#inspired by the ‘and I haven’t got the guts to finish the job for you’ line from issue 1 and the opening of 26. among other things | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

hischierdevils · 2 years

Text

Best Years | J.M.

note: the fact that there is no marino content on this app should be a crime. this was inspired by Best Years by 5sos

summary: y/n has to leave john behind in order to follow her dreams. can they find their way back to each other?

warnings: angst, mentions of alcohol and throwing up

wc: 1.5K

You've got a million reasons to hesitate

But darlin', the future's better than yesterday

I wasted so much time on people that reminded me of you

Gave you a million reasons to walk away

Meeting John at a bar in Pittsburgh on a rare night out seemed like fate but you knew it was a temporary situation. John’s focus was on hockey, playing for the Penguins, and yours was on finishing your degree at your parents orders and getting the hell out of town.

Hooking up with him turned into late night facetimes and texts when he was out of town. John wore his heart on his sleeve and warned you early on that he was falling for you. You told him your relationship had an expiration date, once you graduated you were gone.

He agreed, even though it hurt him to think of you as someone temporary in his life. The day of your college graduation, he showed up in a nice suit holding a large bouquet of flowers. He cheered you on as you walked across the stage and in return, you broke up with him.

He was devastated but you reminded him that the two of you were always going to end that way. You didn’t allow yourself to dwell on how you were feeling, you just packed your bags and moved to New York City, determined to become a dancer and prove your parents wrong.

Things were rough at first, grinding away at two different jobs in between auditions. You were always so busy that it took a while for you to realize how much you actually missed him. Once you did, you tried filling the void with other guys that seem to resemble John in one way or another.

He was always your biggest supporter and when you book your first Broadway show, he’s the first person you want to call. You haven’t talked to him in months and you wouldn’t blame him if he never wants to hear from you again but you find yourself calling anyway.

Not only does he pick up the phone, but the two of you talk for hours. He just got traded to the New Jersey Devils and now lives twenty-five minutes away from you. At the end of the conversation, you agree to meet up for dinner to catch up.

I wanna hold your hair when you drink too much

Carry you home when you cannot stand up

You did all these things for me when I was half a man for you

I wanna hold your hand while we're growing up

For the last six weeks, the two of you have been talking non-stop. You’ve gone to a couple of his games, sitting down by the ice wearing his jersey. You’re both taking things slow, easing your way back into friendship. You know you hurt him and he’s a little more guarded with his heart this time around.

John comes to opening night with Dawson and Jack in tow. When the show is over, he finds you backstage with a large bouquet of flowers in hand. You can tell he’s nervous when you greet him with a kiss on the cheek. He’s probably thinking about the last time he brought you flowers.

“Hey, you were amazing.” He smiles at you before handing you the flowers. “These are for you.”

“You’re the sweetest, Johnny.” You can’t help but grin as you bring the flowers to your nose to smell them. “But I was only a member of the entourage.”

“But you were the most beautiful one up there.” He blushes as he says it, immediately thinking he’s overstepped.

“Y/n, is your boyfriend coming to the after party?” Lylah, one of the other dancers, asks you.

You and John talk at the same time. “Oh, he’s not my-”

“I’m here with my friends-”

“If they're half as cute as you honey, I'd love for them to come.” Lylah winks at John before walking away and you feel a little bubble of jealousy in your gut as you turn your head to look at him.

“If you have plans that’s okay.” You tell him.

He rubs the back of his neck awkwardly. “Do you want me there?”

Your heart squeezes at the double meaning of his words. “Of course I do.” You’ve already messed this up once, you’re not going to push him away again.

John, Jack, and Dawson head to the club with you and your friends to celebrate your opening night. Everyone notices that John doesn’t let go of your hand but no one mentions it since the two of you seem to be pointedly ignoring it.

As the night progresses, the pull you feel for John gets stronger and stronger. You want him to hold you in his arms like he did before you ruined everything but you know you can’t ask that of him anymore so you drink instead.

When you seem to be having trouble walking on your own, John calls it a night. He doesn’t want to overstep with you, but he also wants to make sure you get home safely. “Y/n, where are your keys?” He asks you as he helps you out of the bar. Jack left a little while ago with a girl so Dawson helps him hold you up.

“Wanna go with you, Johnny.” You mumble as you rest your head on his shoulder.

John bites his lip, debating on if he wants to go through your purse or not. He could easily take you with him to his apartment but it’ll kill him in the morning when you leave. “I’m gonna get you home, y/n.”

You look over at Dawson with squinty eyes. “The tequila comin’ back.” Dawson barely has time to step out of the way before you’re puking on the sidewalk. John grabs your hair and uses his hand to hold it in a ponytail as your body heaves your stomach contents up.

“It’s okay.” He whispers to you as you start to cry. “You’re okay.” He wipes the tears from your cheek with his thumb as he decides to bring you to his place. He’s not sure if your roommates are home and he doesn’t want to leave you alone in the state you’re in.

“Mmm so sorry Daw-son.” You mumble as you fully lean into John’s side.

“It’s alright.” He smiles at you reassuringly. “I’ve watched hockey players do keg stands. You’re fine.”

John ends up giving you a piggyback ride to where Dawson’s car is parked and he sits in the backseat with you as the three of you go to New Jersey. He gives you some of his clothes to sleep in and you manage to change into them yourself before passing out in his bed. He makes sure you’re comfortable on your side before taking his pillow and going to sleep on the couch.

But I'll build a house out of the mess

And all the broken pieces

I'll make up for all of your tears

I'll give you the best years

The first thing you do when you wake up in the morning in a strange room with men’s clothes on is panic. You have no memory of leaving the club or flirting with any guys. Your stomach rolls with nausea at the thought of you hooking up with someone-anyone that isn’t John. He was with you last night. Did he watch you leave with someone else? He’s never going to talk to you again.

You hear footsteps in the hallway and quickly close your eyes, not yet ready to meet whatever stranger is going to be walking through the door.

“Y/n?” A familiar voice says your name softly as you hear the door open. “Are you awake?”

You open your eyes to see John standing beside the bed watching you with concern. “John? Oh, god. What did I do?” You sit up quickly which seems to be a bad idea, and John quickly picks up a garbage can from the floor so you can dry heave into it.

“Nothing happened, y/n.” He explains as he holds your hair back for you. “You were drunk and I brought you here so I knew you were alright.”

You start crying again from his kindness. “I’m so sorry I fucked everything up between us.” You tell him. “I never meant to hurt you. You were the best thing in my life. I just had to get away from my parents and prove I could do it-”

You start sobbing so hard that he gets in bed beside you and pulls you to his chest. “It’s alright, y/n. You told me from day one that that’s how it was going to be. I fell in love with you anyway.”

“Do you-” You hiccup. “Do you think you could love me again?”

He smiles and kisses the top of your head. “I never stopped loving you.”

You pull your tear-stained face away from his body to look at him. “Can I be your girlfriend again?”

He smirks because you never referred to yourself as his girlfriend before but now doesn’t seem like the right time to say that. “Of course, baby. Whatever you want to be, I'm yours.”

#john marino imagine #john marino fic #john marino reader insert #john marino x reader #john marino #my writing

178 notes · View notes

shallyouobeyme · 1 year

Text

Dodge

Yandere!Crime-Boss x Reader (GN)

Summary: Kidnapped in the dead of night in front of your own house, you were locked away in a cell with no idea why or what would happen to you, so when the opportunity to escape arises, you did what anyone would do and took it.

! MINORS DO NOT INTERACT !

TW: Kidnapping, getting shot, blood, weapons, violence, torture (mentioned), swearing, killing, yandere, dark!content, I don’t condone this, this is all fiction

Day 4 of my Yandere Writetober - Today’s Entry was inspired by a comment by @Sol565, if you have any cool ideas, then let me know: Tomorrow’s word is ‘Map’

The coldness of the metal floor seeped into the soles of your bare feet as you hid inside a locker, barely big enough to let you squeeze into it with your breath held and every muscle tensed. Throughout the slits a few measly, small rays of light hit your face as you tried to make out what was happening on the other side of the door. You heard steps and then you saw the silhouette of a rather robust man. It was probably one of the men who had taken you checking on you. If you weren’t so careful about not making a sound you would have sworn. You were supposed to have more time. After days of sitting alone in the cold, bare cell you had managed to correctly estimate how much time would pass between the patrols of thugs checking up on you or bringing you food.

Before your inner eye you could already see all your hard work being for naught. All the hours spent trying to open the door with the two hairpins that they hadn’t taken from you - probably not realising you had them - and thanking whatever entity was out there for your hyper fixation on lock picking in your middle school days would be for nothing now. He’d see you were gone and the entire place would be on high alert, taking away any hope you had of sneaking out of there.

“Fuck,” you heard him swear. You recognise his voice, he was one of the men who had taken you, he was the one who had punched you in the gut and told you to ‘stop fucking crying’ when you had sobbed and begged them to let you go. He was also the one who refused to give you any kind of explanation as to why they had taken you right from your front door, just laughing at you and telling you that you’d find out sooner or later. No matter what scenarios you went through in your head, you had no idea what you could have done, you didn’t owe anyone money except the government, you hadn’t started any fights or drama with important people, honestly you generally kept to yourself. “The fucking bitch got out! The boss is on his way back here, if we haven’t found that whore before he’s here there’ll be heads rolling.” Through the gaps you could see him looking around, but he didn’t seem to have any interest in the locker - luckily for you - and quickly ran off after giving an update through the radio he was wearing.

For a moment you were frozen in place. ‘The boss is on his way back here.’ That was what he had said and for some reason it seemed to have something to do with you as well. Would that be the day you died? Wasn’t that the most logical. They had kidnapped you and held you prisoner for some unknown reason, but they never did anything to you other than a punch or slap to silence you, they hadn’t questioned you, hadn’t made you hold a newspaper for a ransom video, hadn’t made you call your family asking for money. Not that there’d be much money to gain, but that would have at least given the whole ordeal some sense. Messed-up sense, but sense nonetheless. So, in your mind, the only logical explanation was that they had waited for this boss to come back so that he could finish the job himself. If you didn’t get out of there quick, you’d be dead by the end of the day.

Trying to gather your nerves and calm your breathing, you - as quietly as possible - opened the locker door and stepped outside. Looking around you tried to find something to defend yourself with but the outside of the metal cell you had been kept in was just as barren as the inside. Just a single chair and an empty table. But then you saw something standing besides the desk’s legs and quickly rushed towards it. It was an empty glass bottle, the label had been scraped off, but the smell alone would make it seem like it had been some kind of beer. It wasn’t great, but it was better than nothing. With your new weapon equipped you started making your way through the building, trying your best to avoid any people making their way through it searching for you.

Honestly, it was going astonishingly well as you managed to go two stairwells up without running into anyone, and the window on the floor you arrived on made you hope that you had managed to make it onto the first floor. The first floor which hopefully held the exit from this hellhole. Adrenaline was now flooding your veins even more than it already had and your heart was beating so loudly that you were sure the sound of it would give away your position. High with hope of escape you started being careless, especially once you stood at one end of a long corridor with the door standing at the end of it looking so very much like an exit. The only thing standing between you and the door was the same man from earlier, talking with someone through the radio, but you couldn’t make out the words over the blood rushing through your head. You had seconds, if that, before he’d turn around and see you, so you decided to take your fate in your own hand. You swung the glass bottle right onto his head and the sound of glass breaking and shards falling to the floor broke through your trance, the man stumbled to the side and swore, so you took your chance and ran towards the door when there was a loud ‘pang!’ right besides you. It didn’t take a genius to guess that you hadn’t disoriented him quiete like you hoped and that he was now shooting at you. You tried to dodge the shooting as best as you could, sidestepping every second even if the hallways didn’t give much room for it, and hoping his aim wasn’t very good with the blood seeping from his head.

The door was almost in reach when suddenly a hot, searing pain took you to the ground. It felt like your thigh was on fire and the flames were spreading towards the rest of your body. When you hit the ground you had already realised that you had been shot, but somehow that realisation overloaded your system and you didn’t have the mental capacity to hold out your hands to soften your blow onto the hard, cold, concrete floor. And so after your leg and your upper body hit the floor, your head followed with a searing pain that not only made you so nauseous you were surprised you didn’t immediately throw up what little you had gotten to eat the last days, but also gave the pain in your leg some serious competition.

Everything became slightly blurry and blotches of black danced in front of your eyes and your brain had trouble keeping up with what your senses were transmitting. The only sensations that seemed to reach your conscious mind was the sound of steps, oddly calm in the light of the discord that was happening around you. Then in the corner of your eyes you saw something black, first you thought it was just more of your consciousness leaving you, but then you made out the difference in dimensions. The shining black besides you were what seemed to be shoes, spotless and in perfect condition. Lastly, before your vision went black and everything around you disappeared into the void, you heard a deep, authoritative voice call out into the hall: “What do you think you’re doing?” One last thought was spared towards a question. Not the question as to who that man might be, it was obvious to you that he was the boss, they had been talking about, neither was it the question if his remark had been directed towards you or his ‘colleague’, instead the last question in your head was: “Where do I know this voice from?”

