rider.” Your breath hitched as the voice echoed inside your mind, smooth and calm, but filled with a weight of ancient wisdom. Nirantha. The name rolled through your thoughts, both foreign and familiar.

“Nirantha?” you asked hesitantly, your voice unsure.

“Yes, sweet one,” Nirantha’s voice was warm, reverberating through your chest like a melody that soothed your racing heart. Her voice like a secure embrace. Firm, solid, but secure. “I have waited years for a rider like you. And now that time has come,”

A shiver ran down your spine at the words, at the rawness of the connection, but also at the comfort it gave. It was as though you had always known Nirantha, as though you had always been destined for each other, even before today.

You slowly reached out a trembling hand, your fingers brushing against her gleaming scales. The warmth of the dragon’s body seeped into your skin, and with it, an overwhelming sense of peace. A Comfort that you hadn’t known you were missing.

You leaned your forehead against the dragon’s side, letting out a breath you didn’t realize you’d been holding.

“You are not alone anymore, sweet one,” Nirantha continued, his voice a gentle reassurance in your mind. “I will protect you, guide you, and fight for you as long as you fight for me,”

A tear slipped down your cheek, but it wasn’t from fear or pain. It was from the overwhelming relief, the sense that a part of you had finally found its home. You weren’t alone anymore.

You took a shaky breath and whispered softly, “Thank you, Nirantha. I don’t know what to say…”

“There is nothing to say, sweet one. Just trust me, as I trust you,” The bond solidified as the dragon leaned down, nuzzling you gently, her massive head lowering to your level. You laughed softly, a shaky sound of disbelief and joy.

And then, just as suddenly, everything faded back to her senses as Aaric stepped closer, his presence breaking the intimacy of the moment.

He cleared his throat awkwardly, looking between you and the dragon. His voice was rough, full of emotions you couldn’t quite read. “You… you’re bonded with her?” Aaric’s question was a whisper, full of awe and something else, something deeper.

His eyes lingered on you, and you saw something you hadn’t before—genuine worry and tenderness.

You nodded, unable to form words as Nirantha’s presence flooded your mind once again, grounding you. You smiled, your heart swelling with gratitude, before you turned to Aaric. “Yes. This is Nirantha.”

“Your mate seems to be pleased,” Nirantha’s voice said with amusement. Your face heated up, as your head snapped towards your newly bonded dragon. And you swear you could see the amusement in her golden eyes.

“What?! No. He’s not-“

“What you admitted beforehand says otherwise,” she mused and you swallowed as you realized it too. You both had confessed your feelings as the two dragons had approached you.

You slowly turned to Aaric, flushing as his gaze was already on your own. Something unreadable in his gaze. You opened and closed your mouth, for once, completely speechless.

But luckily you didn’t have to as he reached up, cupping the back of your neck and tugging you to him to press his full lips onto your own. Your eyes flutter shut as the butterflies erupt in your stomach. Your heart beating concerningly fast.

And you leaned into him, leaned into the kiss. Your arms moving around him and gripping onto his back. The warmth of his lips, his mouth on yours. You realized that you wish you could be there forever. Wrapped in his arms, his mouth on you or your skin forever.

“I rather like this Prince than the other one,” Nirantha’s voice muses fondly and with a bit of amusement.

But that caused you to freeze and pull back from his lips. Your chest rose and fell with breathlessness, your mind suddenly rather foggy and muddled.

Aaric pulled back with a smirk on his beautiful face. “What?” He asked, tilting his head, “I didn’t think I was that good of a kisser to make you pull back,” he said before lowering his head to steal another one.

But you stopped him, placing a hand firmly on his chest. Your heart pounded in your ears, your gaze trailing over him once more—closer now, as if seeing him for the first time.

The way his features fit together so perfectly, the sandy hair that framed his face, but most of all, the piercing green eyes, the eyes you’d adored for months Royal eyes.

You sucked in a breath, realization hitting you like a ton of bricks. “You’re Prince Camlaen…” you breathed out, the words escaping your lips before you could stop them.

As you spoke, Aaric’s expression shifted instantly. His smirk faltered, and there was a flash of defensiveness in his eyes. He stepped back slightly, his posture rigid for the first time since you’d met.

The playfulness from before disappeared, replaced by a flicker of tension in his jaw. And he stared at you. For a long moment. You could see the gears turning in his head as if he was debating something back and forth. And finally he spoke.

“I’m still Aaric,” he said, his voice a bit sharper now, though there was still a trace of softness beneath it, but not denying your claim.

“I’m not some prince in a castle. I’m a rider, just like you. I’m still me. That’s who I am.” He crossed his arms over his chest, a protective stance, his eyes now narrowing slightly as if bracing for your judgment. The weight of his words hung in the air, but there was a quiet intensity to them.

He didn’t want to be seen as anything other than the person you had come to know—the man who had fought beside you, the one who had been there when you needed him, the one who had dreamed of you. Fought every urge to get a taste of you. To be the same guy you smiled at so sweetly.

You stood still, heart pounding in your chest, but as you looked into his eyes, you could see the vulnerability buried beneath his defensiveness. The prince title may have been his birthright, but Aaric—the man in front of you—was still the same person you had cared for all this time.

Taking a steadying breath, you placed your hand gently on his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath your palm. “I know who you are,” you said softly, your voice calm but unwavering.

“Aaric, you’re still the same person I’ve been falling for all this time. Nothing changes that. And if you tell me this is who you are—who you want to be? That’s all I need…” Aaric’s posture seemed to relax slightly at your words, his shoulders softening as his gaze met yours.

He let out a breath he seemed to have been holding, the defensiveness fading slowly, replaced by something far more tender. “Good,” he murmured, his voice low and sincere.

And with that, he smiled—a real smile, one that reached his eyes. And as his lips brushed against yours once more.

[syoddeye]

Unknowns. Price & Reader.

let loss reveal it cw: referenced addiction , alcohol mention

You don’t expect it.

The message comes through while you’re folding laundry, a steady snowfall frosting the window panes. Your phone is half-buried under a pile of socks, and you nearly miss the buzz.

>> Hey.

You stare at the screen for a moment longer than you should, trying not to read too much into it. Then, another:  

>> Got a minute?  

You do. Of course you do. Your wild and thrilling Saturday night consists of delicates and mismatched socks, with Parts Unknown in the background. Daydreaming of eating seafood out of Bourdain’s hands in Naxos. You’re not even halfway through the chore or the episode.

> sure, what’s up?  

The three dots appear, then disappear. Long enough to make you wonder if he’s going to back out of whatever he needs. But then:  

>> Could we meet?  

A dozen thoughts flash through your mind. 

Is he in trouble? About to drink? Already has? 

You should forward him up the ‘chain’. Someone who knows what they’re doing like Donovan or Robel. But, he reached out to you. And to your knowledge, this is the first time he’s reached out to anyone. That’s not an easy decision to make, and he’s chosen you.

No pressure.

> yeah. where? now? 

Again, a pause. Then:  

>> Don’t know. Somewhere quiet. Closer to you is fine. Preferably ASAP.

ASAP. 

Hoping you don’t come to regret it, you send the name of a pizza place a few blocks from your flat. Small, nothing fancy. This time of night it should be safe.

> i’ll be there in 20.  

You don’t expect a response, but one comes as you change out of sweats:  

>> Thank you.

John’s already there when you arrive. You recognize his car.

The snow’s slowed, but the evening’s damp and cold, and plasters your hood to your head. John’s sitting near the back, away from the windows, shoulders hunched slightly. He’s a big man to shrink himself like that. His coat’s folded over the back of the booth, and his hands are wrapped around a glass of water, half-empty.

You don’t smell anything besides the pizza.

He doesn’t look up until you’re standing at the edge of the table.

“Hello,” you say softly. “You alright?”

He glances up, tired but alert, and offers the barest smile. “Evening. Fine and you?”

“Fine.” You peel your hood off and unbundle while he waves the lone server over, whom you seem to upset when you only order water and a slice of cheese.

You slide into the seat across from him, the cracked vinyl sinking under your weight, and toss your coat aside. He looks…beat. Frayed at the edges like he hasn’t had a decent night’s sleep in days. He looks like that a lot, actually. Most times you see him. You don’t ask, though. He’s firmly established himself as the type who likes his privacy, and, knowing how it feels to be badgered, you keep your mouth shut.

“Thanks for coming.”

“Of course.”

A beat of silence stretches between you, not uncomfortable but not warm and fuzzy, either. You don’t know the man in front of you. Not a thing beyond his name, what little he’s shared, and your assumptions. 

And yet, out of all the numbers he must have collected over the months—he called you. 

Boggles the mind, truly.

He clears his throat.

“Had a rough week at work,” he starts. “Lot of bad shit. Was hoping to…” He pauses, jaw tightening, and when he speaks again, he’s quieter. “Could you just…talk?”  

Talk. Huh.

“Talk about…?”

“Anything.” His fingers drum against the side of the glass. “I need to hear someone…normal speak.” He shakes his head, a dry, breathy sound slipping out. Not quite a laugh. “I don’t know,” he mutters, eyes narrowing, not at you, but like he’s annoyed with himself for not knowing how to ask for what he needs. “Start with your day. Big stuff. Small stuff. Whatever you’ve got.”

You choose to ignore the pointed use of ‘normal’ and push aside a pitying ache that creeps in. He doesn’t need that.

“Alright. Talking.” you say, leaning back slightly, folding your hands in your lap. You smile a little, trying to lift his spirits. “But stop me if I veer into no-go territory.”

And so you talk. About the mundane and pointless things that don’t matter. Details you wouldn’t even note in your journal.

Like how the neighbor’s cat has taken to sneaking into your garden again, flattening your pot of herbs to bask in the sunlight. How you spilled coffee all over yourself this morning and had to change your shirt, which made you miss your bus. Sneaking through the back door at work to avoid your supervisor. And then, how you picked up an early shift tomorrow because your coworker begged and bribed you with a free lunch.

John interrupts you once, at that part. “And does your job know? The folks you work with?”

The meaning is clear, tucked carefully between the lines. 

Like so much of what’s said within your circle—coded in half-truths and omissions, a language rooted in shame. You’ve been told that, eventually, you’ll outgrow it. That once you’re far enough along, you’ll feel comfortable speaking more openly. But you’re not there yet.

You shake your head. “No. They don’t know.”

John nods. A slow, knowing motion. No judgment, only understanding.

Your cue to continue.

You weave the small threads of your day into something light, inconsequential, a boring tapestry of nothing meant only to fill the space. And somewhere along the way, it works. His shoulders lose tension. His fingers still against his glass. He doesn’t speak, but his gaze drifts, landing on the streetlamp outside the window. There’s something almost remarkable about it. Like you’ve lulled him into a trance.

But the spell breaks with the jingle of the door. A group of unmistakably drunk younger men spill inside, loud and unsteady on their feet, their laughter like jackals. The scent pungent and unmistakable.

It smells disgusting. Yet—

John snaps back to attention.

His posture shifts, straightens. Shoulders squared, spine stiff. His eyes flick to you first, then over your shoulder, and he flexes his fingers around his glass.

You try to keep talking, pretend not to notice, but the change in volume makes it difficult. The conversation behind you grows, overlapping in raucous amusement. Your words falter, trailing off.

The men aren’t paying either of you any mind—too caught up in their own world, slurring jokes that probably aren’t all that funny. But John watches anyway, and it’s a whole new side of him. Purpose to his stern gaze. It conjures another dozen questions.

His fingers tap once against the side of his glass before he exhales, “You set? Think I need to leave.”

“Yep. Same.”

Though he gets his coat on quicker, he waits and makes you walk ahead of him. The men haven’t done a thing besides exist obnoxiously, but you’ve got more than an inkling that John isn’t the kind of man to take chances anyway.

You guess that’s why a question finally gets away from you.

“What do you do?” You blurt out while you loiter outside, tightening your hood. Wanting to disappear into your coat.

He doesn’t answer right away, but pulls a cigarette from a pack, eyes meeting yours with an unreadable look. A tired, guarded, and a touch unimpressed stare. You backpedal. 

“If you don’t want to tell me, of course that’s fine–”

“Military.” Oh. “That’s it.” Yeah, that’d do it.

You nod as if you catch his drift. Understand him completely, like a great veil’s been lifted. You rambled on about your gig, from the uniform to the sale on cat food, giving him a glimpse of the happily dull life you lead. And he’s given you three clipped words, shutting down the conversation before it can go any further in that direction.

Progress, though. You add to your internal file. John the addict. The soldier.

“So. Rough week at work.” Christ, why are you still talking? “No wonder you’re tired all the time.”

John huffs a laugh, a wry little grin tugging at his lips as he cups his hand around his lighter, shielding the flame from the wind. He takes a slow drag, and exhales smoke into the night air.

“You got no idea.”

You rock on your heels. The smoke drifts between you, a thin ribbon curling toward the sky and vanishing into the dark.

“I’m guessing you can’t talk about it,” you say. Not really a question.

“No.”

“Is it–” Job related. A safe assumption. He’s probably seen some shit. Done some shit. Lost people. You bite your tongue. “Got it.”

You’re both quiet for a while, standing in the glow of the streetlamp. Snow seeping through your jeans. The pizza place behind you hums with drunken laughter, but out here it’s just the wind and his breath.

“Why me?” you finally work up the nerve to ask. “Out of everyone. Why not Donovan or–”

“Because you’re undemanding. Unassuming.”

You blink. “That’s…a compliment?”

He turns slowly where he stands, scanning the fogged restaurant windows and back around to the emptying streets. “You don’t pry. Don’t try to step in. When you beelined for me that first meeting, I thought you would, but you didn’t.”

You remember. The pull that made you walk straight to him. Not to probe, not to help—just to acknowledge. A hello, not a rescue. Be nice to the new guy and all.

Heat floods your face. No argument there. You had gone straight for him.

“The others at the hall are…well-meanin’,” he grits out as kindly as you think he can. “But they—like everyone else—keep asking if I’ve talked to someone. If I’m eating. Sleeping. And I’m sitting there thinking—fuck’s sake, I’m a grown man. Don’t need someone holding my bloody hand.”

It’s the most emotion you’ve seen out of him, and it’s anger. Frustration. Completely normal, but outside the church, it gives you pause.

Don’t need someone holding my bloody hand. 

That sounds familiar.

“I’m sorry,” you murmur automatically. A buffer. People like hearing apologies, even when they’re not yours to give. 

“Don’t be,” He replies, giving a firm shake of his head. “Not your fault. I just needed to hear someone talk. Not lecture.”

You nod, pulling your zipper as high as it’ll go. “Well. My life is not exactly riveting, but I aim to please.”

That earns an actual chuckle from him, low and brief. He glances at you sidelong. His face pink from the cold.

“Careful,” he says, almost fond. “I might make a habit of this.”

[mediocre-shark-tales]

The Debut Part 2

Masterlist

Interviews after the race were the worst part. Riding the high of my debut, I had forgotten how some people would still question me, regardless of how much I’d proven myself on track. Sure enough, an older interviewer wasted no time, diving straight into the skepticism.

“We didn’t see you here on media day. Would you say you weren’t mentally ready, given the backlash online about you stepping in for Lance?” he asked, his tone pointed.

I kept my expression bright, masking the sting behind his words with a smile. “Actually, I don’t mind what people think about me racing. My team requested permission from the FIA to excuse me from media day. I don’t know if it was our preparation yesterday that influenced their decision, but I’ll be here for all the other media days,” I replied confidently.