You hadn’t been able to consciously think about it, but if you had, then you would have probably assumed that you wouldn’t wake up again. And if - which again, you would have doubted - then probably in some dingy cell where you’d just wait to be tortured and killed. Neither of that was the case though, instead you woke up, lying in a bed so soft and so comfortable, that you would have assumed you were in heaven, hadn’t it been for the throbbing pain in your head and your leg.

For a few minutes you were just lying there, trying to work through everything that had happened. Has it actually happened? Maybe you had just had the most realistic nightmare induced by some accident that you couldn’t remember yet. Any hope in that unlikely scenario was squashed when the same voice from before your unconsciousness, called out to someone else: “Yes, I want everything set up as soon as possible… No, I don’t care. I told you what to do, so you better do it or you’re- See, I knew you’d get it. Thank you. I’ll call you as soon as we’re prepared on our end.”

Given that you could only hear one side of the conversation, you assumed that he was talking on the phone. His voice was so calm, but it was the kind of voice that left no room for arguments, the voice of a leader. Again, something in you recognized the voice, but you couldn’t tell from where, every attempt at remembering caused your head to throb even more painfully. That wasn’t the most curious aspect though, much more interesting was that his voice was so close, like he was sitting right next to you.

It took some preparation, mentally and physically, but after some moments of deep breathing you finally managed to force your eyes open. First, you were greeted by the white ceiling, slightly blinding you by reflecting the bright light, then you managed to tilt your head slightly towards the side where you had heard the voice and found a man - he was rather tall and you could see his muscular build through his dress shirt, with blemish free skin, a jawline sharp enough to cut and deep green eyes which were inspecting something on his phone - leaned back in a chair, one hand on his phone and one…

Holding yours.

The shock of the situation caused you to tense up, which made him aware that you were awake. He immediately put his phone down and came closer to you.

“You’re awake, good, I was getting worried. The doctors assured me that your wound was minor and that there was no damage to your head, but I couldn’t live with myself if you were hurt,” he said with such a loving voice that you would have thought he had mistaken you for someone.

“W-What?” you coughed out, just now realizing how dry your mouth and throat were.

The man immediately turned around and grabbed something - a glass of water as you saw - and brought it towards your lips, but you still had some sense of self-preservation left so you turned your head away.

“What? Do you think I put something in it? Would it help if I drink first?” he didn’t wait for your response, but took a big gulp as soon as he was sure you were watching, then he brought the glass towards your lips again and this time the desperation won over and you drank everything the glass had to offer.

Then you took a few breaths before asking what you were so very worried about.

“Are you going to kill me?”

His eyes widened in absolute shock. "What?!? No, of course not, even seeing you suffer from a cold would kill me, you have no idea of how much agony I was in to see you hurting, I never want to see this again.”

“W-Why? Why me?”

“You don’t remember me, do you? That’s okay, I know your life hasn’t been easy and… what happened the last few days wasn’t supposed to, but I’ll remind you, don’t worry. I promised I would always protect you and even though I haven’t done the best job of it these past few years, I won’t let you down now, my little bug.”

That’s when you realized where you had known him from. His voice had changed a lot and so had his body and his looks, but the tone of voice, the way he enunciated, was still almost the same as it had been when he had lived in the house beside you and protected you from the bullies who had it out for you. When he had given you your first kiss and when he had promised he would always protect you, when he told you he would become someone others wouldn’t dare cross and then he’d make sure no one would ever hurt you again.

It seemed he had succeeded with the first part.

“Ethan?”

“Yes, yes my little bug, I’m here now,” he muttered and leaned forwards to press a kiss to your forehead before patting your head lovingly. “I’m sorry about what happened to you, you weren’t supposed to be picked up yet, I wanted everything to be perfect, but- one of my men must have misunderstood. He- What he did, how he treated you… It’s unforgivable. I made sure that everyone who assisted him was properly punished, but I have a special surprise for you-“ he said and pulled out his phone before pressing some buttons and then a video showed.

You were so shell shocked, so confused, that you had no idea how to react. The video showcased a dark room with something in the middle.

“We’re good to go,” Ethan said to no one in particular. Or at least you thought it was to no one, until the video showed the light in the room being turned on - you realized it was a life feed and not just a video - and now you could see that the something in the middle was someone. It was the man, the guy who had shot you, with his hands and legs tied and his mouth stuffed with a gag. He looked like someone had beaten him up viciously, but once saw someone pushing a table filled with what you could only assume to be torture devices, you figured that he had the worst yet to come.

“Now, I really don’t want you to see this, but I need to prove to you that I will let no one hurt you and get away with it. No one…”

#yandere #writetober #x reader #original work #original story #original content #original yandere content #yandere content #dark content #original character #tw: kidnapping #tw: blood #romantic yandere #writing

42 notes · View notes

daveinediting · 6 months

Text

Working out my thoughts on outsourcing mental tasks to Large Language Models, I'm wondering if we're about to rob ourselves of something once it overtakes our own efforts. Question is…

What is that something?

Part of the answer comes from Vincent Van Gogh:

"Great things are done by a series of small things brought together."

The words represent a stab at acknowledging the extremely associative nature of creative work.

Associative?

Yeah.

Here's Steve Jobs:

“Creativity is just connecting things. When you ask creative people how they did something, they feel a little guilty because they didn’t really do it, they just saw something. It seemed obvious to them after a while. That’s because they were able to connect experiences they’ve had and synthesize new things. And the reason they were able to do that was that they’ve had more experiences or they have thought more about their experiences than other people. Unfortunately, that’s too rare a commodity. A lot of people in our industry haven’t had very diverse experiences. So they don’t have enough dots to connect, and they end up with very linear solutions without a broad perspective on the problem.”

When he talks about having enough dots to connect, that's the associative piece. That’s my gut. That’s the part where there has to be knowledge inside us. A lot of knowledge. A diversity of knowledge. Eclectic knowledge.

I can’t speak for other professions or, even, for anyone else in my profession. But a lot of the challenging creative work I do is about getting myself ready for the challenging creative work I do. It’s about directing my brain, jump starting the mental creative engine I’ve got up there, tuning myself to the specific creative challenge at hand.

Tuning myself?

Yeah. Because different projects present different challenges. And the solutions to those challenges require different things of me. More of this... a little of that... and then the new thing. So I work hard to balance the different creative muscles, the different processes I'm about to use.

I tune them in.

I also have to feed myself.

Food, sure. But also whatever it is that powers and sustains my imagination. The black box in my brain that's filled with genius I can't access directly.

I've gotta believe whatever's in that box has access to everything that's running through my brain as if it's tapped all my neural networks. For sure it absorbs everything that comes in through my senses and processes those experiences completely outside my conscious awareness. Think of it as that band of elves finishing shoes for the shoemaker whilst he’s sleeping. He wakes up in the morning and BAM. Beautifully crafted shoes.

Like that.

The black box.

It’s where masterful answers lie. Inside my brain. Working with knowledge and experience that resides there. Responsive to knowledge and experience I feed it.

So yeah. Associative.

Connecting dots within a mental network. Creating even more mental networks in there.

"Great things are done by a series of small things brought together."

“...they were able to connect experiences they’ve had and synthesize new things.”

Synthesize new things.

Okay sure. New things can be synthesized by Large Language Models and generative AI. No sweat. And while normally I would admit that a difference that makes no difference is no difference…

I would suggest that at some point we’re giving up chunks of what it means to be human. Because the human experience is to be inspired. The human experience is to create.

That's our superpower.

And if at some point we're no longer paid to be inspired, hired to create, then, so be it.

But it’s a thing we can’t stop doing because that’s who we are. We’re inspired. We create. We learn. We experience. Our brains process and analyze that learning and experience and presents us with a gift seemingly out of the blue sky. Out of thin air.

As if by magic.

This is my experience and my experience only, of course. Naturally, we as humans can outsource the mental gifts upon which our careers are built. Upon which our lives are crafted. Upon which our identities are shaped.

And no...

It's not for tech companies to protect human ability or even human identity. It's not for tech companies to usher us to some mythological next level as if they know what they're doing.

They don't.

Their job is to make money. That's it. They're not our keepers. They don't care about what's best for us. In fact they're agnostic about what happens next even as they're instigating what's happening now.

Their job is not our well-being.

That's our job. Each one of us.

And we are still in charge of the process.

If.

We choose to be.

0 notes

seidenbros · 2 years

Note

hiiii I just found your account and I adore your writing!! Could you do something like bauman!reader x eddie, where the elder kids group has to go to Murray for some kind of help (idkkk) and her dad clocks her for having the hots for Eddie and gives her fatherly advice but he gives Eddie the advice like he gave to Jonathan and Nancy? I saw a TT earlier n got inspired to give this request! if not I totally appreciate you looking adn taking time to read this anyway!!! thank you!

Hello and thank you so much, that means a lot 💚 I LOVE this request so much, oh lord. Because I love Murray a lot and the image of him as a protective Dad who watches out for his kid, is just chef's kiss. I think I steered a little bit from this in the way the talks with both of them go, but I hope you'll still enjoy it. For the sake of this fic, let's say that Murray's home is at the edge of Hawkins, alright? Alright.

Requests are open | prompt lists for inspiration | Stranger Things Masterlist

Pairing: Eddie Munson x Female!Reader Word count: 4856 Warning/Tags: fluff mostly, protective Dad Murray, reader's Mum left them, maybe a bit of mutual pining Author’s note: Got a little inspiration as well from the writing prompt: "friends don't look at each other that way" because it fit sooo well Read on AO3

Go Your Own Way

It was a blessing and a curse to have Murray Bauman as a father. He was a loving Dad, always there for you when you needed him, supporting you in whatever you wanted to achieve. On the other hand, he was way too good at reading you, always knowing immediately when you were telling a lie. That was the investigative journalist in him, but he always meant well. His purpose was to protect you, after all, right? He had to be both parents for you, after your Mum left when you weren’t even eight years old, but he’d done a great job. You knew that you could talk to him about anything, even if you needed a nudge here and there to really speak the words.

In fact, your Dad had been the one to open your eyes in your last relationship. You’d had your doubts about your boyfriend’s feelings, even though he’d sworn that he loved you, but there had been that gut feeling. “Trust your gut,” was what your Dad had always told you and in this case, you’d just been afraid to find out what was going on. It had been a bit intrusive of your father to spy on your then boyfriend, but he’d only meant well, and it had spared you a lot of time in a relationship with someone who didn’t worship the ground you were walking on as Murray had phrased it. Your gut had been right, and your boyfriend had been spending time with someone else, so you’d dumped him right away without a clear explanation, just the words you know why and that was it.

He knew you better than you knew yourself. So, at the end of your school year, after you’d been walking around with a smile on your lips, always doodling in your sketchbook, he sat you down to talk.

“Sweetpea, it’s a good thing that you like someone again, means you’re moving on from that no-good-son-of-a-”

“What are you talking about?” you stopped him before he could finish. While he was right with that description, you were more curious about what he was talking about.

“You know what I’m talking about. That goofy smile on your lips, the way you always carry your sketchbook around to draw, you’ve been day-dreaming.” He counted every piece of evidence on his fingers. “Want me to keep going?”

“No… No need to.” With a defeated sigh you put the sketchbook on the table between you. A curse that he knew you so well and saw right through you.

“Has he asked you out?” Your Dad eyed your sketchbook for a moment, before he focused all his attention back on you.

“We haven’t really seen each other that much since I graduated and he didn’t.”

“He didn’t graduate?”

“No.” There was no judgement in his voice, just curiosity, but you still felt the need to defend Eddie. “He’s not stupid, just has problems concentrating. He’s very creative, reads a lot, but just not the stuff they want us to read at school. But he’s probably able to recite all of The Lord of the Rings without batting an eyelash.” You smiled to yourself, thinking back on the discussion about the trilogy that had nearly gotten you kicked out of the library.

“Alright.” Murray nodded, now reaching for your sketchbook, waiting for your permission to look at it, and you gave it to him with a nod. He was your biggest fan, always had been. “So, who’s this mysterious guy and when will I meet him?”

“Dad! It’s not like we’re dating. We know each other, have studied together a couple of times, but that’s it.”

“But you like him.”

There was no way you could deny this. Even talking about him made your heart beat faster.

“Yeah…” Still, you were a little worried about giving your father the name. He’d find out one way or another, so what was the point in keeping quiet about this. “It’s Eddie… Eddie Munson.”

“Eddie Munson… now that name sounds familiar.” You’d mentioned him before, but back then, you Dad hadn’t thought anything about it, just someone you were studying with. When he opened up your sketchbook and saw all the doodles of Eddie - nothing to worry about, just everyday situations, because you enjoyed looking at him, especially because he looked different from everyone else. “Oh no.” Your Dad looked up at you, suddenly realising just who you were talking about. “Please tell me that’s not the one!” Murray pointed one finger at a picture of Eddie in your sketchbook where he was holding a cigarette. Now, Murray didn’t have a problem with smoking in itself or alcohol - jeez, the first time you’d been drunk had been in his presence - but he’d of course heard about the rumours.