The reporter’s scowl hinted he’d hoped I’d falter. But he pressed on. “Can you explain why you disappeared from F2, only to suddenly show up in F1?”

Images flashed through my mind—my strong F2 season, the bittersweet moments with my mother, and my decision to leave to be by her side. Without missing a beat, I answered, “As my former team and I have always stated, I left to undergo the training Aston Martin required. Luckily, that timing allowed me to step in strongly for Lance after his accident. I wish him a strong recovery and hope to see him back next season.”

His frown deepened, as though frustrated by my composure. “You do know that no one buys that story, right? Plenty of insiders have come forward with other theories.”

I met his gaze with a smirk, catching him off guard. “I’ve seen those theories, and they’re certainly creative! But they’re reaching. I’d hope my real supporters pay attention to who’s sharing those stories—that alone could answer a lot of questions.” I took a breath, then added smoothly, “I love a bit of chaos as much as the next person, and if it’s at my expense, so be it. But I’ll prove myself on track. I can show you my personality, but if you already dislike me without knowing me, why should I try to change your mind?” I finished, my smile still firmly in place.

Finally, I was given the chance to move on from him, though I knew he wouldn’t be the last disrespectful interviewer I’d face. It was time to lock in and remind myself that I couldn't let their jabs or ignorant questions get under my skin. The media's skepticism would always be there, but I could choose how much of myself I shared with them.

It was time to bring up my walls again, to let the ‘daredevil’ persona I’d honed over the years take the lead. I’d mastered that version of myself—the unshakeable, casually confident, and unflinchingly witty driver who wouldn’t let anyone mess with her head. I was here to race, to show everyone exactly what I could do. And if I had to tune out the noise to keep my focus razor-sharp, then so be it.

Once I escaped the media pen, I heard my name called over the hum of busy teams rushing around. Marcus, who had been quietly with me throughout, looked back first. He turned to me with a reassuring smile. “I’ve got a few more things to wrap up. Once you’re changed and ready, find me in the Aston Martin Hospitality lobby, and we’ll head back to the hotel.” I nodded, watching him leave before turning toward the person calling my name.

It was Franco, of course, his signature smile lighting up his face as he approached with his PR manager in tow. “I was hoping to catch you before you took off,” he said quickly, then hesitated, his expression shifting to one of concern. “I heard what that guy said. Don’t let it get to you. I can’t speak for everyone else, but I know you belong here. After another race weekend or two, I bet you’ll have plenty of drivers on your side—even if I have to convince them myself.”

I returned his smile, touched by the sincerity in his voice, though I noticed something else—an edge to his tone, as if he was frustrated with the others. It felt like he knew something I didn’t, but I didn’t push. We weren’t that close yet, and if there was anything important, I trusted he’d tell me in his own time. For now, I was grateful just to have his support.

“Enough of the tough topics,” Franco said, shifting to a more cheerful tone. “I actually found out we’re on the same flight back to the UK. How about we sit together? I’d really like to get to know you better. It’s nice to have another rookie on the grid, but it would be even better if that rookie became a good friend of mine?”

I smiled, appreciating his honesty, and nodded. “Yeah, I’d love that. Here, let me give you my number so you can text me when you’re in the waiting area. We can meet up and figure out seats then.” As I handed him my phone, I added, “Do you know if any other drivers are on our flight? I’ve never been on one of these shared private charters. To get here, they just had me fly business class.”

Franco chuckled, noticing my nervousness. “Don’t worry, it’s a bit different, but you’ll get used to it. Plus, you’ll have me as your tour guide,” he said with a wink. “I honestly didn’t even check which other drivers were on this flight,” Franco admitted, his eyes glinting with a playful smile. “I just wanted an excuse to see you again.”

I felt a blush creep up at his flirty tone, and I laughed, brushing it off. “Well, you’ve got your excuse,” I replied, meeting his smile with one of my own. “Just don’t go using all your charm on me at once.” He chuckled, clearly enjoying my reaction. “Wouldn’t dream of it. I’m saving some for the flight.”

Two hours later, freshly showered and packed, I made my way down to the hotel lobby. Marcus greeted me with a smile, already waiting with our bags by his side. Soon, we were off in an Uber, navigating the post-Grand Prix traffic around Monza. It didn’t take long before we arrived at the airport, and I gathered my bags, heading toward the entrance.

As I stepped through the doors, my phone buzzed with a new text notification. I pulled it out and smiled when I saw Franco’s name on the screen.

Hey, hermosa. I just got to the waiting area. You’ll find me by the big windows looking out at the planes.

I typed back quickly: Just got here too! I’ll be through security soon and meet you there.

Sliding my phone back into my pocket, I felt a little surge of excitement. After a long day, I couldn’t wait to unwind—and having Franco’s company on the flight would make the trip back a lot more enjoyable.

Security was surprisingly quick this time. Being a Formula 1 driver on a chartered jet with other team members seemed to come with its perks—no endless lines, just a fast check of my bags and a quick scan, and I was through in under five minutes. My larger bags were taken aside to be loaded onto the plane, leaving me with only my small personal bag for the flight.

Fidgeting with my sea turtle necklace, I glanced around the private waiting room, scanning for Franco. The place was buzzing with drivers and managers, some eyeing me with thinly veiled curiosity or judgment. Ignoring the glances, I finally spotted Franco, engrossed in his phone, lounging by the windows as he’d promised.

I walked over, taking a deep breath to steady myself. Franco looked up as I approached, flashing a grin as he moved his bag off the seat in front of him. Gratefully, I slid into the booth across from him, feeling a wave of relief as we exchanged a friendly smile. The tension from the room faded slightly with his friendly demeanor. 

“Finally, thought you’d gotten lost back there,” he teased, sliding his phone into his pocket.

I laughed, shrugging. “I was a little distracted by all the stares,” I admitted, glancing around the room. “Guess they’re not used to new faces—especially mine.”

He nodded sympathetically. “It’s their loss,” he said, shrugging it off. “I get the whole ‘new kid’ vibe too. It’s why I was so keen to talk to you. How are you finding it so far?”

“Intense,” I replied, chuckling. “It’s been a dream come true, obviously. But the media, the judgment, all of it’s been... a lot.”

Franco gave an understanding nod, leaning back in his seat. “Yeah, they don’t really teach you how to handle all this quick enough, do they? I feel like we’re both just tossed in with the sharks and told, ‘Good luck.’” He grinned, then added, “But hey, you killed it today. I heard the team talking about it back there.”

“Thank you,” I said, smiling. “You did too! I mean, holding off my DRS attack for that long? Impressive.”

He chuckled, shaking his head. “I was just praying my tires would hold out. Honestly, the whole time I thought, ‘If I screw up, she’s taking my place.�� Guess we’ll just have to keep each other sharp, yeah?”

“Deal,” I agreed, feeling my nerves ease. “Let’s make a pact—rookie alliance, right? We can look out for each other. Maybe have a few friendly competitions?”

Franco’s eyes lit up. “I like that idea. A little rivalry—who gets the most overtakes, or who makes it into Q3 first?” He paused, then smirked. “Loser buys the winner lunch?”

I grinned, nodding. “Oh, it’s on. And I hope you have an expensive taste, because I’m definitely winning.”

“Confident, huh?” he said with a laugh. “Alright, I’ll see if you can keep up. But really, it’ll be good to have someone who gets it, you know? We rookies have to stick together.”

“Absolutely,” I agreed, feeling genuinely happy. “And hey, here’s to proving everyone wrong.”

Franco raised an imaginary glass. “To that,” he said with a wink.

Our conversation continued for a little while longer until it was finally time to board the plane. 

Franco and I found our own little area, of course it was a group of 4 seats facing each other. I sat across from Franco who watched to see if anyone else might join us. I could see both of the drivers from Mclaren and Mercedes. Of course there is also Alex and Fernando from our teams as well. 

As we settled into our seats, Franco glanced around the cabin, nodding toward the familiar faces. “Feels like a reunion of sorts,” he murmured, leaning back with a grin. “Wonder who’ll join us in our little corner of the plane here.”

I chuckled, glancing over to the other drivers too. “Honestly, it’s kind of surreal to be surrounded by them. Like, I grew up watching half of these guys race. Now here I am, sharing a plane with them.”

Franco smirked, lowering his voice. “You’re handling it well, though. Can’t even tell you’re fangirling inside.”

I playfully kicked his foot under the table. “Oh, please. You were the one practically glowing when Lewis said you defended well today.”

He laughed, holding up his hands in surrender. “Guilty as charged. But, hey, Lewis Hamilton is still a legend, no matter how chill he tries to be.”

Just then, I noticed Alex approaching with a water bottle. He paused, giving us both a slight nod. “Mind if I join?” he asked, glancing between us with a polite smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

Franco shot me a quick look, as if to say, Is this okay? I nodded with a smile. “Of course, take a seat! We were just… rehashing the race,” I added with a laugh.

Alex slid into the seat next to Franco, giving a faint smile but avoiding my gaze just a bit. “You two held up the midfield well today. Gave the crowd something to watch.”

“Trying to make our rookie debuts memorable,” Franco said, shrugging but smiling.

Alex nodded, a little more reserved. “Good mindset to have. Just remember it’s a marathon, not a sprint. A few strong races don’t make a season. You’ve gotta keep that consistency.”

I leaned forward, intrigued despite his slightly distant tone. “How do you manage that? I mean, all the pressure, the criticism… how do you stay grounded?”

Alex glanced briefly at me, as if weighing his answer. “Honestly? You’ve gotta tune it out. Find people who believe in you—team, family, friends—and hold onto them. The rest? Noise.”

Franco nodded, clearly taking it all in. “Noted. I think we’re off to a good start, though, right?” He shot me a grin, his confidence unmistakable.

I smiled back, feeling a little reassured, though Alex's slight hesitation hadn’t gone unnoticed. “Definitely. And having each other’s backs just makes it easier.”

Alex gave a quick nod, looking out the window. “Yeah… it’ll help to know who’s really there for you.” His words felt weighted, leaving me with a feeling that maybe not everyone was convinced I belonged here—yet.

Hours passed as the plane hummed softly around us, and eventually, the lights dimmed, casting a warm, quiet glow across the cabin. Franco had fallen asleep, his head tilted slightly back, arms crossed. Across from us, most of the drivers had either slipped on sleep masks or simply leaned back, eyes shut, lost in much-needed rest.

But sleep evaded me. I leaned my head against the window, earbuds in, playing one of my favorite playlists on low volume. The familiar songs were meant to be comforting, but my mind raced far too much to relax. I glanced at Franco, then Alex, even Fernando a few seats away, all peacefully asleep. They seemed… unburdened, or at least at ease in a way I hadn’t felt since I first entered this chaotic world.

My thoughts drifted back to the interactions I’d had with some of the drivers over the past few days. The way Alex seemed hesitant earlier, the awkward silences in the paddock, the way some of the others had yet to fully acknowledge me. It wasn’t overt; most people were polite, but something lingered under the surface, a guardedness. And I had a sinking feeling I knew why.

I clutched the pendant of my necklace, my thumb running over the little sea turtle. If only they knew the truth, I thought bitterly. If they understood why I’d left my F2 team so suddenly, maybe they wouldn’t look at me like some sort of imposter who had jumped into F1 overnight.

But that truth—the time I spent away, the weeks I’d missed—wasn’t something I could just blurt out. It was private, a chapter of my life I’d had to keep from everyone. I had left F2 mid-season, not for any lack of commitment or a mysterious “training opportunity” as the media had said, but because I couldn’t bear to be anywhere else but by my mother’s side in her last days.

She’d kept her illness a secret from everyone except those closest to us, not wanting the world to see her in her most vulnerable moments. And I had honored that, staying silent even as the rumors spread that I’d gone MIA. That I’d given up. Or that maybe I just couldn’t handle the competition and pressure. My team had tried to cover for me, but the whispers had taken on a life of their own. It was strange; the further I pushed ahead, the more those rumors seemed to haunt me.

I sighed, leaning back in my seat and turning up the volume slightly, letting the music drown out the dull ache in my chest. Maybe they’ll see who I really am in time, I told myself. Maybe the track will speak for me, louder than any rumor. But part of me wondered if it would ever be enough. If, someday, they’d realize why I’d fought so hard to get here and just how much I’d given up to be in this seat.

With one last glance around the cabin, I took a shaky breath, steeling myself. I had a lot to prove—not just for me, but for my mother, who had believed in me until the very end.

[bbkoolkatz]

part 2 prof! Izuku part 1 part 3

synopsis: after a series of ignored apologies, you accepted (kinda) what's happened and decided to finally respond... then months go by and you've gotten over him... you think...

pairing: professor! Izuku Midoriya x student! reader. college AU

cw: angst to fluff! by not so popular demand lol! just pretend that y'all had conversations in between or something, before the party message.

blurb word count: 800+

now gimme your souls! *evil laughs* (there are three outfit photos so u can choose from them)

people were packed in the campus auditorium, sounds of murmuring and the bass of the music slightly overwhelming your ears. your friends spotted you standing alone, becoming one with the wall behind you and scuttled over offering you a drink to sip on while they chatted. they went on about, the course, how difficult finals we're, all the months of stress and boring lectures. you added to their complaints here and there, making light conversation that you didn't really pay attention to, as your eyes drifted around.

you vaguely listened to them raving about how great everyone's looking, how surprised they were that they passed, etc etc. and then, he walked in... tall, slim, neatly tousled green hair that exposed his forehead, dressed in a dark green shirt one size too small, squeezing his forearms at the point where he rolled them up, and black slacks, accessoried with an all might buckled belt, that held it to his waist.

might not have been much to him, but to you... it was fucking runway worthy... and you froze, the sight of him bringing back that fuzzy feeling in the pit of your stomach. the buffet table was suddenly the most interesting thing in the room as you averted your eyes from your, former professor.

"hey there," he greeted, walking up behind you.

you slowly turned around, and was soon face to face with that signature, irresistible smile of his, you tried looking away from his almost perfect lips and your eyes landed on his... big mistake... but oh how they looked like emerald gems being held hostage behind glass frames, sparkling with the flashing lights of the party.

"is something wrong?" he asked tilting his head to the side before looking over himself.

"oh! uh- no!" you awkwardly reassured. god you wanted gouge your eyes out right now... "I was starting to think you weren't gonna show," you teased, offering a small smile.

"yeah," he chuckled, "i actually wasn't sure either, but I thought it'd be nice to see y- everyone, one last time." he continued, rubbing the back of his neck.

"everyone seems so different out of the classroom huh?" was your attempt at small talk. and you mentally slapped yourself across the face.

"I was thinking the same thing!" he beamed, "it's nice to see you- all! having some fun. it's well deserved." he fiddled with his wristwatch, then with the ends of his shirt on his forearms.

"I'm sorry, parties aren't really my thing..." he admitted, breaking into a nervous sweat and you rested a hand on his to stop his fiddling.

"did you save me that dance... professor?" you chuckled, nodding toward the dancefloor where people had started to gather.

"Izuku," he corrected, "i'm not your professor anymore..." and he took your hand in his, leading you to the center of the dancefloor, weaving through te crowd of people. you've never slow danced before, but by God, at the moment all you wanted was too feel his body heat, as you swayed to whatever song the DJ decided to play.

the people around you paired up, hugging each other close as the music started, and you both followed them. you take initiative, stepping forward to rest your right hand on his shoulder and your left a little lower down his arm.

he hesitated for second, hand hovering over the curve of your waist, "i-is this okay?" he asked, ever the gentleman and.