“Do you think I chose to fall for the guy out of my league?” You rolled your eyes and snatched the sketchbook from him again.

“Sorry, sweetpea, but… You know what they say about him, right?” And he wasn’t talking about the devil worshipping stuff everyone had made up, because you knew that your Dad thought that stuff like that, getting to the bottom of it, was rather interesting.

“And you know that most of that is just rumours, because people are condescending, ignorant bitches who don’t want to interact with other people, who are not exactly like them.”

“Language!” You simply raised an eyebrow at him, because he knew damn well, where you’d gotten your potty mouth from, so he pedalled back. “Right… but he’s dealing drugs, and that’s not something I want you to get involved with.”

The worry in his eyes was what got to you. You usually had an easy-going relationship, he was more of a friend to you, but when he had to, he had the role of Dad up to par.

“You know I don’t judge by looks or rumours. Couldn’t care less about them.” At least not when it came down to it, but of course the rumours about Eddie were on his mind, when Murray thought about you and him together.

“Just by people’s actions, I know.” And you Dad was right about the dealing, but he had no idea why Eddie was doing it. You’d gotten a glimpse at that, but you two didn’t know each other well enough to talk about all that kind of stuff. Though he’d told you that he was living with his uncle because his parents hadn’t cared about him, just like your mother hadn’t cared enough about you to stay or even visit you.

“Exactly.” Murray got up and sat down beside you, wrapping an arm around your shoulder. “I just don’t want you to get your heart broken again, you know? And he looks like heartbreak on a stick to me.”

You had to chuckle at your father’s words, because you knew what a gentleman Eddie was, that he always put others first, took care of his friends… Traits your father would love about him, but you knew that it wasn’t easy, that he worried about you more than he liked to admit. But ever since you’d been out of school, you hadn’t seen him around much, because you were still trying to figure out what to do, where to go - though you really diN’t want to leave your Dad alone here in Hawkins - while Eddie repeated the year again. You got a job at Family Video along with Steve and Robin, whom you knew through school as well, but apart from that, you still had to figure out where your life was headed.

“And just so you know, he is not out of your league.”

—

A couple of months passed after that conversation, until you found yourself in the current situation, with Eddie in your kitchen right next to you.

When the doorbell rang, you walked straight up to it, bowl of ice-cream in your hand.

“Wait! Let me check who that is first!” Your father yelled from the other room, making sure to take a look at the screens. You’d always thought that it was a little over the top to watch the front door with cameras, but after what had happened here in Hawkins, what your father had let you in on, you could understand the cautiousness, but he’d been like that even before.

“That’s Wheeler!” he yelled again, practically giving you the go to open the door.

Nancy had been here a few times now, so it wasn’t unusual that she showed up, though she’d always called ahead before. When you opened the door, spoon hanging from your lips, ready to ask Nancy to come inside, you were caught off-guard by four people standing there - and you knew all of them.

Taking the spoon out of your mouth and putting it back in the bowl, you scanned their faces, but your heart practically jumped when you saw Eddie among them. You’d seen each other casually on the street, at Family Video, had even chatted now and then, but this… this was something else. Sure, you’d tried to forget about him, but your heart clearly hadn’t done that.

“Y/N?” Eddie asked, visibly surprised to see you here. The others had told them that they needed Murray’s help. If they’d mentioned his last name, Eddie would have known that this was your house, because Bauman wasn’t exactly a name you came across very often.

“Um… Hi!” You were visibly confused to see Steve and Robin there as well, who were giving you a little wave to say hello.

“Hi! Is Murray here? We really need to talk to him.” Nancy smiled at you, but you could see that she was tensing up. There was something going on, otherwise she wouldn’t show up here with the other three.

“Yeah, come on in.” You opened the door wide for them to enter and lead the way to the living room. “DAD! You have visitors!”

“Murray is your Dad?” Steve asked curiously, looking around a little.

“Does it take you that long to connect the dots?” Robin shook her head at him, grinning to herself. Of course, she’d figured that out a long time ago.

“Yeah, I take more after my… mother.” Which was good for you, but it also hurt sometimes when you looked in the mirror.

“Kids!” Murray greeted them as he entered the living room, his smile faltering a little, when his eyes landed on Eddie. He’d met the others but Eddie was a new edition, and you hadn’t known that as well.

“Murray! Good, we really need your help.” Nancy quickly got his attention and guided the others to sit down with her as well. She got out her notebook and whatever else she’d brought. It was really none of your business so you left them alone and walked into the open kitchen to give them some privacy. You didn’t want to spy on them after all, but you also didn’t want to withdraw yourself completely. This was still your home, and you’d been drawing on the kitchen table, just taking a little break for some ice-cream. Your supplies were spread out on the table, and you were glad that you’d only drawn the outlines of your newest piece after Eddie had preoccupied your dreams last night, so you had to get that down on paper, because no other than the man himself walked up to you.

“Hey you,” he said with a smile, leaning against the counter right next to you. “Haven’t seen you around in a bit.”

“What? You miss me?”

“What if I do?”

His words caught you off guard, and you nearly choked on your ice-cream. Was he being serious? You had no chance to ask, though, when he pushed away from the counter again to take a look at your drawings.

“What’cha drawing?” His fingertips touched the paper, pushed it aside to reveal the finished one beneath it, and what he saw really made his eyes widen. Shit. You’d forgotten about the one you’d done before, of him from behind, the vest a clear indicator of who that was.

“Just what I dreamed about last night.” You put your bowl aside and stepped up to him, quickly taking the finished picture out of his hands, trying to hide it, but it was no use since he’d already seen it.

“You dreaming about me?” Eddie quirked an eyebrow at you, reaching for your hands to get that picture back, but you held it behind your back. “Aw come on, that picture is really good! Can I keep it?”

He wanted what? You’d expected a different kind of reaction, but this was… rather sweet.

“You really want this?” Was he mocking you? You had to make sure, because there was this little voice in your head that told you that he wasn’t being serious.

“Yes! Never seen a better picture of myself if I’m being honest. That’s really flattering, y/n.” When you held your hand out to him, Eddie took the picture from you and smiled. A genuine, warm smile that made your stomach flip, made you bite your lip to keep yourself from smiling like an idiot.

“And I did miss you,” Eddie clarified, brushing his fingers over yours, but you slowly pulled back. The air was thick between you, and you felt like you couldn’t really breathe with him so close, so you leaned back against the counter, catching your father’s eyes across the rooms, because he kept watching you. Nancy had to pull his attention back to what she was showing him multiple times.

“I missed you, too,” you admitted, even though you knew that this wasn’t a good idea. Still, you had to admire the courage he had in sharing this information pretty much right in front of your father.

“Why are you here?” you asked, trying to divert the attention to something else, looked over to where the other three were sitting, now deep in conversation with your Dad.

“We… found something and we need your Dad’s Russian knowledge.” Eddie looked over at the others for a moment as well, before he focused his attention back on you. Seeing you here had taken him off guard as well. He’d asked Steve and Robin when you were working so that he could come by Family Video then, get a chance to talk to you, but lately, his timing had been off. Everything would have been easier if he’d just managed to ask you out, but every single time, he’d worked up the courage, something had happened. You’d had to leave, the telephone had rung, like someone, something didn’t want him to spend time with you.

“Heard a lot of awesome things about your Dad.” That he was a bit crazy as well, but that was coming from people, who’d fought God knows what. Crazy might actually be good then.

“Yeah, he’s wonderful.” You smiled at Eddie. “A little eccentric as people like to call him, but I couldn’t wish for a better Dad.”

“You two close then?”

“Very. It sounds like a cliche, but he’s my best friend.” That was why you valued his opinion so much, and you thought about the conversation you’d had about Eddie.

“That sounds great.” Eddie really thought so, and he loved the way you talked about your Dad. He talked about Wayne the same way, the one person who’d been like a father to him. His real parents weren’t part of his life anymore.

“There’s something I’ve been wanting to ask you, y/n.” It was serious when he used your name instead of calling you princess or darling. “Actually been trying to ask you ever since you graduated… probably longer.” Eddie was nervous, you could see it in the way he twirled one of his rings, the way his foot tapped the linoleum beneath you. His hand reached out to touch you, his fingertips touching yours while your hands dangled next to each other. You didn’t pull back when he wrapped his fingers around yours, because it felt way too good, electricity running all the way up your arm. “I was wondering… if you might wanna go out with me? There’s an art exhibition in Indianapolis next week, and I thought you might want to check that out. Preferably with me.”

The smile he gave you nearly made your knees weak. Eddie was more into music than into art, but he knew that you were. Once you’d spent half an hour telling him how much you loved van Gogh’s work, and he’d kept that in mind. And while you really wanted to go, scream yes at the top of your lungs, you had to turn him down.

“I’m sorry, but I don’t think that’s a good idea. I don’t really have time and all that…” A stupid excuse, but you couldn’t tell him that you didn’t want to go, because that would be a lie. It was because of the talk you’d had with your Dad before.

“Eddie?” Nancy poked her head through the open door, and you could see the concerned look on your Dad’s face straight away, so you took a step towards the table to gather your stuff. It was probably better when you retreated to your room.

“Sorry to interrupt!”

“It’s okay, we were done talking anyway,” you said with a smile and brushed past them to get to your room. Nancy’s eyes followed you, but then she levelled a look at Eddie, who immediately held up his hands.

“I asked her out, Nance, and she said it’s not a good idea. Guess I’ll just give up.” Eddie tried to smile, but failed. He’d liked you ever since you’d started studying together, but back then, he hadn’t had the courage to ask you out. After school, he’d thought that you’d go off to college, and it wasn’t like he hadn’t tried to ask you out, he’d just never been able to get the words out. He’d talked to Nancy about this, so today was the opportunity. And now he stood here defeated.

“I know for a fact that she likes you, so I don’t understand why she would turn you down.” Yes, you’d confided in her, had also told her about the talk you’d had with your father, so Nancy figured that that must have been the reason.

“Just… leave it at that, Nancy. It’s alright.” A crushed ego, yes, but he didn’t want to think about that anymore right now. After all, they had come here for something completely different, and so he gently pushed Nancy in the direction of the table in the living room where they could tell Eddie what they’d come up with, not that he was able to pay that much attention, but he tried his best.

They sat there for another half hour approximately until they were finished.

“Thanks Murray, that really helped,” Robin said with a grin. She would have needed days for the translation, and that wouldn’t have solved everything, so Murray’s help had been much appreciated.

“No problem, kids.” He’d grown quite fond of them if he was honest, though he didn’t always know how to show it. “And now to you.” His eyes landed on Eddie.

“What about me?” Oh, he had a really good idea what he wanted to talk or ask about, and while everything in him wanted to run away, get out of the window and walk all the home if he had to, he stayed.

“You and my daughter.” Murray leaned forward a little, not really intimidating, more curious. The other three sat there quietly, knowing that this wasn’t their conversation. Nancy had been in that same position before, and she knew that Murray was able to read people so well, just like he#d done with Jonathan and here - and that had been the gentle nudge they’d needed to admit their feelings.

“There’s nothing going on.” Eddie had to make that clear, and it was the truth. “We’re just… friends I guess.” Yes, he’d asked you out, but he’d always liked you as a person, and was hoping that this wouldn’t stand between you now, that you’d still be able to treat each other normally, now that he knew that you weren’t feeling the same way.

“Friends don’t look at each other that way.” Murray couldn’t help but smile. Yes, he’d talked to you about Eddie but that was before he’d seen the two of you interact. Of course, he’d paid attention, and the way Eddie had made you smile, the very gentle touch of his hands, the way he’d looked at you all the time… Murray knew that look. Nancy had told him before that Eddie was a good guy, just different, with different interests, which wasn’t a bad thing. He’d needed to see that for himself. The way Eddie had looked at you, acted around you, had told him everything he’d needed to know.

“It’s the same way Nancy and Jonathan looked at each other.” Murray grinned to himself, proud of bringing these two together, because he definitely took credit for that.

“Leave me out of this!” Nancy nudged him, but kept her eyes on Eddie, who’s cheeks had definitely taken on a different colour by now. She’d told him that before, so she really didn’t know why you’d turned him down.

“I’m telling you, there’s nothing going on.” Eddie really wished he could just get out of this situation, especially with the other three around. So far, he’d told Nancy, but neither Robin nor Steve had known up until now. They’d guessed that much, though, but had never said a word.

“But you want to go out with y/n.” It wasn’t a question, it was a statement, because Murray might not have heard what the two of you had been talking about, he’d seen the way you’d acted.

“Well…” This was your Dad he was talking to, which made the situation so awkward, that Eddie felt at a loss for words.

“Yes he does.” Nancy answered for him, sick of this back and forth that wouldn’t lead anywhere. “And you want to know why she said no to him…?”

Now it was Murray’s turn to open and close his mouth again, because he hadn’t expected that from Nancy, but he also knew what she was talking about.

“What do you mean?” Eddie looked between Nancy and Murray, trying to follow. Meanwhile Steve and Robin were both wishing for a bucket of Popcorn to enjoy this show even more. It was always nice when you weren’t in the middle of everything that was going on for once.