"more than okay." you mumbled, the warmth of his palms resting awkwardly on your waist, quietly pulled you in as you began to sway in each other's arms.

the dance progressed, and the awkwardness that was there earlier, was nowhere to be seen. it felt as if your bodies were moving in perfect sync, your steps following his, as you closed your eyes and rested your head on his chest, he moved his other hand to rest lower down your back keeping you there.

for a long moment you were standing there, his scarred arms holding you close to him like he didn't want to let go. not that you were complaining... but the music had been changed to something else... more upbeat to bring life back to the party.

"thank you." you smiled and you could hear his heart rate pick up.

"was that good enough?" he whispered, rubbing circles on your back with his thumb. and you nodded against his chest. you stood there for a singular moment longer, before–

"well, i better go say hi to everyone else!" he said, reverting to his awkward state, "don't let me stop you from enjoying yourself!" and he was still holding your right hand in his.

"right," you exhaled, as he let go and you were heading off to grab another drink. "see ya around, Izuku."

"yeah," he chuckled, yet again awkwardly scratching the back of his head, "see ya around."

mlist!

[vigilante24ish]

🌙 Moon Phases 🌙

Agatha Harkness X Fem!Reader

Word Count: 1269

Chapter 30:

You took a deep breath, not wishing to go further down that particular memory. It was still not a happy thing, and you would be lying if you said it didn't affect you from time to time.

Wishing to forget, you chose to stand just as you felt Rio even closer to you. She did love invading your personal space, often choosing to do that when you had your back turned; making your heart beat faster.

For you could sense her and the danger coming with her. Your body reacted with adrenaline and excitement, and a part of your subconscious yearned for her hard touch when you least expected it.

Controlling your emotions and not letting them push you towards a quick way to forget, you turned to face her.

Once again, you stood merely a breath away. Invisible waves of power radiating from both of you, clashing and mixing. The red full moon casted its light on your faces, one side brighter than the other; the perfect duality.

Rio initiated the first move, her fingers gently tucking a strand behind your ear. Her long nails carefully caressed your skin at the same time, drawing invisible lines that made you shiver and part your lips faintly.

She eyed them carefully but did not move for the claim, not yet. "You shouldn't be here, baby girl," she repeated like she had done back then in the woods. "It's not too late to leave,"

Her words managed to bypass the mixing emotions that she was causing you with her touch, and you focused on what she was saying. "We both know I can't leave the Road," you reminded her. "Not unless I am dead... and I doubt you are looking forward to that."

Rio smirked at your words.

She had taken an interest in you, a liking. You were not like Agatha.... no, your case was different yet equally compelling. You were unique, one of a kind, and she would be a fool to just let you go like that; to let you slip through her fingers.

"See, you know me too well." she finally commented after staring at you with a darker, more lustful look. Her hand never stopped caressing your skin. Her face then shifted to a more serious one. "You can get out of here, I can help you,"

You were surprised by her determination to get you out, her stubbornness not to let you continue down the path. Partially, you thought she was just being the weird, possessive, caring woman you had come to know her... but not entirely.

A little voice in the back of your mind kept suspecting that Rio had other plans... other plans for Agatha, considering their not so good terms of their former relationship. And if that was the case, she wanted you out because you would be a bigger obstacle than she wanted.

"What about Agatha?" You asked innocently, hiding your suspicions and thoughts from her sharp gaze.

"This is her fight, not yours. She has no choice."

"But I do," you countered and took a deep breath. "And I choose to stand with her until the very end of my life."

Something flashed into her eyes, and the hand that was so gently caressing your skin chose to attack it all the same. One moment, you were fighting goosebumps from showing up, and the next, you found her hand wrapped around her neck; threatening to block your air intake.

Rio pulled you closer that way, and you stared at her with wide eyes at the manhandling, one hand grabbing her wrist in a futile attempt to free your neck.

The Green Witch seemed to take inner joy and pleasure in that wide eye doe look you were giving her, the feeling of your beating pulse beneath her fingers making her high; temptations filling her mind and was so close in squeezing just a tad more.

"And Agatha thinks you are not such a witch," she commented, remembering how certain Agatha was for you.

How certain she was you would not be able to help them form the three witch coven. Yet if she could hear you know, if she could see what Rio saw... she would change her mind.

"What... what are you talking about?" You managed to ask, trying to ignore any feelings pooling in your body from the manhandling but also not let panic arise within you by the fact that you were chocked.

Rio offered a toothy grin. "Nothing," she replied as enigmatic as ever. She then pulled you closer and stole a quick, needy kiss.

Your eyes were wide at the gesture, but soon, your emotions got the best of you. The tide was high, the waves crashing wildly against the shore, and it was impossible to try and escape them as they took you with them.

And so, you closed your eyes and returned the kiss; feeling how addictive her lips felt and how oddly nice and Earthly they felt against yours.

Rio seemed to approve your willingness to follow as she pressed you more against her and attacked your lips. Her teeth bit and pulled your lower lip with hunger, satisfied only when you both felt the familiar metallic sensation of blood in your mouths.

She didn't let you pull back until she was satisfied, and only when she wished it did she let you get for some air. She released your neck and watched with satisfaction at your bleeding lip and the faint red marking of fingers against your pale skin.

You panted, staring at her with wide eyes, and you subconsciously brought a finger to your lips; only to see the bright red colour of your blood staining it.

"You should go now" she said, acting as if she had not just devoured you a second go; or the fact that she felt tempted to take you on those floor pillows with the body of Alice as a spectator.

"Why?" You found the courage to ask, your brain still trying to recover from what had just happened.

"I fear your duty as Agatha's White Knight is calling you," she replied enigmatically once again. "Oh, one more thing,"

Before you could ask her or even take a step towards the exit, you saw her licking her index finger and then drug it above your lips; specifically above her teeth wound on you.

Her magic worked fast, healing the wound as the finger passed above it, and only then did she pull back. She smirked and motioned with her hand in a 'shoo' motion, a sign it was time for you to go.

You had so many questions, so many things you wanted to say or ask, but you didn't. Rembering Agatha, you turned and hurriedly towards the exit; glancing at Rio one last time above your shoulder before you climbed the wooden ladder.

The missing coven members...

Once out, you took a moment to breathe deeply the fresh air, and you moved further down the path; expecting to find the others waiting, hopefully.

However, you came to a halt when you didn't find them. Instead, you only found Teen standing alone, a faint blue glow still visible in his hands.

He sensed you, and as he turned, you took notice of a crown that had formed on his head and that look in his eyes.

The mising Agatha...

Teen with magic...

Immediately, you connected the dots, and before he could try anything, whether to attack or talk to you, you moved in first; white magic coming alive as your temper flared.

Rio's words....

Chapter 31

[klausysworld]

This request might be too much and I don’t want to make anyone uncomfortable. So pls ignore if it does.

My idea is Klaus x human reader. Klaus and her become close and form a friendship. She’s dating someone for 4 years now and it starts to get abusive (mentally/physically or both). She finally confides and confesses to Klaus after he notices something is off. He basically helps her get out of it when one day said boyfriend follows her into the mikaleson house and tries to get reader out of there aggressively. The mikaelson’s hear the commotion and Klaus does something.

Flash forward to Klaus and reader in an established relationship, though reader is scared to be intimate as she’s still struggling from last relationship. One day Klaus and reader are getting into it and Klaus pulls her by her ankles to bring her towards him and it triggers her fight or flight (as Klaus doesn’t know last bf used to do that when hurting reader) and so instantly she hits him in self defence and then profusely apologizes. But Klaus is just understanding and holds her and tells her he loves her and if all he gets is holding her. Then he can live with that. The way it ends can be however you want.

Just been going through some things and needed to feel and I absolutely love your style of writing.

Again pls ignore if this makes you uncomfortable, that’s not my intent! Thank you!

(Triggering content, please don't read this if it might trigger you and know that both myself and so many people are there for you to talk to)

Her protector

Klaus had been concerned for a few weeks now.

Y/n was a sweet human, she was kind even to the Mikaelsons and had become close friends Rebekah after helping her choose a necklace for a party she was hosting. Rebekah proceeded to insist that Y/n come and that she would love to make some friends here in New Orleans.

If Rebekah was honest, she was surprised when Y/n actually showed up, with a vampire boyfriend no less. Either way she showed the girl around and they got talking, drinking and dancing. Y/n's boyfriend had seemed sweet, loving and on top of that he was friends with Marcel, one of his few day-walkers.

At that point everything was still okay. Mostly.

Until Klaus had come over and attempted to flirt with Y/n. Her soft cheeks had started to turn pink when a man, a vampire, slung his arm over her shoulders from behind her and gave Klaus a threatening glare. Rebekah let out a tipsy giggle and smacked Klaus's arm

"Leave her alone Nik, she's taken and my friend" she grinned but Klaus only stared back at the other guy. Y/n glanced between the two for a second and Bex rolled her eyes. "Come on Y/n, let them gaze at one another" she laughed, grabbing her hand and pulling her away.

Klaus didn't like that anybody thought they could challenge him, he didn't care if the girl was married if he wanted to flirt with her then he would. There was no harm done but the man before him was acting as though he had slaughtered his family.

However Marcel had seen the two in a silent stare down and threw his arms over both of them "My two best guys" he grinned "Lets go get a drink"

And so somehow Klaus found himself some-what drunk and laughing with this man, it was only the next morning when after he woke did he realise the way the guy spoke about his lover was a little off. He talked like he owned her, like she was a toy.

Klaus brushed it off though, it's not like he hadn't done similar things. Besides it's not like her knew her.

Until he did. And she was so lovely that it confused him.

Often Rebekah would have her over, painting each others nails, one of those time Klaus had stumbled in covered in cuts and scrapes. Rebekah offered a tut and a shake of her head but Y/n was already at his side, her hand on his arm while she asked if he was okay.

"He's fine, it's his own fault anyway. Always starting fights" she mumbled while watching her new friend help her brother sit down. She asked Rebekah to go get him some blood which she reluctantly did, handing it to Y/n and watching in interest as she lifted it to his lips. Klaus's eyes watched her with interest as his lips wrapped around the top and he began to gulp down the red substance. She checked his wounds were healing as he drained the bag of every last drop.

She had offered to help him clean up but he shook his head and told her to enjoy her day with his sister.

After that she was always nice to him, making him a drink if she was already getting one, bringing him back to eat when her and Bex had been at a cafe or something. She would tell him his hair looked nice or that she liked certain colours on him. One way or another she always made him smile.

Y/n knew that Klaus was lonely, often sad or grumpy. She had seen it and been told it so she made an effort to brighten his days. Rebekah always said it was nice seeing her brother a little happier and she was glad that them being originals didn't put Y/n off.

Their friendship grew strong and so did Klaus and Y/n's. Until one day when Y/n's boyfriend had seen her fixing Klaus's hair, using her fingers to curl the top pieces. He didn't say anything to her then but once she came home accusations were thrown at her. She was called a cheater and a slut, desperate for attention and fucking stupid if she thought either of the Mikaelsons thought of her as anything more than a toy.

She slept on the couch, crying her eyes out and cancelling her plans with Rebekah for the next day.

She tried to spend less time with her but Bex only got upset and ended up at Y/n's house instead. Y/n thought that he wouldn't get mad if it was just Bekah and no Klaus. So she and Rebekah went to hers more often than not and the few times she went back to the abattoir she would try avoid Klaus.

She was always polite of course, smiled at him and said hello but she didn't get too close if she didn't feel that she had to. Nor did she say anything about how he looked, even when he wore her favourite henley and grew his curls a little longer.

The only times she gave him some extra attention was when he was physically injured. She couldn't help herself. She couldn't let him struggle alone and in pain. So she would be there with a warm, wet cloth wiping away any blood while she held him a blood-bag to his mouth.

"Have I upset you recently sweetheart?" he asked quietly as she cleaned the stains off his neck

"No?" she whispered and he lowered her head to look up at her and catch her eyes

"Then why won't you look at me?" he questioned and she shrugged, looking into his eyes

"I am" she stated and he hummed

"You haven't been very nice to me lately, love" he told her and she nibbled her lip nervously

"I didn't mean to upset you" she murmured but he just stared at her for a moment

"I haven't seen you around much" he muttered

"I've been at home more, Bekah comes to me instead" she mumbled, and he nodded, leaving the conversation at that.

But he didn't know that when she got home her boyfriend had her by the hair, telling her that he had seen her talking with Klaus. Seen her caressing his face and going into his room. She tried to explain that he was hurt and that she was helping him but he couldn't care less.

"Bet you were fucking helping him" he seethed "Bet he gets all pent up after starting wars. Needs to get his frustration out hm?" he laughed cruelly and she shook her head

"No, no- I would never! You know I would never-" she cried but he refused to believe her.

"You were always such a whore, can't go ten fucking minutes without begging for it" he growled, dragging her to their room. She was useless at fighting back, he was a vampire and significantly bigger than her. So when she was thrown onto the bed and grabbed tightly by the ankles, she couldn't kick at him without him snapping her legs.

She hid away after that night, telling Rebekah that she was sick and didn't want to see anyone for a few days.

But once a week had passed and her boyfriend was still angry at her no matter what she did, she knew she needed to get out and see someone or she would go mad.

Rebekah and her had gone to a coffee shop, Y/n wanted to be somewhere public and without the risk of Klaus or her boyfriend showing up.

Rebekah could tell something was wrong though, Y/n was never that quiet or skittish. She was walking a little funny and did't eat much at all. And at any mention of Klaus, Y/n shut down the conversation in seconds. It made Bex think that her brother had hurt her or scared her so when they both returned home, she began to accuse Klaus, questioning and demanding.

It only made both Mikaelsons to become worried. They didn't realise how their whispering about Y/n caught her so called lovers attention and made him go back to her furious.

He always seemed to be flooded with anger recently. He hadn't ever been so horrid for so long in the past. Accusing her of cheating was something that always had happened, his jealousy had always been an issue but never this bad. Maybe it was because he knew that Klaus wouldn’t back down if he wanted her. Maybe it was because of whatever drunken conversation the two had on the first night they met.

Either way there was no excuse.

All there was, was fear and pain. And she knew that she needed to get out. The only people who could save her from a psychotic vampire was an even worse one.

So she climbed out her own bathroom window and ran, caught a cab and then climbed in through one of the Mikaelson's windows. It was late, dark but it was the best time for her to escape. What wasn't helpful was the amount of night-walkers that were downstairs. Most of which, were close with her boyfriend so she was screwed.

However, whether it was luck or fate, Rebekah and Marcel came down the stairs, arguing which made the others scatter off. It gave her the opportunity she needed.

She darted up the stairs, as quietly as she could and to Klaus's room. Trying to open the door but it was locked making her knock quietly "Klaus?" she whispered desperately "Klaus please" she begged, her eyes leaking with tears. She banged her fist agains the wood of the door making her wince from how her wrists had been held just hours before.

A tired grunt sounded from the other side before the door was ripped open, a very annoyed hybrid on the other side though his demeanour dropped when he felt a body latch onto his, arms around his mid-section and face in his chest.

He looked down, his eyes fully open now. "Y/n?" he mumbled, his hand cupping the back of her head.

"Please help" she whispered and he gently scooped her up, flicking the lamp on and putting her in his bed. She was in. sweatpants and one of her boyfriends shirts so he assumed she must've been in bed before she came. He quickly grabbed some sleep pants to cover himself up as he was in only his boxers.