“Look,” Murray started, then thought for a moment. He didn’t have to tell him everything, did he? Well… “When y/n admitted that she liked you, I might have told her to stay away. Which wasn’t against you in general just… a father looking out for his daughter.”

Oh Eddie knew about his reputation, about all the things that were being said about him.

“If you really think, I worship the devil, then you’re-”

“Nope, not at all. And even if you did… that would actually be kind of interesting.” Murray’s words made Eddie chuckle. Now, that wasn’t the kind of reaction he’d expected at all. “She got her heart broken before, and she doesn’t do well with abandonment.” Your mother, Eddie knew about that. “Actually something you two have in common.”

“Shared trauma,” Nancy provided, using the same words Murray had used for her and Jonathan, and he’d been right.

“Exactly.” Murray grinned to himself before he looked back at Eddie. “I might have fucked that one up for you.” But still… “Didn’t think you’d give up that easily, though.”

“Who says I am?” Eddie felt a surge of confidence, now that he knew that you hadn’t turned him down because you didn’t like him, but because of something else. So he got up from the couch and walked around the couch.

“Last room on the left,” Murray called after him, a grin spreading on his lips.

“You really have a… special way with people.” Nancy shook her head, but tried to hide her smile behind the glass of water.

“Can’t blame me for looking out for my daughter.”

No, she really couldn’t, but she was glad that he’d finally seen what kind of person Eddie was, that his interest in you was genuine, and that he deserved a chance.

Eddie took a deep breath before he knocked on your door. After he heard your come in, he slipped through the door, closing it behind him again, so that the others and your father wouldn’t come snooping around, because they liked to do that - all four of them.

“Eddie!” Your surprise was visible as you scrambled from lying on your stomach into a sitting position on top of your bed. Photos and pictures you’d painted covered your walls. There was a corner where you stashed your art supplies, and another one with a dressing table, clothes discarded on top of a chair, including some underwear. God, this was mortifying, but Eddie didn’t seem to notice.

“So…” he started, leaning back against the door, letting his eyes roam just for a second before he focused on you again. “I had a little talk with your Dad. Or rather he did a lot of talking.”

“Oh God… Yeah, he tends to do that.” You scooted to the edge of the bed, letting your legs dangle off of it. You could feel your heart beat so hard in your chest, so loud that you were sure he was able to hear it. “But he usually means well.”

“He did.” The corners of his lips curled up, because as uncomfortable as he’d first felt in that situation, the outcome had led him here into your room - with Murray’s blessing. “He said that he noticed the way we look at each other and that friends don’t look at each other like that.”

Your father had what? Was that the same person that had told you to stay away from Eddie?

“So is he right?” Eddie took a step closer to your bed, and another one, until he was standing right in front of you. “Because he’s certainly right about me.” Why should he deny that when he’d already asked you out? That had definitely been a clear indicator that he liked you.

For a few seconds, you were quiet, looking straight through him, but then you got up to look him in the eyes.

“Yeah he’s right. He is so good at reading people it’s sometimes scary.” You were used to it, but when he did that with people he hardly knew, it was really something else.

“Definitely,” Eddie had to agree, gaining more of his confidence back the more you talked, and so he reached for your hand just like he’d done in the kitchen before. Calloused fingers wrapped around your own, and you squeezed his hand in return. “So you turned me down because…”

“I think you already know.” You sighed and felt stupid, but your Dad’s opinion was important to you, and you didn’t want to disappoint him. You’d never be able to do that because he loved you to bits, but you still worried now and then.

“What if I ask again?” He brought your hand up to his lips, brushed his lips over your knuckles keeping eye-contact with you. “Would you like to go to that art exhibition with me?”

“But you’re not interested in that.” You cocked your head to the side, feeling the goosbumps run up your arm.

“But I’m interested in you, and I want to learn about the things you like.”

It was probably one of the most romantic things anyone had ever told you, so you leaned in and kissed his cheek.

“I’d love to go.”

“Great!” His excitement lit up his whole face, which you loved to see. “Sunday?”

“Sounds perfect.”

“Great, I’ll pick you up around noon.”

You talked a moment longer, before Eddie had to leave. The others were already waiting for him, but he kissed the back of your hand before he left your room, leaving you with a big smile on your lips.

It didn’t take long for your Dad to knock on the open door and poke his head in.

“Hey kiddo… We good?”

You could see the worry in his eyes, because he’d made this much harder for Eddie and you than it could have been, but in the end, you’d finally talked about this, and you’d have your first date with him as well.

“Yeah…” Your smile stayed in place as you walked over to your father to hug him tight. “You’re an idiot, but I still love you.”

“Yeah I am.” Still he smiled, pressed a kiss to the top of your head. He was happy for you, glad to see you smiling like this after quite some time, but he’d still let Eddie’s body vanish into thin air, if he ever broke your heart.

Tag-list: @violetpenguinkris @tellhound @ghosttownwherenoonegoes @spideyanakin-interacts @bellamy-barnes @beepisbeep @snapefiction @hardysbitch @give-em-hellfire @sadbitchfangirl @ravenclawkimmi @lacrymosa-24

Let me know if you want to be tagged for the Promises-series, Eddie stuff in general or Steddie-fics 💚

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson x female reader #stranger things x reader #stranger things x you #stranger things imagine #staffi writes

261 notes · View notes

fnf-amateur-writing · 3 years

Note

Hey! It’s Fox again! How are you doing? I just started school back up today, so I’ve been busy Xp.

Think you would be cool with writing some Pico with an s/o who is a writer, and tends to ask him about things like “hey, how long does it take someone to bleed out” or other things like that?

I understand if you don’t feel like it, and I hope you’re having fun 😊

🦊

Hello again Fox, I'm doing quite well rn. I'm cool with your prompt, especially since I need more writing material anyways.

Took me a while, because I didn't want to do a hc, but rather come up with a oneshot with a little twist to the style. Well, hope it works well.

Good luck with school, mate!

TW: Mentions of violence, swearing, slight sexual reference, and crime.

Pico with a writer S/O who asks him strange questions

Prologue:

On a chilly autumn morning, you were sitting out on your patio with a laptop and a mug of your favourite beverage next to you. Whenever you looked up, you could see the warm coloured leaves fall as the breeze accompanied you. The whole scene was an aesthetic.

When your boyfriend, Pico, came outside to see this, he knew that the nice environment you surrounded yourself with meant one thing. "You're back in your writing space already. Heh, with that bestseller you published, I thought you were comfy taking a break." You simply smiled and said, "can't waste the inspiration rush I got right now."

Pico had a good point though, with your rising popularity as an author, you were near set to retire before turning fourty. But you wish you weren't given all of the credit, since your boyfriend's stories of his dodgy job has occasionally sparked some ideas for your stories. However the books you wrote in the past were usually meant for the young adult and had few mature themes. This time, you thought maybe it's time to garner extra inspiration from those stories.

You were met with some disappointment when you realised that your mug was empty, only a drop entering your mouth. "Here, babe, I'll ya some more," Pico said, taking your mug and walking inside. "Quick question," you stopped him. "Yeah?"

"What would be the best place for a murder cemetery?"

"... What?"

Chapter 1:

"So you're doing some story about the police hunting down a mass murderer?"

"Pretty much."

"And to think you were gonna write Pixar's next script. Aight' I respect that." Pico takes a seat next to you with a refill of your drink placed next to your favourite writing laptop. "Thanks, Pico. But yeah, I want to branch out to something edgier, and I think you can help too."

"Let me show you what I've got so far." You showed him some of your notes in a little notepad document, detailing the story thus far and your current plans for this chapter. "Oh, that's it? Just looks like boring police preparation mainly," Pico commented. "Yeah, it's not much right now. But it'll get juicy later." "And bloody?" "And bloody."

"Welp, I'm gonna head back in," Pico got up, "let me know if you need anything." He head back inside, closing the door, but then opened it almost immediately afterwards. Pico stuck his head out, "by the way, the guy should use some strong alcohol or something to throw off those sniffer dogs."

Chapter 2:

"And then, because they used a silencer, the police don't immediately notice the--"

"Nope! I'm calling bullshit (Y/N)!" Pico had suddenly interrupted your explanation of the scene you were currently working on. "Silencers can help prevent some hearing loss, sure, but they're not magic."

"Alright," you reply, "no silencer, but the killer still has to kill in a way to not get blood on them, so I thought shooting and killing them from a distance would work." "Well, they're alone. Instead, have the guy get shanked in the neck or something, and have the killer use a plastic bag as a glove. It saved my ass one time."

"Woah!" you exclaimed with a giggle, "you used a knife once? What happened to my trigger happy boyfriend, huh? That's pretty sus."

"I forgot to reload the Uzis, alright?"

"What an impostor would say."

Chapter 3:

"What would be the best way to muffle the scream of someone you kidnapped?"

You two were sitting on the couch together watching a show. You didn't have your laptop on you, so Pico didn't expect you to still be thinking about that book. "I can't say from experience, really," he said as he paused the show. "However, shove a rag in their mouth and duct tape it in, and you should be good."

"Thanks Pico, also one more thing." "Yeah?" "What if our killer also wanted to..." God, this one was gonna be awkward, but you had to say it or else no help. "You know, cut off this victim's willy. How would you do that?"

"Wai-wha-uh-ga," Pico started fumbling his words like never before. He stopped, then took a deep breath. "YO, WHAT THE FUCK?!" "It'll make sense in the story later, I promise!" You watch Pico begin to lose it, breaking into laughter. "Ladies, gentlemen, and others," Pico dramatically stood up, pulling a little Showcaster impression and directing his arms towards you, "my famous 'young' adult novelist partner!"

Chapter 4:

It was in the dead of night, but you awoke to Pico on his phone. His vpn was on and Tor was up. As per usual, he was checking up on his little hitman service, where others could request for a certain someone's guts to fly if they paid him a hefty sum first. Though tired, you ound this to be the best time to ask him some more questions.

"Pico, how do those sites work?"

"Oh, you're awake," Pico blankly stated, sleepy too. But he still answered you. "Basically, some anonymous rich guys in the area give me money and a target, then I just do the thing and send a mission accomplished email." "Do they pay you in person?" "Nah, we use always use Bitcoin. It's a lot harder to trace than real money."

"Thanks Pico. Goodnight," you wish him, yawning and going back to sleep. "You too... So this guy is a hit man too?" "Hush. Tomorrow." "Okay." Pico puts his phone away, leaving it on a nightstand. You then spoon the night away, peacefully thinking of murder as you drifted off.

Chapter 5:

On a morning similar to before, you two sat on the patio with your drinks and laptop at the ready. Pico watched rather awkwardly as you typed away, wondering why you haven't entertained him with another question yet.

"You gonna ask anything else?" "What? Oh, nah," you plainly state. Inevitable, sure, but he was kind of saddened. He liked being able to share his messed up wisdom. "So, you're done?" "Almost." You turn to look at him, "want the spoilers?" Pico smiled, "sure thing."

In the novella you and Pico crafted together, the main character is a cop who hunts down a killer. They eventually notice that there would be two murders at a time for unknown reasons. Well, it was unknown until one victim had left up a dark web hit man for hire site. They that the hit man not only kills the target, but the client as a hidden price for the service.

And any request will be fulfilled, according to the hit man's site.

"Do they catch 'em?" Pico asked. "Well, ANY request is granted. So, if our hero were to... hire him to kill himself..."

"No way!"

"He did. They find both of their bodies in his bedroom."

Pico was a bit impressed with the ending you came up with, but then he remembered something. "Why did that guy get his thing cut off?" "Lol, I forgot," you giggled. "He sent a message to the hit man, saying he wishes the target would choke on his dick."

"That's my favourite part."

Epilogue:

After everything was finished up, you sent the book off to your editor. After the initial joy of knowing how the story ended, you saw that Pico was still in thought. "What's up with you?" "Oh nothing, well it's just... I'm probably just biased, being that I'm a bit of a hitman myself, but it's kind of sad to see the guy go."

"Then I should spoil the epilogue I came up with." Rather than being excited, Pico nervously asked, "what's an epilogue?" He didn't get an answer, only you staring at him. "Sorry, school held too many bad memories for me to pay attention."

"Anyways," you continue, "the rest of the police gang did some background checks, and find that our killer was a normal guy with no criminal history."

"Penilian?"

"No. But I did decide to take a more supernatural approach here. Somewhere across the country, another string of double homicides occur and that site is active once more. And the story kind of repeats itself."

"Penilian."

"You joker," you give him a playful little kiss on the cheek, one that definitely caught him off guard. "So is it canon?" Pico smirked. "Nah, just thanking you for being my cute little co-author." "Oh," Pico started, "so we're flirtin' now, huh. Come here babe!" He tackled you onto the ground, giving you several kisses in exchange.

"Actually, I think we call that 'making out'," you chuckle out, flustered. "But that doesn't mean I said stop'!" You pull him in for more, accidentally bonking your heads together rather painfully. "Nice double kill there, (Y/N)."

#fnf x reader #fnf imagines #pico x reader #fnf pico

115 notes · View notes

thatfanficstuff · 3 years

Text

Impossible - 18

Pairing: Eric Northman x reader

Warnings: mentions of unwanted touching and assholes thinking of rape (no sexual assault takes place beyond groping)

A/N: This is longish. I'm lazy and didn't edit. If anything is glaring let me know.

***

It was decided that you and Sookie would present as friends looking for a new church. You intended to play quiet and if necessary you would pretend you were the puppet Stan thought you to be until you escaped from your horrible vampire boyfriend. You thought he loved you. Sob. So on and so forth.

Part of you wanted to go with Stan’s idea. Hell, if there was a way to be rid of the Fellowship without it pointing back to the vampires, you’d jump for it in a heartbeat. They were the epitome of everything wrong with so-called religions. Standing behind their gods to justify their hate and prejudices.

You sighed as you pulled into the parking lot. A perky blonde signaled for you to park and you frowned.

“Why does she look familiar?” Sookie asked.

“That’s Sarah Newlin, the reverend’s wife. I’m not happy that it appears we were expected, Sookie. I doubt she greets everyone that pulls in the parking lot.” You clenched your teeth together. Your gut was telling you to just pull right back out of the parking lot, but this was still your best bet to find Godric. “Just be on guard.”

Sookie nodded her head then slipped out of the car with a grin on her face, ready to greet the Mrs. You followed along behind her playing timid.

“Hi,” Sarah exclaimed. “I’m Sarah Newlin. I saw y’all pulling in and thought I’d come out and greet you myself.”

Sookie walked right up to her and shook her hand. “I can’t believe I’m actually getting to meet you. My name is Heidi Merlotte. This is my friend Sylvia North. We’ve recently moved to the area and are looking for a church.”

Sarah shifted that smile to you and held out her hand. You took it gingerly and kept your other arm wrapped around your waist. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Sylvia.”

You just nodded in acknowledgement.

“Well, you’re a quiet thing aren’t you?”

Sookie wrapped her arm around you and leaned forward as if sharing a great secret. “We moved to get Sylvia out of a situation, so to speak. She’s still recovering.”

You could almost believe the look of sympathy Sarah directed your way. She turned and motioned for you to follow her. “Well, follow me and we’ll see if Steve’s available. I’m sure he’d just love to meet you.”

“The reverend himself?” Sookie enthused. “That would be amazing.”

The two of you followed Sarah to an office where Steve Newlin sat behind a large desk. “Honey, we’ve got a couple of friends here looking for a church. Heidi Merlotte and Sylvia North.” You shuffled in and took the offered hand, nodding at his greeting before looking around the office. Sarah bent over to whisper something in her husband’s ear that you weren’t meant to hear. “They insinuated they moved to escape some sort of trauma.”

Steve made a sound of agreement before gracing you with that megawatt smile he was so famous for. You settled into your chair, content to let Sookie do all the talking. She always chattered when she was nervous anyway.

“Sylvia and I met in church actually, but we left when we discovered that the pastor was…well he was…” Sookie trailed off dramatically and you managed to resist the urge to roll your eyes.

“Homosexual?” Steve suggested.

Ugh, just when you thought you couldn’t hate this guy more than you already did. What an ass. “A sympathizer. He was a sympathizer,” you said before he could say something else that made you want to punch him in the face.

“Now see, that really makes me mad. How can you claim to love God if you love something God hates?” Too late. You wanted to punch him.

“Well, given Sylvia’s history, we know just how horrible vampires are,” Sookie added after a pause and you wondered what she’d heard in the asshole’s head. “No one will ever convince us that they have any sort of control. They are just evil.”

The Newlins’ attention turned to you with her words. You’d curse her, but this was the plan. You unbuttoned the top button on your shirt and pulled it open to show Eric’s marks. Normally you just wore one, but he’d given you a couple of extra the night before to add to your story. Once they’d seen, you buttoned your shirt back up as if you were ashamed.

You cleared your throat. “He was my boss. He was nice enough at first but then he started catching me in the backroom and feeding. He glamoured me into thinking I enjoyed it. That he loved me. I didn’t know until he came to my house one night and Heidi caught him doing it. She told me everything and helped me escape.” You reached over and grabbed Sookie’s hand. “She saved my life. I truly believe that.”

When you finished with your fantasy, you bent your head forward and wiped away a non-existent tear.

“I am sorry that such a horrible thing happened to you. But that’s what we’re here for is to help people like you. None of this was your fault,” Sarah’s voice comes.

“Thank you. I appreciate that.” You kept your head down so you didn’t have to meet their gazes again. Frankly, you were tired of looking at them.

Steve clapped his hands together. “Well, let’s take a little tour, shall we?”

A tremor of unease crawled down your spine. You were pretty sure the Rev. Newlin’s job description didn’t include giving tours to the peons. You looked up at them, attempting to appear upset instead of untrusting. Sookie and you followed the couple out of the office to what you assumed was the door of the sanctuary.

Steve stopped before opening them and turned to face you. “Now, be careful when I open the doors.”

You arched a brow. “Careful?”

He grinned. “Sometimes when we open these doors, so much love comes flowing out it just knocks you right over.”

You were pretty sure that was the flood of bullshit actually.

“We’ll be sure and brace ourselves,” Sookie responds with a chipper smile.

When they opened the doors, you were actually impressed with the sight that greeted you. The large wall of windows at the back of the church allowed sunlight to flood the sanctuary. It was quite a stunning display. “It’s beautiful.”

“Isn’t it? I just love this room. It just seems to glow in the afternoon light,” Sarah said, obviously meaning every word.

“It’s just so inspiring,” Steve added.

Sookie fidgeted beside you and you knew whatever the reverend was thinking, it wasn’t pleasant. You reached over and hooked your arm with hers.

He looked between the two of you. “Say have you two ever been to a lock-in?”

“A l-lock-in?” Sookie stuttered out.

You gave your brightest, fakest smile and channeled your inner Sookie. “Not since I was a kid. Gosh, those were good times.”

“Well, we’d love to have you join us,” Steve offered.

Whatever he was up to, Sarah didn’t like it if her body language was anything to go by.

Sookie tugged at your arm. “We should go home and get our stuff so we can do the lock-down.”

You looked down to cover your smirk. They were definitely behind Godric’s disappearance then. You understood Sookie wanting to get out of here, if she’d confirmed that, but in all honesty you were the best option for getting Godric out of here without causing a scene.

“You have plenty of time. The lock-inisn’t until tomorrow. Besides, we haven’t finished the tour yet,” Steve said.

“You wanted to see me?” a voice interrupted and Sarah only looked more concerned. A large bald man came to stand by the Newlins. He was obviously their muscle.

“Oh good. Heidi, Sylvia, I’d like you to meet Gabe, one of my aides,” Steve introduced.

Gabe shook your hands while running his gaze over both of you. He licked his lips and you wanted to kick him in the nuts. Maybe later. It would give you something to look forward to.

“Gabe will be joining us for the rest of the tour,” Steve said, patting the other man on the back.

The tour continued far longer than necessary. “I’m sorry but we need to be going. I don’t like to be out after dark,” you said.

“Oh there’s just one more thing I want to show you. It’s a very special part of the tour. Most people don’t get to see it. My father’s tomb.” He sounded entirely too happy about that.

“Steve, are you sure?” Sarah asked.

“Absolutely.”

“I just don’t see why we need to go down there.”

“Not to be rude but I really don’t want to see someone’s grave,” you said.

Steve looked at you. “You have to see it. You can really feel his spirit down there. It’s the cornerstone our church is built on.” He opened a door that led down a steep set of stairs. Creepy basement. Check. And probably no windows. Perfect place to keep a vampire.

Sookie grasped your arm. “Sylvia?”

“What’s the matter?” Steve asked.

“She’s a little claustrophobic,” you lied.

“Well, at least take a little looksee so you can say you saw everything and you can make an informed decision,” the reverend argued.

“But we’ve already decided to go here so I don’t think it’s necessary,” Sookie said, her voice shaking. “We should go, Sylvia.”

“No,” Steve said. “Gabe!” Steve dived for Sookie and Gabe came after you. He grabbed you from behind, crossing his arms over the front of you, copping a cheap feel as he did so. Fucker. Irritation and Anger flooded through you and you knew Eric would pick up on it. He wouldn’t give you long before he came in after the two of you.

It wouldn’t take much for you to get free and to free Sookie as well, but you wouldn’t get a better opportunity to explore the basement. You feigned fighting and let the asshole carry you down the stairs with a firm grip on your breast.

You heard Sookie fighting behind you. “A little help, Gabe. I think the fucking banger’s on V,” Steve yelled.

“Quit fighting, Heidi. You’ll only get hurt,” you called and heard the commotion die down. At least she trusted you enough to do what you said.

They carried the two of you into a storage cage and locked you in after taking Sookie’s purse and searching both of you. As soon as they were out of sight and you heard the door shut upstairs, Sookie turned to you. “I sure as hell hope you have a plan because that Gabe guy is a total asshole.”

You hummed in agreement and pulled your lockpicking tools from your hair. They looked like barrettes and bobby pins to the untrained eye. “My plan is to find Godric before Eric gets here to rescue us.”

“You seem sure he’ll come,” she said, sounding surprised.

“I am. And if he doesn’t, I’ll get us out. Don’t worry about it.” You moved over to the gate to see the best way to go about getting the two of you out. The chain link configuration complicated things a bit but you’d figure it out.

“You’re always so sure about things. I wish I was like that.”

“A little bit of uncertainty makes life exciting,” you said with a grin before grabbing the gate and shaking it to see how sturdy it was. Keeping your grip you leaned against it. “Little god, little god, it’s time to go home,” you said in a singsong voice. Godric would hear you if he was anywhere in the basement.

“Little god?”

“Long story,” you assured her and shook the gate again. “Good news, the gate is designed to keep people out, not in. Also good news, I’m not completely human.”

“What’s the bad news?” she asked.

“This will be loud.” Unfortunately, the only top to the cage was the ceiling so there was nothing above you to grab onto. Instead, you grabbed onto the chain link beside the gate and used it to swing your body at an angle so your feet hit right where the lock was. You repeated the action two more times before dropping down so you could check the lock.

“Little god, I’m not leaving without you. I know you like me too much to let me die,” you said distracted as your focus was on the gate. You’d definitely done some damage but you decided to keep your feet on the ground and see what kind of damage side kicks could do.

After the second kick, you heard the door upstairs open. “What’s going on down there?” Gabe. Good.

“Nothing,” you called back even as you kicked again and the lock gave way. You grabbed the gate and pulled it shut as his feet thundered down the stairs.

He glared at the two of you before finally settling on you. You had no idea what Sookie looked like behind you but you were giving your best evil grin. “What are you up to, you little bitch?”

“That’s no way to talk to a lady,” you taunted, waiting for him to get closer.

“You’re not a lady,” he said. “You’re just some vampire’s whore.” He licked his lips and looked you over again as he pulled keys from his pocket. When he caught sight of the lock, he frowned and moved forward, “What the hell?”

Once he was within striking distance, you slammed the gate forward so it cracked him in the head and shoved him back. You didn’t give him time to recover before you attacked with punches and kicks. He got a couple of hits in as he tried to take you down. To regain the upper hand. But you weren’t about to let that happen. Finally, you got in position to put your arm around his neck. You kept the hold up until he dropped to his knees. When you would have continued until he quit breathing, a hand dropped on your shoulder.

“Enough.”

You looked to Godric. He wasn’t your sire. You had no loyalty to him, but he was a friend. You released Gabe and took a step back. Your gaze ran over the little god. Other than being paler than usual, he looked good. The corner of his mouth lifted in a smile. That was all the invitation you needed to wrap your arms around him.

He returned the hug. He moved his nose near your neck and inhaled. “You smell like my child.”

“Mates.”

He held you at arms length and looked at you in surprise. “He’ll come for you then. Not that he wouldn’t have anyway.”

“Oh, yeah. I figure we’re about out of time.” You gestured to the cage. “Godric, meet Sookie. Sookie, Godric.”

Sookie gave him a smile and a little wave. “Nice to meet you.”

His mouth set in a firm line and his gaze settled on you. “You brought a human with you to rescue me?”

“She’s a little something else, if that makes you feel any better.”

“Not particularly, no. Especially considering what this one would have done had you not been who you are,” he gestured at Gabe.

“Speaking of, you should let me kill him. He groped me.” Reminded of the earlier incident you moved over to the prone form and nudged him so he was laying on his back. Then you kicked him in the balls as hard as you could. “Asshole.”

Godric’s lips twitched. “Feel better?”

“Much.” Sounds of a fight came from upstairs. “Eric.”

“Yes. I am here, my child. Down here.”

In a flash Eric was there. He stopped in front of you first, holding your arms as he looked you over. “I’m fine.”

He nodded once before turning to his maker. “Godric,” he said almost reverently before kneeling in front of him.

The moment was interrupted by Sookie’s laughter. The three of you turned your attention to her. She had a hand over her mouth as she tried to quiet herself. She shook her head. “I’m sorry. It’s just Eric is all respectful and kneeling while you hugged him and called him little god. It’s just funny.”