He then sat beside her, letting her pull herself closer to her with a soft cry leaving her lips. He held her close in his lap and shushed her gently "What's happened?" he asked gently but she shook her head.

It was only another minute before Rebekah was at the door, she had heard the crying and recognised it as Y/n. Her face dropped and she came rushing in. She got onto the bed as well and stroked her hair "Y/n..." she breathed, holding her hand. Klaus and her exchanged a look as they listened to her try and hiccup her tears away.

"Sweetheart it's alright" he whispered, rubbing her back under the shirt before he noticed her face scrunch in pain and he frowned. "She's hurt" he mumbled and Rebekah quickly sat up straight, lifting her top slightly despite her protests to see the bite marks in her flesh.

"Christ" Bekah gasped and Klaus's expression darkened. He lifted her up to straddle his lap sp he could have a better look at her but she began to cry out hysterically at the position and he quickly lay her back down, guilt and worry consuming him when she crawled to Rebekah instead. Bex wrapped her arms around her and whispered quietly for only Y/n to hear. "Who did this?" she uttered, her fingers gently running through her soft hair. "Was it..." she trailed, but the look on Y/n's face was enough.

"I didn't know where else to go- he knows so many people" she sobbed and Rebekah nodded

"He won't touch you now" She whispered, looking to Klaus who was halfway out the door to find Marcel. "Nik's gonna take care of it all okay?"

"What's he gonna do?"

"You don't need to know that honey" she murmured softly.

They waited for a little while, Y/n stayed in Rebekah's arms and started telling her everything that had happened. By the time she was finished they were both crying and wrapped up in Klaus's duvet

"The worst part is that...I do think that I have feelings for Klaus" she whispered "he was right-"

"It wouldn't matter if you were actually sleeping with another man, under no circumstances does he have the right to lay a hand on you. You're not any of those things he called you, you're an angel" Rebekah told her, stroking her hair gently. Bekah glanced up to see Klaus stood in the doorway, eyes soft as he made his way back over.

He had heard Y/n admit to her feelings but knew that now was not the time to tell her he reciprocated them, he knew she would need time. So instead he just came back to his bed and shifted in beside her so she was between him and Rebekah.

"He ran as soon as he saw me but I promise I'll find him and I'll kill him" he whispered, gently brushing his hand over her back. "It'll be okay, just close your eyes sweetheart, I'll protect you" he promised, sharing a look with Rebekah as they all laid down and he flicked the lamp off.

After that night, Y/n slept in Klaus's bed every night. He kept her close to him during the days too, pressed to his chest with his arm around her. She was much quieter after everything, he could sense her embarrassment but he didn’t understand it. It wasn't her fault this had happened to her. He tried to talk to her about it but she wouldn't look him in the eye and he was only making her uncomfortable so he tried not to bring it up. Instead things seemed to go back to somewhat normal, they complimented each other and had their usual conversations which were mostly about random things to keep their minds off any supernatural drama.

Klaus hadn't been going out much recently which meant she didn't have to clean him up but sometimes when they lay in bed to go sleep she would trace his face.

Everything appeared to be going well for a little while before Y/n's boyfriend showed up out of the blue. It was one of those unfortunate times that Klaus was out.

He sped behind Y/n while she was in the kitchen, slapping his hand over her mouth to silence her screaming as he lifted and dragged her toward the exit. Growling in her ear and called her a filthy whore, saying she would never escape him.

What he didn't know was that one of the other vampires saw him and were under direct orders to call Klaus if he was spotted.

Klaus came rushing in, his teeth straight in the man’s neck causing him to drop Y/n to the floor and cry out in agony as the werewolf venom too quick affect.

Klaus had Y/n in his arms within a second, vamp-speeding them to his their room. Her face was held against the crook of his neck, encouraging her to breath in his scent and calm her breathing.

“He’s gone” klaus whispers “He’ll be dead by tomorrow” he told her gently “And a werewolf bite is a slow and painful death for a vampire” he reminded. “He deserves to suffer” he muttered and she nodded slowly.

“I hate him” she uttered.

“I know you do sweetheart” he mumbled as he pressed soft kisses to the side of her head.

Everything was a little better after his body was found. She felt safe in the house without the risk of him grabbing her. She was able to sit with Klaus and Rebekah without the worry of someone watching her.

But it didn’t stop the night terrors. She would wake up screaming thinking that he had come back to life and had taken her, tortured her. Instead, however, she would find Klaus. Out of breath with a healing bruise on his face from where she hand fought back in her sleep. The apologies would start tumbling amongst her sobs but he would just pull her close and kiss her better. Promising it didn’t hurt and that he understood.

Often he would go into her mind, with her permission, and give her better things to think about. Give her peace.

That helped her a lot, between Klaus’s affection and Rebekah’s constant company, she began to feel happy.

She and Bekah went shopping a lot, went out for lunch again or just sat in Bex’s room talking and giggling. They both felt as though they had gained a sister of sorts. Rebekah was so glad to have Y/n and to be able to help her, she also really hoped that Y/n and Klaus would get married so that they were sister-in-laws.

Rebekah was their biggest supporter, always telling Y/n that Klaus wouldn’t ever hurt her and that he already loved her so she didn’t have to worry about the rejection. But Y/n was still nervous, she wasn’t sure if she was ready for another relationship.

But eventually, months down the line, kisses on the head became kisses on the lips. Their hugs became cuddle sessions and instead of eating in the same room they cooked together and ate together. Klaus planned extravagant dates while Y/n arranged much simpler but just as intimate ones. Klaus would beg Y/n to let him paint her and she begrudge dress up for him and pose.

The only issue in Y/n’s mind was that she didn’t feel comfortable enough when Klaus would touch her more sexually. As soon as the gentle touches became more frustrated, more needy, she couldn’t handle it.

But over time she got a little better, heavy make-out sessions became more and more common and part of her thought that maybe sex was on the table until something triggered her.

Klaus had his hands all over her, his tongue in her mouth as she moaned softly. Her hands were curled into his soft curls as she tugged gently. His hands slid up her top and her back arched slightly. Everything was going well, her legs were round his waist and soft little pleas left her lips for him to give her more.

He pulled away slowly, his nose just brushing hers as he sat up. He smiled down at her as she followed suit and sat up with him, her legs dropping down.

“You ready sweetheart?” He whispered and she nodded, his smile widened and he took ahold of her ankles. Just as he went to pull her closer, a panicked cry left her and her foot kicked him in the chest, hard.

His hands let go of her and he held his chest in confusion before looking up and seeing the fear in her face. His expression softened and he raised his hands in surrender “Y/n, love, it’s just me” he told her gently. “It’s okay” he whispered, cautiously he shifted closer.

“I’m sorry” she whispered, her eyes brimming with tears “I’m so sorry” she repeated, pulling her knees to her chest.

Gently he brought his hands out and picked her up, pulling her onto his lap “it’s okay, it was my fault” he mumbled, kissing her lips gently

“It’s not your fault- it’s mine, I’m broken” she cried but she shook her head.

“It’s his fault” he whispered and she let out a soft sob. “He hurt you, but you’ve never been broken. You’re just still hurting”

She sniffled and nuzzled close “I just…I wish could-“

“I know…I know but we can wait. We can wait for as long as you need” he murmured softly.

“But…what if I can’t…like ever?” She whispers but still he smiled

“Then I’ll just hold you and kiss you and take you to dinner like usual. I believe I owe you a bouquet of flowers, no?” He hummed and she wiped her eyes with a sniff

“You do?”

“I do, come on, we’ll go pick a bunch” he held her close and lifted her as he stood, carrying her down the stairs listening to her little laugh as she pressed her face to his chest. She knew not many men would be as loving and understanding as he was, she knew Klaus wouldn’t hurt her nor would he ever leave her.

[caitified]

could u write a part 2 of caitlin liking kate’s girlfriend? WE NEED MORE

Please and thank you mwah

on the low

caitlin clark x reader

warnings:cheating, sorry kate again

part 1 here

the thrill of sneaking around only grew stronger as the weeks passed. every secret meeting with caitlin was electric, and you both reveled in the adrenaline of your hidden relationship. stealing kisses behind closed doors and lingering touches in crowded rooms became the norm, each encounter pushing the boundaries of what you thought you were capable of.

one night, after another heated encounter in caitlin’s car, you made the mistake of getting too careless. laughing and wrapped up in each other, you hadn’t noticed that kate had returned early from her night out with friends. as you both stumbled out of the car, still breathless from your passionate escapades, the front door swung open.

“what the hell is going on here?” kate’s voice cut through the night, icy and filled with disbelief. you froze, your heart pounding as you turned to face her. caitlin’s eyes widened, and a flicker of panic crossed her face.

“kate, i—” you stammered, but the words caught in your throat. you glanced at caitlin, who looked equally startled but composed.

“you don’t have to explain,” kate said, her tone sharp as she stepped forward. “i saw everything. you two think you can just hide this from me?”

caitlin took a step forward, her hands raised in a placating gesture. “it’s not what it looks like, kate. i didn’t mean for you to find out like this…”

“then how did you think it would happen? you’re my best friend! and you…” she turned to you, her eyes flashing with hurt. “how could you do this to me?”

you felt your heart break as you saw the betrayal written on kate’s face. “i’m so sorry,” you managed, your voice barely above a whisper. “we didn’t plan this…”

“then what was it? a casual fling?” kate shot back, her voice filled with anger and pain. “because that’s not how it looks to me.”

caitlin stepped in front of you, her expression fierce. “it’s more than that, kate. i care about them. i didn’t want to hurt you. we’ve been… it’s complicated.”

“complicated?” kate echoed, her voice rising. “this isn’t complicated, it’s a betrayal! and for what? a few stolen moments? you think that’s worth ruining our friendship over?”

“it’s not just about the moments!” caitlin pleaded, her voice rising in urgency. “it’s about what we feel. it’s real.”

“real?” kate scoffed, crossing her arms. “and what about me? what about everything we built together? was that not real?”

“it was real, and it still is,” you interjected, stepping closer to kate. “but things changed. i didn’t mean to fall for caitlin, but i did.”

“so you’re choosing her over me?” kate’s eyes were filled with tears, and it felt like a dagger to your heart. “after everything we’ve been through?”

you took a deep breath, fighting back your own emotions. “i don’t want to hurt you, kate. but caitlin and i… it’s something i can’t ignore. i’m sorry.”

“so that’s it, then?” she asked, voice shaking. “you’re just going to walk away from our friendship for this?”

“no, it doesn’t have to be that way,” caitlin said, her voice softening. “i want to talk about this, figure it out together. but i can’t keep lying about how i feel.”

the silence that followed was deafening. you could feel the weight of the moment pressing down on all of you. finally, kate shook her head, stepping back as if to distance herself from the pain. “i need time to process this. you both need to figure out what you want.”

as she turned and walked back into the house, you felt the loss in your chest, a deep ache that echoed in the silence. caitlin’s hand found yours, squeezing tightly.

“we’ll figure this out,” she said, determination shining in her eyes. “i promise you it’s worth it. i care about you—this is more than just a hookup. i want something real.”

your heart raced at her words, but the guilt of losing kate weighed heavily on your mind. “are you sure, caitlin? about us?”

“i’ve never been more sure of anything in my life,” she replied, pulling you closer. “let’s not let this be the end. let’s make it a new beginning.”

as you stood there, the weight of your choices settled in, but you knew you had to take the leap. for the first time, it felt like you were stepping into something real, something that might just change everything.

[holylulusworld]

Mr. Mustachio

Summary: He’s just the worst.

Pairing: Lloyd Hansen x Tall!Reader

Warnings: Lloyd being Lloyd, banter, we get a tall reader this time, implied bisexual Lloyd (or he’s just a tease, you can choose), mentions of stabbing, mentions of sexual harassment

Written for @yenzys-lucky-charm Cranky, Grumpy, Stabby! Oh, My! Challenge

Trope: Stabby (2x) + Psychos

Prompts:  🗡️ “Oh, I look forward to never seeing you again.” + 🗡️ “What makes you think I’m going to fuck you?” + 🗡️ A: “You’re crazy… you’re a lunatic…” B: “Sweetheart, you have no idea…”

Sit and wait. Smile. Just get it over with.

You huff and look around the crowded room full of mercenaries, spies, and God knows what else.

All of them are bearable—all of them but one.

Lloyd Hansen, the mustache-wearing asshole getting on your nerves all the damn time.

He’s not only a complete douche but also a misogynistic bastard. His eyes never stray far away from your cleavage or your legs—depending on his mood.

Short bastard.

He once dared to call you Hot Legs, believing it would make you cave in and let him touch you. Lloyd is obsessed with your size. According to his endless word vomit, he never met a woman who was taller than he.

“How about me and Hightower go on that mission together?” Lloyd suggests, earning an angry look from you and a chuckle from your boss.

“You wouldn’t survive being her partner. She’ll eat you alive,” your boss snickers, but you don’t find it funny. You’re taller than most of the people in this room. This doesn’t mean you like having everyone’s attention only because of your size.

Lloyd ignores your boss’s comment and goes straight for the goal. “I don’t know. Maybe she likes a man who can lick her cunt while standing.” He cocks a brow, waiting for your reaction, while the people in the room are shocked or interested in the conversation.

“She’s not that tall,” one of them says. “You must kneel if you want to…” He clears his throat, suddenly aware of what he is about to say. “Uh, never mind. Let’s get back to the mission and our target.”

“I have my target within sight,” Lloyd says, aiming a finger gun at you. “I’ll hunt her down sooner than later. Maybe even let her be on top. I love me a giraffe.”

“What makes you think I’m going to fuck you?” You slam your hands onto the table and glare at Hansen. “We came here to discuss the mission, not about my sexual preferences. And believe me, you are far from the kind of person I want to lick my pussy.”

Lloyd grins. He finally got a reaction. The bastard leans back in his chair and looks you up and down. “I can bring a pretty dame in if that’s more your jam. I like to watch two hot kittens play.”

“Christ, Hansen,” your boss grunts. “Did you ever hear about sexual harassment?”

“You want me to sexually harass you?” Lloyd flashes your boss a smirk. “Get in line.” He winks at your boss. “I’ll take good care of you, too.”

“Can we get back to the tasks at hand?” You snap at Lloyd. “We don’t have time to waste.”

“I know you are looking forward to going on a mission with me, my Everest,” Lloyd hums, his eyes glued to your legs. “I want to climb Mount Everest one day.”

“You’re right,” you bite back, earning a hopeful smile from Lloyd. “I look forward to never seeing you again.”

“Because I’m between your legs eating your cunt?” He chuckles darkly. “I get that you want my pretty face between your legs. The mustache is doing things to the ladies.”

You cross your legs and huff. Watching him, you consider your next words: “It disgusts every woman forced to look in your face and see the fuzzy worm on your upper lip.”

Everyone in the room chuckles but Lloyd. “Worm?” He glowers at you. “You’d be all too happy if I’d tickle your clit with my mustache.”

“If you say so.” You roll your eyes and decide to not engage in this conversation any longer. “Be aware, I like to stab people.”

Lloyd’s eyes light up. He moves a little closer, even more turned on.

“How about I invite you for dinner, and you can tell me in detail how you want to stab me?”

“You’re crazy…” You huff, frustrated. “You’re a lunatic…”

Lloyd’s features darken when he looks at you. “Sweetheart, you have no idea…” He says, not giving away, he’s going to do anything to get his hands on you and his mustache between your legs…

Tags in reblog.