Eric got to his feet and gave you a look. “Of course, you did.”

“What? Godric likes my hugs.”

#eric northman x reader #eric northman fanfiction #true blood fanfiction #eric northman x you #impossible #series

151 notes · View notes

appleflavoredkitkats · 3 years

Text

Who Are the Four Horsemen of the Dream SMP Apocalypse?

Art by: Viktor Vasnetsov

[TW’s: torture, death, murder, manipulation, alcohol, substance abuse, discussions about the end of the world, religion, starvation, violence, implied gambling, blood, alcoholism]

Word Count: 3.5k

INTRODUCTION

Hopefully I finish this before I feel too sleep-deprived, but I’ve been thinking about the presence of horsemen in Quackity’s “My Enemies” stream. These mysterious, hooded figures are quite odd to say the least, and their involvement with Las Nevadas still remains unknown. There has been a debate on whether there were three horsemen or four, and in my opinion, I believe that there are four horsemen present.

Why four? In the first scene, three horsemen arrive at the Dream SMP on a dark and stormy night. They seem to have come from the south, entering Eret’s castle from the back. As they stop to pull their Netherite swords out, air raid sirens are heard from the distance.

Similarly, in the last scene, Quackity is seen placing a book in Wilbur’s memorial before leaving, riding his skeleton horse, Ossium. The scene cuts from first person POV to third, and we see a hooded figure, presumably Quackity because of how both came from the same direction. Additionally, air raid sirens are also heard from a distance.

[MORE UNDER THE CUT!]

I theorize that these two scenes take place at the same time. The prequel scenes only began after we see the sequence of Quackity torturing Dream, and it ends after the flashbacks of Wilbur. We can synthesize that both these scenes are set at the same time, and that these horsemen are going to meet at a certain point on the prime path.

What may suggest that these four horsemen are supposed to be parallels to the biblical four horsemen?

Firstly, seeing the bits they do, Quackity and Schlatt do know a lot of biblical references. Schlatt has compared Tubbo to Jesus once, and Quackity has said many prayers as jokes in the Dream SMP. It’s just… easy to take inspiration from biblical symbols and references, and also, the four horsemen are just very popular figures in history, so you know, why not?

Also, this may also sound RIDICULOUS, but the fact that this stream establishes that Tommy got resurrected three days after he got killed is actually very reminiscent of, well, you guessed it, Jesus Christ. 72 hours is oddly specific, and I don’t think the cc’s made it that way for no reason. Tommy’s parallels to Jesus—which is a VERY funny phrase—could imply that the Dream SMP might draw more parallels to Christianity, and the four horsemen could be another one of these references.

Also, Quackity mentioned how in Las Nevadas, he made four casinos for him and the rest of El Rapids. So, we know four is a number we can associate with Las Nevadas, and there’s a chance Quackity gave these casinos to three other people. Four casinos, four horsemen.

What is the purpose of the four horsemen in the Dream SMP? When the air raid sirens went off, we can think of these four horsemen as the bringer of chaos or danger into the Dream SMP, very reminiscent of the purpose of the original four horsemen in Christianity. We can also connect it to the end of the world, as these four only appear when the world begins to end. This can imply that these four, who are most likely allies of Quackity in Las Nevadas, are somewhat connected to how the Dream SMP will end.

Now, who is who? Admittedly, it is difficult to find a definitive answer on which member represents what horseman, so I’ll try my best considering all the possibilities for each. I’ll add my own ranks on how probable I think they are, but I have to specify that these are subjective- I am not a beacon of truth, y’all.

So let’s get started.

Firstly, I want to discuss who might NOT be a horseman to narrow it down a bit:

Any minors might not be involved. In Sam’s face reveal stream, aka the first stream mentioning Las Nevadas, Quackity and Sam agree they don’t want Tubbo and Tommy to participate in underage gambling. Don’t know if this applies to Ranboo and Fundy (since he might be canonically a child? Who knows), so they get more of a pass, but the clingy duo might not.

The Syndicate. I’d like to think that the Syndicate, as well as Dream, are Quackity’s main foils of the server. As they are the richest and also the most skilled in PVP, Quackity stands no chance against them even with his sharp tongue. As these people are foils against Quackity, and also probably hate his guts, Quackity might not hire them at Las Nevadas. I theorize he’d probably use Dream as a watchdog against the Syndicate, but that’s a theory for another time.

Additional point about Dream: he’s in prison.

Anyone from Kinoko Kingdom because it’s clear Quackity severed all ties with them.

The Eggpire is half-half. They can possibly join, but also can’t, Quackity can manipulate them into joining only for their inevitable demise, or Quackity wouldn’t wanna associate with them after the explosion incident. They’ll at least get a few passes in some categories, but again, not entirely sure.

CONQUEST

Also known as Plague, Pestilence, and in some occasions, both Jesus Christ and the Antichrist, Conquest is shown to be riding on a white horse, donning a victor’s crown and a bow. There are many interpretations of Conquest, especially with their ambiguous morality. Some people can perceive them as bad, representing the origin of many wars. Some people claim that they represent pestilence and plague as their arrows are slathered with the infections they want to spread. In some cases, they can also be interpreted as good, as their description is heavily reminiscent of Jesus Christ himself. Others would rebut that there is also a possibility that they might be a fake replica of Jesus created by Satan, thus making them the antichrist.

Sam (8/10)

Sam is my first choice when it comes to Conquest because, firstly, he fits the appearance. He is one of the only people in the Dream SMP who dons a crown, and they also possess a bow which they frequently use. I’d say that Sam as Conquest matches with his ambitions as a member of the Badlands, Pestilence or Plague match with his possible crimson infection, and Antichrist matches with his inability to keep Tommy, the possible Jesus figure on the SMP, alive or safe.

My only issue is: would Sam be one of the three who arrived at the Dream SMP in the beginning? Sam is very strict with his job as warden, so it is unlikely that he would be seen far from it.

Any of the Eggpire (7/10)

As Conquest is heavily depicted with pestilence or plague, any of the Eggpire may fit under this category. As their goal as the Eggpire is meant to conquer the Dream SMP, this also matches with the goal of Conquest. Additionally, one of the Egg’s weaknesses is Church Prime, something heavily resembling Christianity, so if the Egg is its opposite, we can view the Egg as somewhat of an antichrist.

I say Punz, Bad, Ponk, and Hannah have a higher chance of being Conquest, while Ant is a solid ‘maybe’. Punz could’ve been the one who blew up the Egg, Bad can be easily persuaded by Quackity, Ponk is one of the only capitalists of the server that may participate in Las Nevadas, and Hannah’s character heavily fits the theme of pestilence when it comes to nature. Additionally, I like to believe that Conquest was the horseman on the skeleton horse (that isn’t Quackity’s), especially since they were holding a dandelion in one shot, something that could be attributed to “pestilence” because a dandelion is a weed. This may imply that Hannah could be part, but because they haven’t interacted much beforehand, we wouldn’t be sure. More insight on Punz: he once mentioned he upholds his duties as mercenary more than he might love the Egg, so there’s a chance Quackity bribed him to join Las Nevadas.

The main con to this is that: why would the Eggpire willingly join Quackity, or why would the Egg allow them to join Quackity? I can see that Quackity might break their brainwashed states because he has a good way with words, but people like Bad, Ant, and Punz have stated that they’ve been fully controlled by the Egg. Also, Quackity makes it clear he wants to eradicate his enemies, so he might not want any members of the Eggpire to join Las Nevadas… unless there’s a traitor?

Schlatt, Mexican Dream, or Wilbur (6/10)

Heavily connected with winning if you take Manberg, Mexican L’Manberg, or L’Manberg into mind.

Wilbur also has a memorable crossbow, but I don’t know if that counts as a bow.

Any dead characters have a high chance of joining Las Nevadas because of its possible connections to death and the revival system of the SMP.

Other possibilities with short explanations and low but possible odds:

Eret: Has a crown, his betrayal can be seen as a “win”, has Tommy’s bow from the duel. Can be seen as an antichrist figure.

Jack: As he is against Tommy, he can be seen as an antichrist figure. Might be working with Las Nevadas because of his deal with Quackity.

Ranboo: He’s a minor, but he also has a crown and a bow so, maybe? He’s not much of a conqueror or winner, though.

Connor: Didn’t really conquer much, didn’t really win much, he’s just here because of Schlatt, honestly.

WAR

War is depicted to be holding a raised sword as they ride atop a red horse. After conquest, war is expected to follow, and War is tasked to break any type of peace on earth. He is tasked to kill, or make humans kill each other. The prominence of red symbolizes bloodshed or immense anger, something very present in war. Multiple depictions of War show him with his sword raised upwards, signifying the start of a battle.

Schlatt (9/10)

The man’s literally torn the Dream SMP apart (/lh). This man is always keen on fulfilling his goals, and if it means he’ll have to fulfill them in the most twisted of ways, he will do it. Him winning the Election brought immense conflict in the Dream SMP, and many people were torn apart on which side was the right or wrong side. One of Schlatt’s prominent colors besides blue would be red, as it is the color of his tie and the color of his ghost form’s horns. Red could represent the bloodshed of those who died during the Manberg-Pogtopia conflict, or red can signify the anger Schlatt had for his own cabinet.

Schlatt was also gifted a sword by Dream called “Shclatt”. The sword only holds heavy significance because of how Fundy treasured it like an heirloom.

Wilbur (8/10)

Another good possibility too as Ghostbur was recently seen to admire red a lot more than blue in one of Tommy’s streams. We can also view the creation of L’Manberg as a place that broke the peace in the Dream SMP as they didn’t really NEED to create L’Manberg and declare war, yet, he did. Red can also resemble his anger for what has been done to L’Manberg- everything is pretty self-explanatory, honestly.

My only qualm with Wilbur being one of the horsemen is how we can’t really… tell if he’s in the Dream SMP? He seems to be very clear on the fact that he does NOT want to return, so he might not even be there when the four horsemen became a thing.

Any of the Eggpire (7/10)

Honestly? Same reasoning as the first explanation for the Eggpire. This also applies for why they might not be one of the horsemen.

Do I even need to explain the red part, or do we just all understand that red is literally their brand.

The Eggpire practically breaks peace in the server and is keen on taking control of the entirety of the Dream SMP. The Egg is shown to be ruthless towards anyone, and will even let some of its followers kill people if needed.

I see Bad as someone who might qualify for this position more because he initiates a lot of the activity in the Eggpire. Same goes for Ant, Punz, and Ponk, but they don’t really take initiative most of the time.

Jack Manifold (4/10)

The only reason I kind of added him here was that he wanted to kill Tommy, but Jack isn’t entirely selfish or peace-breaking. I do think he might play a role in Las Nevadas, especially since if Quackity has access to the nukes, only Jack and Ranboo might be the only two who helped him gain access.

Jack is also… very angry at Tommy. Rightfully so, because he basically surrounded a good portion of his life trying to kill Tommy only for him to realize that that might not be his purpose in life. He blames Tommy for a lot of the loss in the server, so he has a lot of anger, but he has no one to vent it all out to.

Other possibilities with short explanations and low but possible odds:

Eret: Did the first betrayal, but that’s about it. He’s also participated in several wars against others who disagreed with him being the king.

Ranboo: Participated in wars, but is a peacemaker so, y’know.

Fundy: While he does possess Schlatt’s sword, he isn’t much of an initiator of wars as much as he is merely a follower. He has shown that he is quite angry at those who have used him, but the anger has dissipated lately into some sort of sadness/denial.

Connor: He’s mournful that Schlatt, a close friend, has died, but he isn’t really one to be angry. He tried living far away to make his own independent nation, but it didn’t impact much of the story. He also one possessed “Ghostbur’s Stabbing Knife”, which could represent the sword.

FAMINE

Famine is seen to be holding a scale (presumably for food) as they ride atop a horse. Famine is also denoted to be the only one speaking, saying “A quart of wheat for a denarius! And three quarts of barley for a denarius! But don’t ruin the oil and the wine!”. This statement basically means that we have to pay a full day’s worth of earnings for a bit of wheat and barley but oil and the wine, something not considered human necessities, can have the same prices. This shows an unfairness when it comes to acquiring basic human necessities. This is especially damaging to the poor as Famine’s statement can possibly make the poor poorer, while the rich remain the same. It is implied that the wider the gap between the poor and the rich, the closer we are to the end of the world.

Fundy (9/10)

This may be a long answer because I am biased towards Fundy, but Niki once stated that Manberg was in some sort of a famine because of the destruction of farms. Because of this, certain citizens have resorted into eating spider eyes from the EXP farm, but it was notable that she was practically calling out Fundy, someone who literally advertised spider eyes to any person he talked to in the Dream SMP.

Fundy is also hinted to be heavily connected to these hooded figures somehow. In his dream, he was chased by one until he slept in a black bed, the color of Famine.

Additionally, in his dream, he held baked potatoes (food) which could be related…? He’s also a libra so… scales…?

He is also a notorious prankster in the Dream SMP and will bargain for anything as long as he profits from it. He’s not the richest by any means, but he loves doing pranks that involve stealing belongings from other people.