[axel-ambassador]

can you write a snippet with an interaction between Hogbin Vaggie and Sev? i feel like they would talk at least once, maybe sev would come to piss her off.

Sure thing! (Warning: use of homophobic slurs)

Vaggie stood outside the potions classroom as she waited for Charlie to finish class. She lightly shivered at the thought of taking Advanced Potions. She wasn't very good to begin with, not to mention Alastor was her least favorite teacher.

No, scratch that, Adam had been absolutely awful lately. At least Alastor had the decency to not outwardly mock her in front of all of her peers for her new disability.

She watched as a couple students passed by as she leaned against the wall. She checked her watch, noting that it was nearly time for dinner. As she glanced back up, she caught the glimpse of the one student she frankly despised most out of their grade, maybe the entire school.

Seviathan von Eldritch.

She looked away, her scarred side facing the wall, hoping he wouldn't recognize her. Just don't make eye contact. He slowly walked with his hands in his pockets, Prefect badge glimmering.

His green gaze briefly flickered to her, before looking away. He slowed down, probably debating whether to ask why she was loitering in the halls. Don't look. Her eye flickered and met his.

His eyes flashed in recognition.

Goddamn it.

"Well, well," he smiled. Vaggie fought the urge to slap him. "If it isn't Charlie's little friend."

Vaggie fully turned to face him and crossed her arms. "Girlfriend, actually. I'm sure you've heard."

Sev's brows furrowed, but his grin didn't fade. It tightened. "Tch. Congrats, I guess. You've got quite the catch on your hands."

Coming from someone like Angel, she could understand it as a compliment. But coming from a scummy, sniveling piece of shit like Sev, she couldn't help but scowl. "You stay away from her."

Sev raised his hands in mock defense. "Hey, I'm just saying..." His grin widened into a nasty smirk. His eyes gleamed with supposed mischief. "She's probably too much for a little dyke like you."

"Excuse me?" She fought to keep her voice low.

"You heard me. She doesn't belong with you. She wouldn't stop whining and bitching about you the entire time we dated. It was so fucking annoying." He leaned down, towering over her due to his height. "And yet, you're the one she runs to when I'm finally tired of her shit. A stuck up, bitchy little Slytherin fag that can't even see straight. A fucking joke." He growled.

Vaggie knew it was bait. She knew she shouldn't be giving him the time of day. Sev was a dick that didn't deserve any more attention than he already got. She took a deep breath and pushed down the burning rage in her chest. "I don't give a shit about anything you have to say. Charlie and I both know that you're just not worth it. History. A relic of the past."

She turned and began walking away. She could meet up with Charlie later. All she could do lately was just disengage from any haters. Engagement only fed their stupid egos.

Don't look back. Don't give him the time.

"She's a stupid bitch for choosing someone like you."

Now, she couldn't let that slide.

She shot a hex at the wall, inches from his head, causing a bit of it to explode and begin to steam. She stomped forward towards his waiting smirk; he clearly found it amusing. She raised her wand again, inches from his neck.

"Now you listen to me, pendejo." She spat. "You can insult me, hex me, and call me every slur under the sun, but if you ever insult Charlie to my face again," her grip tightened as a dark spell rested on her tongue. She could put him through a mere fraction of the pain she'd experienced the past few months. He'd deserve it, too, the dick. The hole steamed with a scent of charcoal. "Then the next one won't miss."

Sev briefly glanced at the hole she made, ignoring the small bead of sweat forming on his forehead. His smirk didn't fade as he brought a hand up to flash his badge again. "Good luck with that." He turned and walked away, stupid smirk never leaving his face. "Nice talking to you, Vagatha."

Vaggie scowled as she watched him go. He never failed to piss her off, especially when he and Charlie dated. The utter jealousy that would burn in her core and the hurt she would feel knowing she picked him of all people, sometimes still stung.

She sighed. It was in the past. It wasn't Charlie's fault. She tried to believe Charlie when she said it wasn't her fault either. They were together now and that's all that mattered.

"Hey, Vaggie!"

Speaking of which...

Vaggie turned. All the tension melted as she saw Charlie, carrying her bag heading out of class. "Hey, babe."

Charlie wrapped her in a hug, before catching a whiff of the steaming hole in the wall. "Oh, jeez, what happened there?"

Vaggie subtly stuck her wand in her pocket. "I'll tell you later." She tried her best to brush it off. She didn't need to talk about her run in with Sev right now. They could talk later, when they had full stomachs and a comfy spot to sit in. "Let's go eat."

Charlie raised a brow as she and Vaggie linked arms. She glanced at the wall, and back at Vaggie, before shrugging with a smile, happy to be spending the rest of the afternoon with her lovely girlfriend.

[araived]

Do you know what this is? Do I know what this is?? The answer is no, but here goes anyways. CONTINUING ON WITH MY TEAM SWAP AU!!

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

“Damnit!” Chuuya’s breath comes out in a stuttering hiss. “Fuck! This never should have happened, you hear me?”

Rin peers at him, her eyes slightly glossy. “I know,” she murmurs. “Haibara-kun was a good person… He didn’t deserve to die like that.”

“He didn’t deserve it,” Chuuya repeats, hands slamming down onto the marble table. The ashes and bones jump slightly with the force, spilling over the sides. Rin simply sighs and brushes them back in.

“This won’t happen again. I won’t fucking let it.”

The chopsticks drop to the floor with a clatter as he storms out of the room.

“Chuuya…” Rin calls after him, but he’s already gone.

“Leave it, Nohara-san,” Nanami says curtly. “Nakahara will have to come to accept it. This profession is one destined for death. It hardly matters whether we deserve it or not.”

His words might indicate that he’s come to terms with things, but his tone is tight, and fingers white from their rigid hold around the chopsticks.

Rin gives him a wobbly smile. She brushes a stray tear from her cheek. “That doesn’t mean we can’t be sad though, Nanami-kun. Or at least want to try and make things better.”

There’s a quiet scoff from the corner. Both Nanami and Rin choose to ignore it.

Nanami presses his lips together, eyes dark as he looks over Haibara’s scattered bones. His eyes dart away, back to his watch.

Rin picks up on the action. “You have your interview, don’t you?” She says knowingly. “You should go. We can finish up here.”

“...I attempted to get it rescheduled, but it didn’t work. Dealing with their management was shit.”

“It’s alright,” she says. “I understand. Good luck with your interview!”

He turns away. “Luck has nothing to do with it. Either my qualifications will impress them enough or they won’t.”

“Still,” Rin says. “I believe in you, Nanami-kun!”

“...Thank you.” Still disgruntled, but beneath all that, he might even sound the tiniest bit pleased.

Nanami leaves then, wooden door swinging closed in his wake. The room is cast into darkness once more, with only the light of the candles and the pungent scent of incense filling the air.

And then there were two.

Rin turns back to picking through the bones, hands as steady and meticulous as ever as she drops them with a quiet plink, plink into the urn. Time goes by as she works her way up, the clack of the chopsticks and the sound of restless shifting fabric accompanying her.

“You’re being quiet,” she eventually says.

A shrug. “People are normally quiet at funerals, no?”

“You’ve never been normal.”

And that’s what startles him out of the somber expression he’d been wearing all day. Satoru’s teeth flash as he finally steps forward, joining her at the table. “Oof. Straight to the heart, huh, Rin-chan?”

Her attention stays focused on the task at hand. “I’m not sure why you’re pretending to be offended. Isn’t that something you’re proud of?”

“What, not being normal?”

She shrugs, a graceful sloping of the shoulders.

“Just ‘cause I’m the strongest doesn’t mean you can say things like that,” he whines.

“Ah. I didn’t mean to offend you.” Rin ducks her head slightly. 

More time goes by. Plink, plink, go the bones.

Satoru can’t stand the silence for long. “I don’t know why you’d think I’m proud of not being normal. What’s that even supposed to mean?”

“I guess I don’t really know,” Rin says. She gives him an apologetic smile. “Sorry.”

Satoru doesn’t let it go. “Well, you’re the one who said it. So?”

Rin sighs, chopsticks hovering over the ashes. “I suppose… you’re the strongest, as you said. And you take pride in it. People see you as a god, right? None of that’s exactly… normal.” She gives a faint laugh, as if to soften it.

He scoffs. “Pshaw, you think I care about any of that? Please.”

“I know, I know. I didn’t mean anything by it–”

“Like you’re the picture of normal. Just an average girl, right? Nothing to see here.”

He sounds almost… accusatory. Rin’s expression falters.

“...Sorry?”

“Nothing,” Satoru says. “Didn’t mean anything by it.”

Rin frowns at him.

“What? Can’t help it that you can’t be me.” His tone is singsongy and nagging, but his eyes are hard behind his dark sunglasses.

“You don’t need to lie to me,” she says softly, gentle concern spread carefully across her features.

He laughs aloud at that. “Oh, Rin, Rin. You’re hilarious, you really are.”

Her expression freezes. Stutters.

Satoru leans in. “Aw, you gonna cry?”

Another half stutter. Eyes widen. Narrow. Lips pull, then press together. She finally pulls away, hair falling delicately over her face. “I don’t know what you mean. I’m really sorry for offending you. I hope you can forgive me–”

“You’re good at that,” he comments idly.

She pauses again. “...at what?”

“Lying.”

“I don’t know what you mean,” she says again, but this time, it isn’t careful, or delicate. There’s a hollow tone to her voice that sounds altogether strange.

Satoru’s lips pull back, leaving white grinning teeth. “You’re good, but you can’t hide from me, you know.” He taps pointedly on the frame of his sunglasses.

Rin’s face does truly change then. It’s impossible to say how, exactly. It might be something about the eyes. Warm brown morphing into something flinty and haunted. Her lips part–

Satoru throws his arm around her shoulders, jostling her. “But who am I to comment on something like that, am I right? If my good friend can’t help but cry herself to sleep, I guess I have to offer some support.”

Rin steps away.

“Wow, rejected. Rin-chan, how can you be so cute and so cold all at once–”

“What would you say if I told you I loved you?” She asks abruptly.

Satoru’s eyes widen for a second, before his grin comes back. “Are you confessing to me? I guess I’d say, took you long enough. I am Gojo Satoru, after all.” He sweeps a hand through his hair. 

“Alright. I hate you.” Her lips are pressed back into a perfectly earnest smile.

Satoru lets out an incredulous laugh. “You sure you doin’ okay up there? That’s not quite the same thing, you know.”

“We should date,” Rin continues.

Satoru’s eyebrows shoot to his hairline. “Wait, what?”

“I… admire you,” she says. She clasps her hands together. Her feet shift, as if shy. “I suppose I’m confessing now.”

“Liar,” Satoru murmurs under his breath, but he sounds amused rather than caught off guard. He clears his throat. “You know what? Sure! Let’s date!”

Rin’s the one who’s caught off guard now. Her mask falters for what might be the third time this night. “...Sure?”

“Yeah.” Satoru’s eyes narrow. “You offered, right? Why, you gonna take it back?”

“No, I just…” A delicate pause. “I never thought you’d feel the same way.”

Satoru eyes glint with the shine of infinity. “Oh, Rin-chan. I think I feel exactly the same way.”

When they finally leave, Satoru is grinning, while Rin smiles that cheerful smile of hers. They exit the funeral parlour hand-in-hand.

I want to say that I didn't intend for this to happen, it just did. Sorry everyone. Target audience of zero, but at least I'm enjoying myself lol

[oonajaeadira]

I'll Leave a Light On For You

Fandom: Bloodsucking Bastards / Max Phillips

Pairing: Max Phillips x f!reader

Reader: Adult female. No other physical descriptors; no use of y/n. (There is a little description, but it’s still you. Believe me, it will make sense. We’re dealing with the supernatural here.)

Rating: T. 

Warnings: Angst. Character death. Allusions to the atrocities of war and its lasting effects. Max is a vampire. Traumatic soul memory. Me assuming I know anything about French culture of the 1930s.

Summary: Max has reservations when it comes to love, and for very good reasons.

A/N: This is my entry for the @pedrostories Secret Santa event. While I played one selfish card in my hand and wrote something of a companion to Light Only Shows You Where the Shadows Are, this can still be read as a standalone.

To my giftee, the amazing and wonderful @artemiseamoon : First of all, I admire you so much and I was really nervous to write for you. But I looked among your generous prompt choices (omgs thank you for so many good choices) and was surprised to find Max as an option. I wasn’t going to choose him at first but then my eye caught “past lives” and something in me zinged. Soul mates, angsty romance, second chance at love… and I’ve been itching to write an angsty Max. I know you are a fan of soft and whump, so all those elements had a party in my heart and here we are. I really hope you’re having a nice holiday and a good time off. Happy Secret Santa, Arte. <3

What we’ve been told is that when you die, your life flashes before your eyes.

That’s almost correct.

The truth is…it’s not just your current life.

It’s all of them.

Max hardly remembers the fear, the pain, the cold of his draining. Even though he knew what was coming, bought into the cult, the human instinct of fight or flight is hard to dismiss no matter how well they’ve been prepped and it was to be expected. But it was a flash in the pan and once he came around to the undead side of things, those pesky human responses were all quickly forgotten.

For a time. Until he saw your light and–

Anyway. Human instincts. Pffft. Adorable. Trading the constant possibility of fear for that of glee, of rapture, of delight? Human instincts are trash. Not to mention their senses, poor suckers. The things they can’t see can’t hear can’t smell can’t taste? Tragic.

If only the feelings weren’t heightened too. It makes some things–some people–hard to ignore–

Feelings were something he could also have done without in his human life–the latest one anyway–and did whatever he could do to avoid.

It wasn’t until he died that he understood why.

As the life drained out of him and the delirium set in, there was a rushing sound, a pull through his soul like the drag of blood from his body, and he was laying, feeble, wailing, bloody and naked among the limbs of his mother.

But not the mother he so recently remembered, the one that showed her approval only when he provided her with some accomplishment worthy of crowing about to her society friends. No, this one was gentle, kind, held him and sang to him, lived her life for him until she died of fever when he was only five years old.

Max saw it all, from within himself and without, remembered the pull of his heart and watched the tears fall down his little face as they nailed his mother’s body in a pine box and put it in a hole at the top of a hill under a tree.

He always imagined he heard her singing to him in the grasses after that.

The world welcomed a new century, and not long afterward, he was a young man, looking to take over his father’s wine fields. But the chance was stolen when an archduke was shot. Max–Pierre, as he was called then–and all of the close friends and cousins he had were thrust into a great war. 

He was the only one to walk out of the fray. And when he came home, he found his father’s fields had been burned and that nothing remained.

That was a dark time. Ten years of looking back rather than looking forward. Ten years–it went by so fast–while he watched the world around him try to repair itself and find its footing again, not realizing that the roots of evil still grew beneath the soil.

He kept his head down and his hands working wherever he could.

But then he met a woman.

And she was Pierre’s life. Max’s life. Before he was Max.

It happened in the winter, just before Noël. And her name was Yaëlle.

Max remembered that before she even told him as he watched the story of this strange old life.

Yaëlle. It means “beautiful one.”

“It also means ‘goat,’” she’d said. “That seems more fitting.” She never thought of herself pretty, and perhaps she wasn’t fashionable and maybe she was stronger than she was dainty, with a weak chin and curly dark hair she couldn’t control. But the light in her eyes when she laughed–and what a laugh, like a little bird–the sway of her hips and the confidence in her carriage, her air of easy care and comfort caught his heart like a surly bear in the prettiest trap.

She’d simply been passing through the marché de Noēl, looking but not stopping, taking the kerchief off her head so the snow could land in her curls, when a child approached her selling buns in the shape of a cross and she gave the child a franc before sitting down at the statue of some cardinal or other in the center of the square.

She could have sat on any of the other benches, but she chose to plonk down next to Max. Next to Pierre.

“You want this?” she asked, offering the bun. “Not really my thing.”

How could she have known he was hungry? That he was lonely? That he was facing the market rather than the river because he was trying not to succumb to his inclinations, a pull to walk out onto the thin ice and let himself be taken by the stream?

He was instantly entranced by her. He felt himself smiling. Something shifted within. A destiny.

“You sure?” he asked.

She peered at him, scrutinized his whole self like she could see a glow around him and was looking for its source.

She found it in his eyes.

“Absolutely. I already ate three hand pies today. The last thing I need is more bread.”

He laughed for the first time in a long while. They talked. He ate.

On Christmas Eve when everyone was at the evening’s mass, she was there again, sitting alone, and this time it was he who had hot food and came to join her on the bench while the night was silent and cold and the stars were twinkling.

It was then that he learned why she was not in church–her folk did not observe Noēl. And she learned why he was not in church–he had lost his faith, that everyone he had ever loved was taken and there were not enough candles in the sanctuary to light for all of them.

“What if I lit one?” she’d asked.

“Who would you light it for?”

“For you. So you don’t have to sit in the dark.” When he was only silent, she said, “You fought in the Great War, didn’t you.” And when he looked away–when he shut her out–she continued. “My husband fought in that war. And he never could find his heart again. He said he loved me, but I don’t think he ever really did, not all the way. But I loved him all the way and when he put an end to his own life I thought I would have to do it too. Instead, I sat in the dark for a long time. It’s something I can see in a person. I can see you’re sitting in the dark.”

They stayed quiet for a time on the bench under the statue of the cardinal and when the church bells started to toll–signaling the magic of the empty square would soon be disrupted by the mass emptying into its streets–she stood and pulled her coat around her.

“My home is down that street, a little one with a red roof. It’s warm and I’ve plenty of hand pies--I made too many. I’ll leave a candle in the window until I’m asleep. You’re always welcome there, Max.”

And then she smiled and turned down the avenue where she’d pointed.

He blinked. Just before she reached the edge of the square he called out, “My name isn’t Max. It’s Pierre.”

She turned and gave a sly wink. “Good to know. I think once you get a belly full of my pies, you’ll let me call you whatever I want.”

He only sat long enough to watch the churchgoers file out of the holy service, many of them with people they loved, humming, happy, cheeks glowing in that way when one steps into a fresh cold world after being an hour or two soaking in the warmth. And once the square was empty again, he stood, gave only a fleeting look to the river, and then walked resolutely down Yaëlle’s street.

A little house with a red roof and a candle in the window.

He stayed for supper and came back many nights after.

And then one night he never left.

Max recalled the rest of that life with a lurking despair. While he couldn’t quite remember how it went, something in him carried it through to the life he’d just left…and he couldn’t pinpoint exactly what it was yet.

A few years of joy, of the greatest love he’d felt since his childhood. Like the mother he’d lost, another woman who was gentle, kind, held him and sang to him, lived her life for him until she couldn’t anymore.

They never celebrated Noël as the others did, but in their own way. For a handful of years they would go sit on the bench in the square and hand out pies to their neighbors and anyone who came to join them where they sat. They would listen to the singing in the church and watch the stars scintillate overhead. They would leave their shoes by the fireplace and wake up to find gifts they’d bought for each other with the little francs that they had. And they would never talk about what they would do in the future, because they knew it would be this and that’s all they aspired to and it would be a happy life.

And Max watched Pierre forget about the rot that still ran its roots through the soil.

And one day soldiers came to town when he was out in the fields and they took Yaëlle and some of the other dark-haired, joyful, bird-laughing folk about town and murdered them. By the time he returned for the evening, the soldiers had gone and left him nothing but a ravaged house and a body to bury.

There’s nothing he could have done, the mourning neighbors told him, the tide was rising. If he had fought them, they would have shot him too.

Pierre said that it would have been better that way.

Pierre stopped working in the fields when he started to hear his mother’s voice singing among the grasses again…now joined by Yaëlle’s sweet alto.

He had one more Noël in that life. He drank as much as he could take without falling over and stumbled out to sit on the bench in the square, weeping once the churchgoers had gone. He didn’t say a word, but Max remembered what Pierre was thinking then.

Love hurts too much. It is always taken. It’s not worth the trouble.

And then Pierre fell asleep on that bench and never woke up again.

There wasn’t much time between that first life and this one, maybe a few decades in the dark. Just long enough for a voice to reach him in the void–a voice he knew well and loved with his whole heart for only a short time–to say,

“That was a good first try, Max. Let’s give it another go, okay? Another place, another time, when it’s not so hard. I’ll leave a light on for you.”

____

Max’s life had been shorter this time. But he’d learned a thing or two and kept love at arm’s length. Sex was good and companionship was fine, but he wouldn’t invest in anything that could drain him in an instant and leave him destitute. 

Now power, that could fill the void. 

So when fortune smiled and he was given the choice, he swallowed hard and put his neck to the teeth, traded in his humanity for power that nobody could take away from him…and a heart that had no need for warmth.

He was wrong about that last point though.

And he didn’t even know it until he saw something that humans couldn’t see.

Heard something they couldn’t hear, a long ago and far away voice singing.

Smelled you on the wind.

Followed it to you–a woman, just another human woman–walking out of a bar along some street in the city.

And he saw a light glowing from within you.

You wore another face, another body, but all he saw was you.

Yaëlle.

Beautiful one.

He followed you that night, and several nights after. He was the reason that car swerved before it hit you, the reason you weren’t approached by that seedy guy at the club. He was the reason you kept looking behind you now and then and when you finally saw him–having dinner at the same restaurant, totally by coincidence, you on a friendly outing, him trying to charm a client into a contract–it broke his heart that you did not know him instantly.

He found he was surprised that he still had a heart to break. He’d been so fucking careful.

Max almost gave into the anger, the disappointment. Replayed the pathetic way Pierre let himself be brought down and tried to remind himself not to let himself be broken again.

But then he heard your voice in a way only those who walk in death can.

Let’s give it another go. I’ll leave a light on for you.

____

Heightened feeling is the one drawback of all this power. It’s one thing to latch onto a target, to fixate on some middle manager or accountant or IT specialist until there’s a good time to finally strike. That is an itch that can be satisfied with a well-timed, fear-seasoned, adrenaline-soaked kill.

But love sinks its fangs in and doesn’t let go. It sucks at something that can’t be drained, has no end, can never get enough. It can drive an immortal--a never-ending being of heightened existence--to madness.

There will come a day in the future when you’ll trust him for no good reason, when you’ll understand the monster he is and whisper under your breath against your better judgment, when you’ll invite him in. For dinner.

And he’ll come around again and again.

And then one day, he’ll stay.

And you’ll yawn ask him on the edge of sleep, “Why me? Of all these humans that you could easily enthrall and have without question, why choose this?”

Max will look at you in the darkness and see nothing but your light.

You won’t understand when he puts on a show of an irritated sigh and tells you, “You gave me another chance, sweetmeats,” but you’ll doze in his cold arms, absolutely confident as he is that nothing will ever hurt you again. Including himself.

And that night he’ll stay until you wake.

He won’t have you sit in the darkness alone.

_____

MASTERLIST

CHARACTER MASTERLIST

[justauthoring]

a/n: spoilers for jjk season two!! please be aware before reading :))

also! tw. death

—

“what about you?”

“huh?”

you let out a snort, reaching forward to lightly flicker yuuji in the head. he jerks back as soon as you do, hands falling protectively in front of his face as he pouts back at you.

you just grin.

“what are your plans for the future?”

yuuji, who clearly hadn’t been listening seconds earlier to you and nobara’s conversation (megumi was there too, but he was selectively choosing to ignore you three), blinks. his eyes drift from megumi, to nobara, and then back to you as the question processes in his mind.

“well,” he starts slowly, “i imagine ill be executed.”

it’s obvious none of you expect him to say that. even megumi’s glanced up from his phone to turn to yuuji, shocked eyes staring back at him as you frown.

“idiot,” nobara calls out, voice stammering slightly, “don’t go saying things like that!”

“it’s true though, isn’t it?” yuuji asks, head tilting in confusion. “gojo-sensei was only able to delay it because i can control sukuna and they figure i can get all the fingers before the execution.”

“itadori,” megumi calls, voice sharp. “that’s not gonna happen.”

yuuji just shrugs, “i—”

“i won’t let it,” you cut in, speaking up for the first time since yuuji had answered your question. yuuji turns to you in confusion, slightly shocked by the pure determination in your tone of voice as you stare back at him, eyes set. “because you wanna know what my future is?”

“what?”

“being with you.”

there’s a moment of shell-shocked silence, the confession not what anyone was expecting before nobara gags next to you, yelling at you to quit being so ‘in love’ and megumi is even shaking his head. but you ignore the both of them, eyes set on yuuji as he stares back at you, eyes wide and cheeks warming.

then, you smile — it’s light and bright and it makes your eyes twinkle, crinkling at the edges as you tilt your head; “i promise, okay?”

and yuuji thinks that he’d love nothing more to spend what little future he might have with you.

—

“no. no, no, no!”

you can hear him but can’t make out what he’s saying. oddly, nothing really hurts — it just feels numb. there’s the ghost of the feeling of your legs beneath you but you know there’s nothing there.

nothing below the waist.

you can’t move. there’s the itch to move your hands but you can’t, and honestly you don’t know if that’s because you’re dying or because you’d lost your arms too. you remember standing there, trying to make your way towards yuuji and then there was a bright flash and…

nothing.

what had happened? you still weren’t sure.

“y/n!”

blinking, you realize you’re staring up. the night sky is above you, the stars twinkling despite all that’s happened that night.

it was halloween wasn’t it?

yeah… it was.

and you were sent on a mission, with your classmates and teachers and a few other jujutsu sorcerers.

and… gojo-sensei was sealed.

where was megumi? nobara? were they… okay?

and yuuji? was… he okay?

“please, y/n!”

there’s hands on you suddenly — had they been there the entire time? and someone was crying. someone’s next to you and they’re crying and oh god—they sound upset.

what’s… are they okay?

you manage to make your head tilt, pulling your gaze away from the twinkling lights and you blink, once, twice and oh… it’s yuuji.

he’s the one crying.

is he hurt? is he—

“please, y/n, don’t die on me. ill… ill find ieri-sensei and—”

he stops, peering through blurred vision and tears at the sight of you looking back at him.

oh, you think, that’s right. you’re dying.

yuuji reaches out for you, his hand shaking violently, and you distantly notice the blood caked at the end of his fingers, nails pulled back.

what happened?

“this is all my fault,” he cries, “please!”

what was his fault?

you want to say something, anything—but the words won’t leave your lips. why? why can’t you say anything?

the corner of your vision darkens and once again, you realize—you’re dying.

“yu-yuuji…”

he suddenly stills, turning quiet as he leans down, pulling you close. you realize then he’s holding you—had be the entire time?—and even in his distress, he’s brushing back your hair, trying to soothe you.

“i’m sorry,” you force out, voice choked and words sloppy. “i… don’t think—think ill be able to keep my pro-promise…”

he shakes his head and his grip tightens on you, but you barely feel it.

his lips are parting and you realize he’s saying something but you really can’t hear him this time. everything’s gone quiet, scarily so, and your body feels lighter and lighter by the second.

you think—this is it…

you keep your eyes trained on yuuji, and you don’t even realize it but you’re smiling because at least—at least, you’re with yuuji until the end.

you just wish you weren’t leaving him.

[deceptive-daydreams]

Ch. 1 | Ch. 2 | Ch. 3 | Ch. 4 | Ch. 5 | Ch. 6 | Ch. 7 | Ch. 8 | Ch. 9 | Ch. 10 | Ch. 11 | Ch. 12 | Ch. 13 | Ch. 14 |

Smoke Signals

Chapter Eight - Sweet as Apple Pie

W/C: 6.9K

Eddie x Fem reader - Grumpy!Bartender!Eddie x Shy!Reader

Honesty ensues well into the quiet hours of Halloween.

A/N: this chapter is so full of dialogue....do y'all prefer a lot of dialogue throughout chapters or more scenery descriptions? Or a good amount of both?

Masterlist

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The living room was only illuminated by the flashing, gory scenes from the TV playing A Nightmare on Elm Street.  It wasn’t your first choice and you had made that clear as you talked your way through the intense parts, keeping your focus on the popcorn bowl in your lap as you scavenged for a melty M&M.  You preferred something more lighthearted but your unintentional guest insisted that with it being Halloween and all, it was ‘like the law’ to watch a horror movie.  Perhaps you were somewhat okay with it, at least you didn’t have to pretend to have fun at a party and you were in fact cozied up on the couch watching a movie while eating your Halloween candy like you’d longed for in the first place.  The only difference was the blood and violence playing out on the screen that you hadn’t planned to endure.

“You’re not even paying attention.”  Eddie tosses a pillow your way, sending popcorn and M&Ms tumbling all over your lap.  

“Eddie!”  You scold.

When you glare at him, you’re met with an expression that can only be recognized as the kind someone exhibits when doing all they can to contain their laughter.  Crinkled eyes and pursed lips ready to explode in a fit of boyish giggles.  He wasn’t drunk anymore, no longer able to escape your incessant teasing should you choose to hold it over him.

A handful of popcorn mixed with candy is flung at him, a piece successfully clinging to his hair and several M&Ms rolling down his chest into the crevices of the couch that would never see the light of day again.  There’s no ignoring the adorable pout on your lips and the way you’d become such a stubborn thing from the smallest inconvenience.  

“Haven’t I been through enough tonight?”  He frowns, dramatically picking the snack out of his hair to toss it toward you, landing somewhere on the rug below for you to some day clog your vacuum with.

Ignoring his question, the bowl is abandoned on the coffee table, movie long forgotten about as you bring your legs up to your chest and shift your eyes directly to him.  Beneath his remaining eyeliner, you can make out the exhaustion forming under his eyes, bags growing more intense with every waking hour, his chapped lips parted ever so slightly as the light from the TV flashes over his features. 

You begin to feel selfish for changing into your fluffy pajamas earlier, your pants a checkered orange and black pattern while you opted to wear a well loved gray t-shirt with faded letters that could barely be made out anymore.  Eddie remained in his black jeans and tattered cut off, his jacket that previously adorned your shoulders hung snugly on the hook near the door.  

There was no way you had anything that would accommodate his long legs although you could probably get by with offering him one of your larger shirts.  You wonder if his skin is covered in goosebumps or if he tends to run hot and remain unbothered by the chilliness of your home.  Embarrassingly so, you hadn’t learned how to use the fireplace yet.  Blankets were a necessity and you found yourself cuddling up with nearly five at a time as the weather grew more frigid.

“I meant to ask, what is your costume?  Yourself?”  You question.  An attempt to ease into offering him something warmer to wear as well as genuine curiosity.

“No?”  He leans forward laughing, his attention bouncing between you and the movie.  “Ozzy.  Ozzy Osbourn.”  He states proudly.