Schlatt (8/10)

Similar reason to Fundy as he was the president of Manberg responsible for these famines. Additional note for this is that he also taxed Niki, one of their only food sources in Manberg.

Schlatt also likes to joke around about being rich, earning money, or being a businessman often, especially with the entire Schlatt coin joke. Connected to Famine’s trait of making the rich richer, possibly?

Famine’s statement can also apply here as it is implied that if humanity doesn’t possess the basic of necessities, they might at least have wine which won’t provide any solutions to humanity’s starvation at all, but it will distract you from your starvation by making you heavily drunk until you finally die. This is very reminiscent of how Schlatt died.

Sam (6/10)

Sam is one of the richest people on the server, matching Famine’s want to keep the rich rich. Only problem here is that Sam is at least very generous and provides a lot of people with resources when needed.

Sam could possibly be connected to Famine because of how he treats Dream in prison. In an attempt to torture Dream, he starves him, cutting his food supply.

Same problem remains with Sam not being able to join whatever the hell the four horsemen are because of his duties as warden.

Any of the Syndicate (1/10)

Only giving an exception here because the Syndicate is exceptionally rich and is more selfish about it than others. Low chances, but Ranboo… might? But it’s still a bit iffy for me. Niki might as well because of her connections to the Manbergian famine, but still on the fence with this one too.

DEATH

Death is often depicted riding a pale horse, but some variations have called the horse light green. Death does not don a weapon themselves, but they are always accompanied by Hades. Hades in Christianity is the place or state of the departed spirits, meaning Death has contact with those who have died. Sometimes, Death is depicted with a scythe similar to the Grim Reaper, but some say Death has no weapon at all as Death themself is the weapon. Death is not only meant to collect souls and end lives, but they can also represent the end of an era of humanity.

Quackity (10/10)

I would say Quackity can fit any other category, but I am so sure that Quackity is death because of how death and toying with death seems to be one of Quackity’s main themes in the Dream SMP. Quackity, once hesitant about killing others, has been shown to now impulsively want to kill others: first with Techno, then Ranboo, then Dream.

Quackity will also most likely acquire information about revival on the Dream SMP, so he is in close proximity with Hades, or in the Dream SMP, the Void. This also heavily ties in with the idea that he will make others gamble away their canon lives only for him to resurrect or return their canon lives if they ever successfully gamble it back.

Quackity is also known to be very powerless in terms of PVP and battle, but you know what he succeeds in? His own words. He is his own weapon that can get him whatever he wants as long as the person he’s up against is in a vulnerable position.

He is also confirmed to be one to have a skeleton horse, and some depictions of Death’s horse show that it is very corpse-like.

A bloody scythe can also be seen in Quackity’s first lore teaser, and that can be attributed to Death.

Other possibilities with short explanations and low but possible odds:

Schlatt: First owned the revival book but he literally does not know its contents. Fits the “they are their own weapon” trait.

Dream: The only exception I can give. But again, he is literally in prison…?

Wilbur & Mexican Dream: Only putting these two here because they have experienced death. These two fit the “they are their own weapon” category too.

Connor: Wants to revive Schlatt, but that’s it.

CONCLUSION

Honestly, my first conclusion for the four horsemen were Sam/Conquest, Schlatt/War, Fundy/Famine, and Quackity/Death, but I only see Quackity as Death to be something that is HIGHLY possible. For Conquest, I shift between Sam and one of the Eggpire, for War, I shift between Wilbur and Schlatt, and for Famine, I shift between Fundy and Schlatt. Again, no definitive answer, but I’d love to hear your own thoughts on this.

I am very tired, but also remember to reblog if you do enjoy this! Again, would love to hear your own insights, and would appreciate any type of discussion! :D

#dream smp #dream smp analysis #mcyt #quackity #fundy #wilbur soot #jschlatt #connoreatspants #badboyhalo #long post

148 notes · View notes

prurientpuddlejumper · 4 years

Text

Death Threats

Summary: What if the people threatening Barba went after you, too?

Warnings: Angst. Injury. Fluff. (I realized the timing puts this in the episode Heartfelt Passages, so that was a busy day for poor Rafi.)

Dedicated to @teamsladsandgents for inspiring me to get stabby.

2,256 words

You thought he punched you, the man in the elevator. It wasn’t until the doors chimed open and he was striding quickly but casually from the building that you realized you were bleeding.

The inch-wide slit in your shirt took a moment to start bleeding in earnest as you stood in shock, time frozen along with your body. Then thick, dark amounts of it began streaming through your fingers.

The elevator doors were sliding shut before you thought to stumble out with your last ounce of strength—to scream for help—before your body sank to the ground, leaving you alone in your metal coffin. You tried to sit up again, but it hurt and made more blood come out.

You couldn’t reach the elevator buttons.

You were so tired.

The funny thing was, you weren’t afraid. Just disappointed. You always thought you’d turn into an action hero if you were attacked—that adrenaline would awaken some ferocious, hitherto unseen warrior within, like Jason Bourne.

But it all happened so fast.

It was over before you noticed a blade in his hand. Over before you processed that he had said something to you, just before that dull punch in your gut.

“That ADA you’re fucking sticks his nose in the wrong people’s business.”

It was strange that you weren’t thinking about your mom or your best friend of ten years. As you pressed as hard as you could to stem the bleeding, you didn’t see your whole life flash before your eyes. The only thing on your mind was your boyfriend of the last several months, the sarcastic lawyer who kept so many walls up, and the petty argument you got into earlier about his canceling lunch plans again.

None of it seemed real. Didn’t seem like the way the story of your life ought to end—bleeding out in an elevator.

It was getting hard to concentrate on what to do next.

OK. The buttons wouldn’t work. Too far to reach.

No one can hear you scream.

Phone.

Your phone was in your pocket, but you had to take one of your hands off of clamping your gut to reach it. Blood streamed through your fingers—so much blood from such a small hole. Your hand was too slick with it and shaking to grab hold of the phone. If you could get it, you could call 911.

“Work, you fucking hand,” you thought. You thought that was an undignified last thought. It should be something profound. Poetic.

But no. Your last thought was going to be swearing at a Samsung.

Tired.

You never remembered if you managed to get the phone from your pocket or not. It didn’t matter anymore.

The last thing you remembered thinking about was Rafael finding out you were gone, his eyes red from mourning. Blaming himself. You wished you could tell him… If you died, you wouldn’t be there to cup his cheek, to make him smile again. To tell him what you whispered to the dark elevator, alone.

“It’s not your fault, Rafi.”

***

The man’s name was Felipe Heredio, a lieutenant of the BX9 street gang. There was already a warrant out for his arrest when he stabbed you. ADA Rafael Barba identified him in a lineup as the man who was stalking him only an hour after a neighbor found you lying in a pool of blood. The fact that he was already in police custody might have been relieving to you if you were conscious. You might have felt proud that it was Barba who ensured he was arrested.

And your heart might have broken when Barba’s phone rang, and his entire world stopped.

***

Rafael’s eyes were red from crying when you woke up with oxygen tubes in your nose, and your hand cradled in his. Your throat hurt more than anything else, oddly, which you would later learn was from being intubated for surgery.

The first word you croaked upon regaining consciousness was, “Sorry.”

A collection of empty coffee cups was scattered around the feet of his chair so he could stand vigil for however long you had been out. His eyes were not only red and wet, but bulging with that jittery, over-tired, caffeine anxiety.

You knew how busy Rafael was. That it was a weekday (technically, it was already tomorrow), and he’d have court in the morning. What you didn’t know, because he didn’t want to weigh you down with his world, was that Barba had already mourned one death today, and that one more loss might break him.

You were sorry for causing him so much trouble.

Rafael was having none of it, of course. He tried to keep his voice from shaking when he told you, “Why in god’s name would you be sorry?” followed by barking, “Stop that—don’t try to sit up. Nurse!”

His bedside manner was well and truly atrocious.

The next hour was a dizzying blur of nurses checking your vitals and helping you use the bathroom, then answering a uniformed officer whose questions you could barely understand through the morphine haze.

When it became clear what had happened and why, Rafael became unusually quiet. All of his follow-up questions and complaints of, “is this really necessary? Can’t you do this later?” fell away. He slumped in the visitor’s chair beside your bed, his hand still holding yours, but in pensive silence until the officer finished, leaving you alone except for the security detail at the door.

Then the apologies came. The heavy confessions that he’d been receiving threats for a year, and this was all, all his fault. Admittedly, if it weren’t for the morphine drip dulling everything, you might have been pissed off that he knew this might happen and kept it to himself. He kept so much to himself, you had to read about his cases online to know what was going on in his life. But his face—which you always thought babyish, with his smooth cheeks and lips ever-ready to flash a sarcastic smirk—was drawn, making him look old and haggard. He was too serious, too raw to possibly blame him.

“I’m so sorry for putting you in danger. I never should have gotten you involved in this.”

“It’s not your fault.”

“It is,” he choked. “I’ve been getting threats since I indicted those cops, and I haven’t exactly been on… anyone’s good side. I should never have started dating you.”

Like a slap in the face, that sting made it through the morphine. You jerked your hand out of his.

“That came out wrong. It’s true, though. I was selfish to think I could…” He gave a melancholy sigh as he sank back in the chair. “It will be safer if we keep our distance from now on. This will never happen to you again.”

You never imagined you could get stabbed and have your heart broken on the same day, or that the latter would hurt worse.

“Then what are you even doing here?!”

“I had to know you were OK. But as long as I’m getting death threats—”

“Wait, wait. You’re saying you’d rather give up being with me than give up a legal battle with powerful enemies?”

His eyes widened and he stared like a deer in the headlights, only where the deer was an insensitive workaholic, and the headlights were the blinding rays of truth. It wasn’t even a surprise that he hadn’t thought of it that way—this was every fight he’d had with an ex just before they broke up with him.

“I, uh—”

You grabbed his face and dragged him down into the softest kiss, which was not what he was expecting. He almost yelped (though it melted into a whine) when his fiery hot, coffee-flavored lips hit your cool ones. When he pulled back, lips wet and parted, his brow furrowed in confusion over still-widened eyes.

“You are… the sweetest.” Your hand lingered on his cheek as you gave a doped-up-on-painkillers smile. “The most selfless, noble… bravest… amazing man I have ever met. I love you so much.”

“I… what?”

“Rafael”—your thumb lazily stroked his cheek—“I know how much you care about me. Even though you’re married to your job and it’s frustrating as hell sometimes, I’ve never been insecure that you don’t love me enough. I know you never tell me about your cases because you want me to be able to sleep at night. You worry about me too much. And you always look so nervous whenever I leave, like you think I’m never coming back this time.

“So the fact that you would sacrifice your own happiness before you’d let an injustice go unanswered… that’s incredible. You do nothing but give a voice to the voiceless all day, working yourself to the bone without considering the cost to your personal life. You’re like a superhero, ADA Barba.”

A short breath of a laugh escaped his lips as his hand came up to the side of his face to cover yours. His eyes were watery, and he looked like he was about to break down again as he bitterly whispered, “A superhero who almost got you killed.”

“I’m not leaving you, you know.”

“Cariño. If anything happened to you, I couldn’t—couldn’t…”

“Nothing’s going to happen. It’ll be OK. I’m not leaving you alone.”

A tear wavered precariously close to the rim of his eyelid until he turned away, rubbing his face. It was gone when he turned back. “You could have died because of my fucking work! I’ve never given you the time you deserve. How do you still want to be around me?”

“Hey, someone has to be there to protect you when you get yourself in trouble,” you grinned.

Rafael Barba couldn’t take any more. He bent over the hospital bed and wrapped his arms around you, doing his best not to snag any of the many tubes coming out of you or put any weight on anything below your diaphragm, but hugging you to him as tightly as he could. You felt his trembling breathing in your hair, and hot wet spots pooling on your neck.

“I don’t deserve you.”

Your free arm closed over his back, stroking his broad, tense muscles through his shirt. “I’m really glad I didn’t die,” you whispered, finally allowing yourself to feel scared now that he was here. “I didn’t want to die yet. Not like that.”

“I’m sorry.” He breathed in, and his arms tightened protectively. “You have no idea how terrified I was. I’m so sorry…”

“Shh,” you whispered. You clung to him, soothed by his familiar cedar and citrus scent, fainter now after a long, harrowing day, mixed with the masculine smell of sweat.

“I’m glad you’re alive, too. I can’t lose you. I can’t. I love you more than anything.”

Soon—too soon, because you wanted to continue talking—you drifted to sleep in his arms. And once again too soon, you woke up with your entire abdomen on fire, and nurses bringing you pain medication. Rafael was still there, half asleep next to you in the narrow bed.

He didn’t leave you.

Even if it put you in danger, he would rather be beside you, making sure you were OK than cutting you out of his life and hoping the bad guys got the memo. He couldn’t put you through that pain, even if he could do it to himself. Especially when you pondered aloud to him whether you’d survived because you were thinking about him—that you refused to die before seeing him again, knowing what a wreck he would be.