His tattoos draw you in as he brings his arms up to cross over his chest, his posture uncharacteristically comfortable on the opposite end of your couch.  You were sure he was almost sober so it must have been sleep deprivation allowing him such luxury.  A laugh bubbles in the back of your throat as you process his costume, something so convenient as it was practically his actual wardrobe, only a tad more revealing than what you were used to him wearing.

“What, so you just smudge some eyeliner on and you're Ozzy?”  You giggle.

“Oh.”  He scoffs.  “And you put your hair in pigtails and you’re Dorothy?”

“Um, no?”  You cock a brow.  “A lot of work went into my costume.  It just looks like you shredded up your poor shirt and smudged black all over your eyes.” 

A giggle vibrates through his body, an actual giggle, almost a squeal as he buries his head in his hands.  Another postcard for the space in your brain that was becoming larger with each interaction.

“Also, aren’t you cold?  I’m fucking freezing and I’m covered in layers–”

Eddie continues to laugh, the image of a slap happy boy becoming clearer and clearer.  His heavy hand makes contact with his thigh, deep chuckles following as you study the crows feet forming at the corner of his eye.  Extra prominent tonight.

“I am–I’m fucking cold.”  He throws his head back.

It’s contagious, the energy lingering in the air as you join in.  You’re unaware of what’s so funny; it seems the mundane act of being alive is hilarious.

Tears threaten to spill, the kind that don’t come around very often; the kind that hold pools of joy, seas of dopamine longing to spill down your cheeks.  A salty mess that would paint the prettiest memory, glossy eyelids and parted lashes more immaculate than any piece of art Eddie could imagine.  Before you can allow him to indulge in such a sight, fat tears of euphoria are sucked back in, any excess wiped on the pads of your fingers.  

“Do you…want a shirt?  I-I dunno if I have any that’ll fit comfortably but…if you’re cold?  Or I might have a sweatshirt!”  You hop up, recovering from your fit of laughter in your moment of realization.

You don’t give him time to answer, immediately retreating to your room.  His heart feels as if it's gnawing through his chest at the way you worry about him; the fact that you would even be concerned for his well being is still something he would never get used to.  Not many people have offered him that courtesy throughout his life, always equating his family name to something undeserving of any friendly gesture.

When you return, an oversized navy blue sweatshirt in hand with a grin on your face, he swears his heart convulses on the spot.  And when your fingers brush against his as you offer it to him, his lungs are rendered breathless, the desire to linger a little longer pulling him in like gravity.  Your soft skin against his rough fingertips is enough to mess with his brain chemistry, reducing him to a useless man at your mercy, though he’d never admit it.  Not because he didn’t want to but because he was him, and why would someone as delicate and kind hearted as you ever settle for someone as damaged and twisted as him?

Someone so dainty, so lovely, would never in a million years look at him and find him desirable.

When he thanks you, it comes out as an ungrateful mumble, his eyes suddenly glued to his lap in insecurity.  That look on his face that you’d come to recognize, a look of absence.  His mind fed on him and sucked him dry of emotion, eyes blank and devoid of the life that just seconds ago they were so full of.

“You okay?”  You ask, a gentle approach, voice velvety soft with hints of concern.

He doesn’t give you a verbal answer, only nodding while his gaze stays on his lap, the sweatshirt held weakly between his ringed fingers.  His silence is reason enough to believe that it was a lie.  You just couldn’t put your finger on what exactly had happened in the time you’d left the room to you handing him an article of clothing.

“Do you want…to go to sleep?”

The question pierces his doughy brain, stuffed with self depreciation and alienation, only a smidge of room available to process your words.  But even as the words puncture his thoughts, the self hatred won’t deflate fast enough.  So he stares.  He stares at you, those big chocolatey eyes dipped in sadness and self loathing, the ambience now melancholy.  An ache seeps into your chest, traveling up your throat and stinging your eyes at the sight of such a sorrowful man who had just moments ago blessed your ears with his deep laughter and looked at you with such glee.  Suddenly he was gone and once again, he was chasing his inner monologue, you could tell by the way he stared off into the distance, how he had removed himself from the room momentarily.

“Hey, what’s going on?”  You crouch in front of him, the blue light from the TV the only thing allowing you to map out his features.

“Nothing.”  He whispers, snapping out of his trance.

His irises warm up, only slightly, but you can still make out the muted glaze cast over them leftover from his moment of despair.  He isn’t out of the woods yet.

“I-I’m fine.  Sorry, was just…thinking.”  He mutters, slipping the sweatshirt over his head, the material fitting comfortably over his torso, hair now frizzier than before.

“What are you thinking about?”  

You almost lose him again, thoughts swallowing him and nearly drowning him right before you.  But the touch of your hand over his pulls him out, a token of your kindness.  A wordless reassurance that reels him back in.  

“Everything.”  He sniffles, head shaking as if to ward off the waterworks.

Eddie doesn’t let any tears fall, withholds them.  Forces them back into his tear duct, regretting the vulnerability he was further pushing onto you.

“Like what?”  You gently push, thumb stroking over the back of his hard working hand.

Moments follow your question, contemplation behind his gaze while he hesitates.  The world seemed to never be patient enough for him.  So you would.  

For him, you would.

As the gap of silence grows larger, you only give him more encouragement in the form of your thumb continuing to stroke his knuckles, your stare soft on his profile.  There was no rush, not when he’d just hours ago welcomed you into his tortured past.  Not when his nose crinkled as his eyes grew wet again, lashes coated and lip bitten between his teeth anxiously.

“Um–”  He chokes out, not a single tear allowed past his waterline.

You offer a squeeze of your hand, sympathy pouring from your touch into him.  He only tenses up at the sentiment, its effect foreign to him.

“I should go.”  Dragging his hands down his face, he’s puzzled when you stop him from standing.

“Eddie.”  You maintain eye contact with him, even as his eyes dart around the room, you attempt to keep him focused on you.  “I don’t know what’s bugging you but…it can’t be anything crazier than what you’ve told me tonight.”  

Uncertainty pools in his dark irises, honey hues nearly gone in the almost-dark room.  The TV lighting only offers you the tiniest crumb of espresso and swirling caramel that usually brought him to life.  Though, you aren’t entirely sure they’d even be there had you turned the lights on, his grim demeanor clearly yanking away any happiness he had experienced moments prior.

“I-I–why…why are you trying to help me?”  He struggles to get the question out, appearing to be engaged in an internal battle, almost as if he was blindly attempting to make his way back to you, his mind holding him hostage.

You can’t hide the surprise taking over your face, the utter horror at the fact that he would ask such a thing.  Maybe he regretted sharing everything now that he was allegedly sober again?  But that didn’t change your feelings on the topic, you cared.  Whether he word-vomited due to his scattered brain thriving off the alcohol or whether he was stone sober, his feelings mattered to you and you wanted him to know it.

“Because you’re a person, Eddie.”  You begin, once again taking his reluctant, clammy hand and draping your touch over his knuckles.  “Any person deserves compassion.  So what’s bugging you?  I won’t judge.  Promise.”

Holding your pinky out, an empathetic smile paints your lips.

“Pinky promise.”

Within seconds his eyes go from dark discs of despair to those famous honey pools of fondness.  You take note the way he doesn’t hesitate to wrap his pinky around yours, warmth blossoming in your chest and spreading all throughout your body.  And if he needs another moment of quiet after that, he doesn’t communicate it but you gladly welcome it.  

My feelings.  My feelings are bugging me.  Taking me hostage.

It’s what he wants to say but realistically he shoves the dreadful words into the back of his throat as he comes up with something else, another way to convey his thoughts without simply outing himself, making a fool out of himself that you would surely laugh at.  

“I-uh, I’m not very good at this.”  Eddie tries to escape the conversation.

To be fair, he did the same thing with his therapist, it wasn’t anything personal.  It was his own flaw.  But you may have better luck than his therapist, he regrets.  Simply because he would become something he didn’t want you to see him as: an emotionally stunted boy with too many complicated feelings, love drunk on the first girl who had given him more than the time of day.  Just because you were nice to him, didn’t entitle him to reciprocated feelings.

“That’s okay.  I don’t think anyone is.”  You whisper.

Eddie’s eyes shut tightly, his thoughts too painful to voice yet he forces them out–or rather they claw their way out of his throat the second he looks into your begging eyes.  Wordless pleas reach out to him as his brain threatens to shut down any and all communications.

“I just–I don’t…I shouldn’t even be here.”  He sighs deeply.  “I-I don’t deserve to be here.”

At his admission, you find it difficult to voice anything comforting.  Any words you had waiting for him were swallowed at the raw emotion he was displaying.  The look on your face forces him to continue, he needs to fix the situation but he fears he may just make it worse and chase you further away.  He had been digging his own grave for some time now, never learning when to just stop and lay in it.

“Chrissy–um, Chrissy.”  He whispers, eyes fluttering shut.

None of it made sense and he was trying his hardest to wrap things back around and allow you to make the connection in your head.

“You–you remind me of…C-Chrissy.”  A tear trails down his cheek, his hand rapidly wiping it away as he pathetically attempts to repair the conversation.

Instead of offering another squeeze to his hand, you make your way onto the couch next to him, thigh dangerously close to his as you run a hand up and down his back.  You expect the discussion to end there but he only continues.

“And–and that scares me.  Cause, it-it should’ve been me, I should’ve been dead–I should be dead!”  Eddie’s face grows more red, the topic clearly weighing heavy on his heart.  “I can’t–I can’t do it again.”  More tears flow down his tinted cheeks, uncontrollable at this point.

“It feels–it feels l-like it’s going to–to happen again.”  He becomes more and more worked up, barely breathing while he rushes the words out in one breath.  “Like–like the universe or some shit i-is gonna punish me.”  

Your eyes sting, that uncomfortable frown beginning to pull at the corners of your mouth as you watch him self destruct before you.  Something you’d never ask of him though he was voluntarily spilling the contents of his bleeding heart into your hands.

“Okay, okay.”  You begin to soothe.

“I d-don’t get good things.”  “G-good things don’t–don’t happen to me.”  He hiccups.

“Shhh, you don’t need to get upset with yourself.”

Bravely, you go to use the corner of a nearby blanket to blot at the tears trailing down his face to which he flinches away, shaking his head.  That alone would normally be enough to send you to the other side of the couch, bashfully avoiding eye contact until he took the initiative.  But something within you realized that he shouldn’t be left to take the initiative.  Not when he was displaying such pain, such vulnerability that you were convinced not many people had ever seen.  

“God, so pathetic.”  He utters under his shaky breath.

“Hey.”  You softly scold, hand wrapping around his forearm.  He doesn’t flinch at your advances this time.  “You are not pathetic.”

“You don’t have to do that.”

“Eddie.”

“Don’t throw me a pity party.”  He grits.

“I am not throwing you a pity party.  Stop that.”

It’s out of character, the way you stand up to him.  If it were anyone else you probably wouldn’t have made it this far into the conversation but you can feel your blood boiling as he dismisses his emotions.  You can’t sit by and allow him to continue throwing punches at himself.  Your sudden anger appears to silence him, his glassy eyes glancing at you in disbelief but still obeying your demand.

“I’m being a hypocrite but I-I just…stop.”  You whisper, the devastated look on your face enough to bring him to his knees if he were standing.  Instead he remains seated with his focus solely on you.

“I know…”  You search for the right words.  “I know what it’s like to feel like you don’t deserve good things.”

Eddie doesn’t interject your speech, only listens intently with sad eyes and wet cheeks.  He doesn’t deserve the time day let alone your dedication to his sorrows and worries.  

“I, um, I grew up practically raising my siblings.”  You begin to explain.  “And, um, that responsibility really makes it feel like your needs come last.  And it just gets worse and worse as the years go on because…it’s hard.  Feeling emotionally neglected while tending to everyone else’s emotions.”

His gaze doesn’t once wander, completely devoted to you, to your story.  There’s not an ounce of judgment seeping out of him.  The familiar feeling you were so used to when you opened up every once in a blue moon where you felt deeply misunderstood and silently criticized was nowhere to be found.  All you could make out was pure empathy.  Compassion.  Curious brown eyes searched into your soul, not just scraping the surface but fully diving into the depths you so willingly lead him to.

“I-I don’t know what it’s like to lose someone like that–like you did Chrissy.”  You tread carefully, as if you were afraid to even mention her name.  “I mean–I lost my dad recently but…I didn’t witness anything and it was because of health issues.  We weren’t close and I actually…really hated him.”  You nod, staring meanly into the carpet.

“But, I, um, I know what it’s like to keep people out.  It’s not fun but it’s all we know isn’t it?”  You chance a laugh, earning you the tiniest upturn of his lips.  “And I mean, things are fine with my siblings and my mom, I guess.  But it still feels like I need to shut them out.  To protect their emotions.  And for some reason it just…makes sense to leave them out of it?  I dunno.”  Your voice trails off, confidence wavering.

“It does make sense.”  Eddie speaks up, voice scratchy.

“Yeah?”

“Mhm.”  He bites his lip, canine digging into his own flesh before releasing it to speak again.  “Feels like they wouldn’t get it.  Or they shouldn’t have to.  At least that’s how it feels with Wayne.  I know I can tell him anything but…why bother him with all the shit going on in my life when the man has already gone through hell because of me?”  

He takes in a deep breath before sighing and continuing.  “Fuckin’ had to raise a kid that wasn’t even his.”

There’s a certain disappointment to Eddie’s tone, a condescending scowl splayed across his face, only directed at himself as he twists his rings around his fingers.  

“Um.”  He pipes up again, seeming to snap himself out of a trance he’d lured himself into.  “‘Nough about me.”  A smile spreads over his pretty lips, not a genuine one.

“Eddie.”  Like silk, your tone is soft.

“Stop doing that.  You don’t have to do that.  Not around me.”

His chest deflates with an exhale, his pretty eyes still wet and wandering around the room.  There’s a lost child hidden within them, someone desperately trying to cling to the current adult reality but appearing to get lost in the process.  That look was too familiar and there was a sliver of relief in knowing you weren’t the only one who wore it but it yanked on the most tender parts of your heart to know Eddie was suffering just the same as you, if not more.

“T-tell me about Chrissy.”  You whisper.  “Only if you want to.”  

When Eddie’s roaming gaze finally lands on you, he never would have expected to be met with such sincerity.  Not a drop of malice in your voice, not one trace of aggression.  The kind that he was buried in when forced to confront a whole town who suspected he was responsible for her death.  Every mention of her name was always followed by an accusatory finger and seething anger, pitchforks practically aiming for him.  The worst part was he didn’t blame them.  Now, he didn’t mention the hellish underworld beneath Hawkins to you and had explained that the earthquake took Chrissy with a vengeful force right in front of him.  You had no reason to believe him, but you did.  You could’ve believed he was a murderer as everyone else.  You didn’t.  A piece of him wishes he could go into detail about the horrors that once lurked under Hawkins but he’d already breached his contract enough telling you that he was attacked by “creatures”, never going into full detail and telling you that they were gigantic bats.  And you didn’t seem to mind, never pushing for further explanation, only taking what he was willingly giving to you.

“I…”  He begins.  “I…she…she was…”

“I’m sorry, you don’t have to–”

“No.”  He whispers.  His fingertips swipe underneath his eyes, collecting a fair amount of running eyeliner.  “I-I uh, I want to.”  He nods to himself.

“Chrissy was uh, was one of the good ones.  Not a mean bone in her fuckin’ body.”  Eddie starts.  “Even if she was in the ‘popular crowd’ she never bullied anyone.  She thought I was mean and scary at first but…she never…she never showed it.  She’d wave to me every now and then.”  He laughs at the memory, only making your soul ache.

“Now that I think about it, maybe she only waved because she was scared of me.”  He chuckles in self deprecation.  “Can’t blame her.  Everyone’s scared of me.  Always have been.”

“I’m not.”  

Your sudden interruption has his brows knitting together, a softness overcoming his eyes.  He was a mess of a man and you continued to tend to him as if he was deserving of any of your attention.  He wasn’t, and he truly believed that.

“What?”  Eddie attempts to buy some time, stupidly racking his brain for something of some kind of intelligence.

“I’m not scared of you.”

“I–thought you were.  I mean, I wasn’t exactly…nice to you when you first moved in.  I yelled at you all the time–you don’t have to lie to me.”  

“I used to be, yeah.  I’m scared of practically everyone before I get to know them so it wasn’t just you.  But I’m not anymore.”  You explain honestly.  “Keep telling me about her.  If it’s not too much.  She sounded like she was a lovely person.”  

“Yeah.  Yeah, she was.  Had a crush on her for like forever.  Like since middle school when we kinda hung out at the talent show.”  Suddenly, he’s shaking his head again, as if to erase his previous thought.  “It’s stupid.  ‘M twenty four and I’m whining about–”

“Stop.”  You whisper, a bold hand squeezing at his knee.  The action sends his nerves into a frenzy.

“Nothing you say is stupid.”

No one has ever been so patient, so accommodating over his feelings and deepest tragedies showcasing themselves in his darkest hours.  It’s strange enough that he begins to wonder if someone is pulling a prank on him.  If he’s being played like a violin only to be laughed at when the curtain is pulled back.  He couldn’t help it, it was all he had come to learn after all.  Eddie knew you didn’t have it in you to commit such a heinous act against another individual but his mind had been poisoned time and time again, only sending him into a spiral of ‘what-ifs’ any time positivity lingered just out of his reach to grasp if he was brave enough.

“I barely even knew her.”  He seemingly gives up, hand lightly smacking down on his thigh.  Your touch remains on his knee, burning a hole into his bones as he stares at it.

“That’s okay.  You clearly care about her.” 

It makes him want to scream, the way you validate every sentence he utters out.  It’s not what he’s used to, his therapist never even gives him this amount of attention.  And it’s not fair that a soul like yours had been damned to hear his problems and witness everything that made him ugly.  Eddie was convinced that his soul was tainted and if he imagined what it looked like, it was an inky black stain on reality with hardly any signs of life.  If he only knew that in the two months you had known him, he was the most vibrant and adoring soul you had ever come across.

“I–we just–we really connected.  Right before she died.”  He manages to struggle through his mind demanding that he internalizes his thoughts.  “It felt–good.  She saw me…for me.  Instead of some–some motherfucker that poisoned the town’s precious ecosystem and she didn’t see me as…a freak.”

You offer a nod, an encouragement for him to keep going.  His heart that he kept locked up tight in his chest had been slowly oozing out of him, trickling into your living room.  

“She, um, she had a boyfriend.  Jason.”  He clears his throat, staring at the ceiling.  “He was an asshole.  Not to her, he treated her real nice.  But when Chrissy wasn’t around he was a douchebag.  Started a manhunt for me when shit went down.  He thought I—he–he thought I killed her and—and sacrificed her?”  Eddie almost questions, as if he couldn’t believe his own words.

“All because…I was the leader of a Dungeons and Dragons club.”  He admits bashfully.  You only let your thumb glide over the rip in his jeans, a comforting gesture.  “Everyone, uh, thought it was a cult.  Satanic panic and all that shit.”

“That’s fucked.”

“I agree.  Super fucked.  Especially because it dragged everyone down with me.  Dustin basically put his life on the line for me, I’ll never be able to make it up to him.”

As he expresses his gratitude, Eddie pulls his right arm out of the hoodie sleeve, pulling the material up to display his bicep to you.  The one with the very badly doodled character, somewhat resembling a gnome.  

“But…”  He drags out, slapping the ink proudly.  “This did really excite him at least.”

You examine the drawing, taking his bicep in your hand without a second though as you try to determine exactly what you were looking at.  You didn’t want to offend him but you genuinely couldn’t make out the picture.  It was messy and scribbly and could have been created by a five year old.  “Eddie, I’m sorry but–what is it?”  

“Dustin drew it.  It’s his D&D character.”  

“Oh!”  You smile brightly.

“You don’t have to pretend it's good, he’s a shit artist.”

“Not shit.  Just…inexperienced…maybe?”  You joke, wincing at your own words.

“Very.”  Eddie confirms.  “Dustin’s more of a brains kinda guy.  Gareth and I took care of all the artwork, y’know like logos for the club and our band–”

“You had a band?”  A grin sneaks past your lips.

“I–uh–yeah.”  He admits with defeat, his shoulders slumping.

It’s only then that you realized you still had been tracing your fingers over the inked drawing, not one protest stopping you from doing so.  In fact, Eddie only glanced down briefly and smiled, his cheeks tinting pink.  It wasn’t clear whether it was because of your touch or because of embarrassment.

“Hang on, when did this all end up being about me?”  He glares at you with mock anger.

“No, no, no.  Don’t turn this around.  What was your band’s name?”

“Jesus Christ.”  He whispers, distress evident in his tone though his face only conveys amusement.

Eddie didn’t have to entertain the playful conversation that had suddenly engulfed the two of you.  He didn’t have to banter back or let you touch his arm.  He didn’t have to talk about Chrissy even though his mind was plaguing him and he was the one who brought her up.  Nothing was required of him and you made sure he was aware of that.

But oh, how you reveled in his endearing blanket of an aura as he allowed you to peek behind the oh so heavy curtain that hid his deepest and most tragic thoughts.

–

Marvin’s Grocery had become more and more familiar with your frequent trips over the weeks.  You were determined to perfect an apple pie recipe that would make anyone melt at the taste.  Donnie had extended an invite to her famous Thanksgiving dinner and though it was weeks away, preparations were still under way, your oven enduring more use than it ever had in its short lifetime.  

Guilt ate away at you as you placed the freshly baked pie on the counter to cool.  You didn’t want to be an intruder but Donnie was so insistent when gracing you with the plans back at the supermarket.  It would be your first Thanksgiving away from home and you were set on spending it alone, preparing to create a one person feast and pig out all by your lonesome.  Now, you were going to be faced with at least 30 other guests according to Donnie.  That was intimidating enough and when you tried to reject her invitation to save yourself some embarrassment, she only interrupted you, stating that everyone is going to love you and that even your short time in the spotlight at the Halloween bash left a great impression.  That everyone wanted to get to know you.

Then she bestowed the responsibility of one dessert upon you.  Everyone was required to bring at least one dish, store bought or homemade…it didn’t matter as long as you contributed.  You had weeks to perfect it and though you didn’t need to go through the trouble, the people pleaser in you raged on.

Cinnamon and nutmeg graced your nose, a comforting scent that had you salivating and yearning for a piece of warm, gooey apple pie.  The kitchen was a mess, bowls scattered along the counter top and a bag of flour leaking onto the floor.  You were usually consistent in keeping clean as you worked but the daunting task of perfecting your pie held your complete and undivided attention.  

Buttery, flaky crust called your name as you finished folding your laundry.  The TV blared some popular sitcom that had to have been new as you didn’t recognize it.  Regardless, the pie had interested you more.

It came out beautifully, nearly commercial ready with the criss cross crust and everything.  This was your best outcome yet and you only hope it tasted just as delicious as it looked.  You’d finally perfected the design and it didn’t completely deflate on itself this time, a win in your book.

Regretfully, you cut into the perfect dessert, forming the perfect triangle and plating it as delicately as possible.  This was your baby as far as you were concerned and the passion that had gone into it was going to be recognized, even if only by you.  A quick dollop of whipped cream is placed on top, the only thing missing was ice cream although you weren’t the biggest fan of pairing the two treats, satisfied with just the baked slice of heaven.

It was too flawless, the slice had been perfectly cut and presented like a five star restaurant had prepared it.  Such perfection could not be recreated and you simply needed at least one witness to applaud your work or at the very least acknowledge your newly discovered baking skills.  

–

Two knocks and no movement.  Yet…

The breeze nips at your cheeks, leaving you to regret not throwing a sweater on even if only for a few seconds.  Your hand shields the fresh slice of pie, a desperate attempt to conceal its warmth.  Your masterpiece would not be spoiled at the hands of the inevitably changing weather.  

Another two knocks.  A bit more urgent this time.

You can hear shuffling just beyond the door, an eager shiver running down your spine.  Irritation begins to build within you at the stinging sensation at the tip of your ears, the temperature being especially unforgiving.

Two more knocks.

“I’m comin’, I’m comin’.”  

You hear the grumble and can’t help but feel your spirits lift.

“Wha–Bambi?”  Eddie reveals you, a shivering mess on the porch with your hair in disarray and a plate of pie in your trembling hands.

Without hesitation, he steps to the side and waves you in.  There’s a certain coziness to him, his hair extra frizzy as if he had been laying on it and his eyes a tad puffy.  Almost like a large teddy bear.  His black sweatshirt swallows his torso although he’s wearing shorts, a psychotic move in this kind of weather.  

“Try this.”  You demand, holding the plate out in front of him.

His eyes only stare widely at the treat, grogginess obvious in the way he rubs his eyes and yawns.  Another postcard moment.

“What is it?”  He asks gravelly.  It just about melts you into a puddle on his floor.

“Apple pie!”  

Your enthusiasm takes him back, a surprised expression pulling at his features as he hesitantly takes it.  It crosses his mind that you mentioned taking on baking recently, a slow shift at The Bourbon pulling you both into mindless talk as you cleaned.  He gathers that you were at the peak of your sugar rush, no doubt stealing licks of batter and tastes of sugar as you baked.   If this was the result of you baking all day, he needed a minute to wake up.

“Okay, okay.”  He sighs, brushing past you to set the plate on his kitchen counter, snatching a fork from one of the drawers.

“Why do you need me of all people to taste test?”  He asks a bit unkindly.  He doesn’t mean it but you did wake him from a deep slumber, one of the best naps he had in a while.  Probably the only nap he’d taken in a while as he recalls.

You don’t seem to recognize his irritation, thankfully too caught up in the bubbling excitement around your homemade treat.  “Cause it’s for Thanksgiving and I really want it to be good.”  You explain, bouncing on the balls of your feet impatiently.

An eye roll has you blushing–it shouldn’t–but it does.  All of Eddie’s little quirks whether they were forming out of grumpiness or not, only made him all the more endearing.  The fork finally meets his mouth, heaven about to bless his taste buds–or at least you hope.  

As he chews, he makes it a point to keep a straight face, watching you squirm with anticipation being far too fun for him.  

“How is it?”  

Eddie shrugs.  Okay, maybe not all of his quirks were endearing.

“Eddie!”  You wail, hands gripping the edge of the counter.

“Alright, alright.”  He mumbles, taking a step back as he swallows.  The crust crumbles just right on his tongue, warm gooey apple goodness filling his taste buds and sending him right back to his childhood.  The happy parts.  “Really fuckin’ good.  You have any more?”  He asks, going in for another bite, a smug grin displaying across your face.

“No, you were being rude.”

“Wh–c’mon.”  He just about whines as you steal the plate from his reach, tucking it behind your back.

“Say sorry.”

“I’m not sorry, now give it back.”  An adorable frown pulls at his mouth.

“Eddie.”

“Bambi.”

Big brown eyes stare into yours, stubborn intent evident behind them.  It instantly fades when you give him your best pout, your eyes shining with a silent plea.  With a deep sigh and another eye roll, he gives in.  It was like stealing candy from a baby except even easier as he fumbled his stoic expression and contorted his face into something more apologetic.

“‘M sorry.”  He mumbles.

“You’re what?”  You smile, acting oblivious.  

“I’m sorry!”  Eddie throws his hands up in surrender.  “Happy?”  

“I guess.”  You sigh, placing the beloved dessert back on the counter for him to devour.

“Why you baking so much?”  

His mouth is crammed with pie after he asks, crumbs resting at the corners of his mouth and whipped cream decorating his upper lip.  You determine that he’s a messy eater, sloppily shoveling pie into his mouth until it physically can’t hold anymore.

“Thanksgiving.  I’m in charge of a dessert.  What are you bringing?”

“Nuffin’.”  He mumbles through a mouthful.

“Why not?”  You practically whine.

With a rough swallow, Eddie licks his lips, leaving no trace of the coarse sugar that was previously sprinkled on the crust.  When you glance down, the plate is empty, the pie had vanished into Eddie’s stomach.

“I’m not going.”  He says simply.

Not going?  If he couldn’t go back to Indiana for Thanksgiving, where was he going to go?

“I don’t uh, I don’t do holidays.”  He elaborates.

“Don’t do holidays.”  You scoff.  “You did Halloween just fine.”  

It should gross you out when he retrieves a carton of milk from the fridge and starts chugging it straight from the container.  It doesn’t.  Wiping his mouth with his sleeve, he sets the milk on the counter, eyes meeting yours as his elbows come to rest on the counter, his head propped up in his hands.

“Then that’s the only holiday I do.” 

“You have to go.”  You whine like a child, stomping your foot.

“I don’t have to do anything.”  There’s a certain kind of attitude in his tone, a playful attitude that wasn’t actually meant to offend you, only to spur you on.

“You have to go or else you can’t have any more pie!”  You complain.  “Please Eddie!  You’re like one of the only people I’ll know, you can’t not go.”

Your worried eyes and pouty lips are convincing enough though he might as well have a little fun.  Get under your skin.

“Now you’re being mean.”  He juts out his lip.

The look on your face is priceless, eyes widening and mouth hung open in shock.  “Am not!  You’re going to Thanksgiving because if you don’t then I’m gonna feel guilty the whole time I’m trying to pig out.”

“Guilty?”  An amused grin plasters itself to his face, his figure returning to tower over you as he ceases leaning over the counter.

“Yeah, you can’t spend Thanksgiving alone.”  

He swears there are tears in your eyes, making it unexplainably hard for him to tell you no.  Then again, he always found it hard to tell you no.  Just last week you and Jett begged to decorate the bar with pumpkins and other Fall objects.  The only reason he said yes was because you looked up at him with those perfectly pleading puppy dog eyes, your hands behind your back as you swayed back and forth.  And because you offered to use the pumpkins from your porch, the bar’s dwindling budget sure to be untouched.

“Tell you what…”  Eddie begins his proposition, you listening eagerly as you lean over the counter with your head propped in your hands as he had done seconds ago.  “If you make me my own personal pie—“

“Done.”  You chirp.

“I will consider it.”  He finishes, glaring at you.

“How about…I give you the rest of the pie I have sitting at home right now and you promise you’ll go?”  You light up at your own idea.

“I will consider it.”  He repeats.

“No deal.” 

You cross your arms stubbornly, eyes closing as you tilt your head up in a snobbish manner.  A groan escapes him, you peeking an eye open only to see his nose scrunched in defeat, his tongue licking the back of his teeth and clicking.

He lost the battle.

“Fine.”  He sighs, exhaling through his nostrils in annoyance.  

You don’t miss the tiny smile tugging on his lips as he collects the remaining whipped cream from the plate and licks it from his fingers.  His front was faltering, the big scary dog ready and willing to fall at your feet if you just said the word. 

~end~

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