Recovery was long, and interspersed with doing nothing but fall asleep when you’d rather stay awake, and not being able to sleep at all. Rafael (and his security detail) moved into your apartment when you were released from the hospital so he could take care of you—as grumpy and bossy and sarcastic as his bedside manner might be.

You swore you were going to sign up for Krav Maga or Cobra Kai or something once you could exercise again, since apparently you were not a secret knife-fighting ninja deep down. Next time, you wanted to be a badass who could fight back, and never let anyone harm your overzealous ADA when he kicked the hornet’s nest.

Eventually, you would convince him that it wasn’t his fault that bad guys had acted like bad guys. And he would convince you that taking care of you wasn’t a burden—that the emergency time off from work was worth it. He started replacing “sorry” with “I love you.”

In the end, while you wouldn’t say being stabbed was a good thing, or that you’d choose to be stabbed again if you had the option, it did ensure Heredio was put away for a long, long time. It left you with a cool scar, and a new catchphrase for expressing your displeasure—“I’d rather be stabbed again than do the dishes!”

Fine, it also left you jumpy and made your chest tight whenever you found yourself alone in an elevator.

But most importantly, it brought down the walls Rafael had been keeping up around himself. He talked to you more. You talked to each other more. And he remembered to—on occasion—take time out of his heroic, selfless life of battling injustice, and selfishly spend it with you.

• ● • ━━━━━─ ••●•• ─━━━━━ • ● •

@beccabarba / @itsjustmyfantasyroom / @dianilaws / @permanentlydizzy / @mrsrafaelbarba / @madamsnape921 / @astrangegirlsmind / @neely1177 / @onerestein / @delia26 / @stormtrooperofficerbrowneyes / @storiesofsvu

#Rafael Barba #Rafael Barba x Reader #my writing

149 notes · View notes

mypoisonedvine · 4 years

Text

Love, Theoretically | Sebastian Stan x reader (Chapter 1)

for @evnscvll‘s 3k celebration challenge, I immediately broke the rules and took only one prompt: Love, Actually. then I made it into a series. oops. but she made me that lovely moodboard anyways!

summary: having lost your husband, sister, and best friend all to the same extramarital affair, you ran away to a secluded villa in the Hungarian countryside to write and get a little time away from the life you’d left behind. you were only looking for peace and perhaps some inspiration for your novel, but instead you found an unlikely connection with the immigrant repairman-- even though the two of you don’t speak the same language.

word count: 2.3k

warnings: mention/description of infidelity, awkwardness, me teasing y’all by making this a slow burn

(quick note: I’m not fluent in romanian but I did my best to translate the dialogue as accurately as possible, rather than as literally as possible. if you don’t speak it I would recommend not translating seb’s lines so you get the full experience of having no idea what he’s saying just like the reader in the story but I won’t tell you how to live your life)

You usually trusted your intuition, but up until now you'd convinced yourself that you were being paranoid by worrying about your husband. Trusting him was more important than anything, and definitely more important than a strange feeling in your gut that something was wrong.

The sad thing is, you would've never guessed that he was having an affair with your sister. Not in a million years. All the sneaking around, the strange stories that didn't add up… you would've put your money on a secret gambling addiction (pun unintended but welcome), or maybe that he'd secretly lost his job.

But even with all your suspicion, all your low self-esteem, all your fear that he was too good for you… nothing could've prepared you to walk in and see him with his face between your sister's legs.

He didn't even do that to you; he said he didn't like the taste. You realized now, as you stared out the window of the train at the trees flying by, that that should've been a red flag from the start. For a man who had claimed to be a feminist, things were never really equal in your house. You both worked full time but you were saddled with more chores; you made more money than he did, but for some reason, you found yourself asking for his approval on large purchases; and of course, whenever you'd talked about children, he'd always just assumed you would stay at home forever and do most of the child-rearing. He told you that you'd need to handle them when he was too tired from work-- but what about when you were tired from watching them all damn day while he was working?

God, you needed to stop thinking about this. If you cried on this train people would probably look at you funny and you did not need that right now. You couldn’t take any more reasons to believe people dislike you. Even as much as you wanted to say that you didn't want or need your husband’s approval anymore, you still felt so shitty, so fundamentally worthless that he'd chosen your sister over you. He hadn't wanted to touch you in months. You wondered if it had been going on longer than that: when you'd blown him after that company party half a year ago, were you putting your mouth on something that had been in your sister's--?

"Something to drink, madam?" the attendant asked as she rolled by with her cart, pulling you from a very dangerous cycle of thought.

You jumped a little and looked over to her as she smiled at you-- no hint of judgment or confusion as you wiped a tear away. In her shoes, you would be nosy and want to know more about the woman crying on the train. Then again, maybe it was obvious to her: a woman, alone, who bought the last ticket just before the train left, carrying only a small briefcase and a few hastily-packed suitcases… a woman with nothing to lose, going nowhere as fast as possible. Could it be anything but her having been done wrong by a man?

"Tea, please," you nodded with a smile of your own-- weaker than hers, more awkward. You'd make a bad stewardess.

"Black or green?"

You didn't trust them to steep the green tea at the proper temperature, so you asked for black and nodded in thanks when she handed you the warm paper cup and rolled on by to the next passenger.

What really made your head spin, you considered as you sipped at your drink, was not your husband’s actions but your sister’s. You remembered when you were both teenagers and her boyfriend had cheated on her, she’d gotten so upset with the girl he’d done it with rather than him. You had thought that was ridiculous because the girl didn’t owe her anything. You understood better now, and of course, your sister did owe you something. You two had had your rough patches but overall, she’d been your best friend for most of your life. So much so that she was the one you went to when you were worried about your husband. She told you to give him space. You would’ve never imagined that was her way to get you to back off, to cover her own sins and give her more freedom to shag your husband in your goddamn bed.

Yes, that was the real betrayal. Lots of people have ex-husbands, but you couldn’t exactly turn her into an ex-sister. You were stuck with her, but you had no plan as of yet to face her again.

The night in the sleeper car was restless, literally. It was so dark out that you couldn’t see the trees or mountains anymore, but if you focused really hard and made sure to turn off every light in your room, you could just barely see the stars in the sky. You hoped that you would have plenty of time to spend looking at the stars once you reached your destination. As much as you’d loved the city lights of London for the past several years, you really needed to be somewhere that was actually dark at night. And where the air was clean. And, best of all, where nobody knew who the fuck you were.

You stepped out of the train and onto the platform, feeling very much like you were surrounded by people ending their stories-- reuniting with loved ones, finishing vacations-- while yours was just beginning. Well, you supposed it made sense that most of the people travelling from London to Nyíregyháza, Hungary were probably from Nyíregyháza, Hungary. Unlike you, who had only been here once while backpacking through the area in college and fallen in love with it. You were lucky that the owner of the secluded cottage you’d crashed at back then had picked up the phone when you called from the train; you were especially lucky that she was willing to pick you up from the station, you not being quite dressed or prepared for backpacking.

Exiting the station and finding the cobblestone street, you were nearly tackled by a portly old woman as she tried to get your attention.

“Mrs. Alberti?!” you asked with wide eyes.

“You should at least pretend I haven’t aged a day,” she frowned, her words coated with her thick Hungarian accent.

“I was just surprised that you’re still running the cottage! I figured you and Mr. Alberti retired ages ago,” you explained, following her back to her car and putting your luggage in the boot.

She seemed a little crestfallen, wistfully considering your assumption. “Well, it’s not quite what it used to be but yes, I am still the owner. Sadly, Mr. Alberti passed away several years back.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry to hear that,” you replied, hoping to be as comforting as reasonably possible, “he was such a sweet man.”

“Yes, but he had a long illness-- and before that, lived a very full life,” she smiled confidently, walking to the driver’s seat as you followed along the other side and got in the passenger.

“It’s too bad he won’t get to see you again, though,” she continued as she started the vehicle. Considering how old it looked, you were impressed that it worked on the first try. “He would’ve been amazed to have a repeat customer from somewhere so far away. I certainly am!”

“Yes, well, I have great memories from staying in the villa, and decided to go in search of some of the lust for life that I had back then-- chasing after youth never backfires, right?” you joked.

“I wouldn’t know,” she replied with a smirk.

You knew you were getting close to the old house when the roads turned from asphalt, to cobblestone, to gravel, and finally to dirt. As much as you figured trees and grass looked basically the same everywhere, you appreciated that it somehow managed to look totally different than England. Maybe it was the scattering of blue wildflowers, or the way the wilderness was dominating the few signs of human existence rather than the other way around. Driving it was different than hiking it, certainly, and you wondered if you would find the time or energy to climb the foothills on the other side of the lake like you had before. Maybe you didn’t want to find out how much athletic ability you’d lost since college…

“Here we are!” she announced as she made one last turn and yep, there it was: a lonely stone cottage, with flowers all along the walls and pink wooden shutters.

You could tell it had aged since it had looked how you remembered, but if anything it had gained a quaint charm, with its moss and ivy and old trees which sagged under their own weight. Figuring you would have more time to take in the scenery in the indefinite time you planned to spend here, you decided to make good time and gather your things first.

As you opened the boot and reached in to grab your luggage, someone appeared beside you and pushed your hands aside, saying something that you couldn’t parse at all. You stepped aside and realized that it was a young man-- not horrifically young or anything, but certainly… strapping. He shot you a smile, and you couldn’t think of the last time somebody had looked at you with so much joy on their face.

“Oh, thank you,” you nodded, letting him lift your suitcases (which he did with ease, just to make it all extra cruel).

“This is Sebastian-- he lives here and does odd jobs for me,” Mrs. Alberti informed you, "Don't waste your time talking to him; he doesn't speak a word of English."

"Oh, he only speaks Hungarian?" You turned to him again; "Szia, hogy vagy?"

He shook his head and smiled awkwardly.

"No dear, he only speaks Romanian," Mrs. Alberti explained with a laugh. "Can't you tell I can only afford to run this place by using cheap immigrant labour?"

"Salut," he greeted. At least you could figure what that meant. You chuckled uncomfortably and looked to the ground.

You followed Sebastian and Mrs. Alberti into the house, admiring how little the interior decorations had changed-- it was all macrame and flowers in old-fashioned ceramic vases, with lots of oddball Hungarian trinkets to round it all out. Perhaps the only thing you could notice that was different was new floorboards.

“You like the new floor?” Mrs. Alberti asked, as if she were reading your mind. “Sebastian put that in for me.”

Sebastian seemed to perk up as he set your bags down briefly, clearly aware he was being talked about.

“Remember?” Mrs. Alberti addressed him, motioning to the floor. “You put in the new floor, huh? Új emelet?”

You wondered why she’d seemed to laugh at you for trying to speak Hungarian to him, when she was doing the same thing.

“Da,” he smiled, pressing his shoe down onto the floor to apparently demonstrate the lack of creaking. “Ți-am făcut un etaj nou.”

“Alright, go ahead and take her bags upstairs,” Mrs. Alberti instructed him, motioning to the luggage and then to the staircase. He nodded and picked them up again, starting to walk across the room. “He knows where your room is, just follow him,” she told you.

The stairs, unlike the new floor, did creak, and you weren’t sure how far behind you were supposed to be on the staircase to avoid having his ass right at eye level. You didn’t want to stare at it… but either the jeans were doing him a lot of favours, or Mrs. Alberti’s ‘odd jobs’ do a body good. Maybe a little bit of both.

He used his back to push open the door to your room, setting your bags just inside before turning to leave again, like he thought it would be rude to step inside.

“Wait,” you requested, but he kept going-- probably the whole ‘not understanding English’ thing. God, you were going to look so stupid at least a few more times trying to get through to this guy, you could sense it. Forced to get his attention another way, you reached out and grabbed his arm; not hard, but it was definitely a slightly aggressive thing to do anyways. It worked, though, and he turned around with an expectant look. “Could you help me unload?” you asked, gesturing towards the bags.

His brow knitted with confusion as he tilted his head. You sighed, not sure exactly how to pantomime this.

“One of my bags,” you began, pointing to one of them, “is heavy--” a lifting motion-- “could you--” you pointed to him-- “unpack it?”

That seemed to make more sense to him, and he stepped back into the room with you. “Voi încerca,” he said, somewhat to himself, as you opened the suitcase. Inside was your typewriter; he nodded with understanding and scooped it up.

“Unde?” he asked, and regardless of what it meant, you were going to show him where to put the typewriter anyways.

“Just over there, the table by the window,” you pointed to it. He nodded again and walked past you, setting it down, and even adjusting it a little to make sure it was centered.

“Thank you!” you piped up when he turned back to you. And just like that, you were plunged back into awkward silence. You pointed to him, and then the typewriter as you pantomimed typing. “Can you type?” He seemed to understand what you meant.

“Nu,” he shook his head, “când eram mic, trebuiau înregistrați anual.”

“...huh,” you mumbled, not sure what to do with that.

“Plec acum,” he announced as he started to step past you again.

You cleared your throat and let him walk out the doorway. “Right, um, have a good afternoon…”

He gave a little wave as he walked down the hall, and you sighed once he was out of sight and making his way down the creaking stairs. You impressed yourself with your ability to embarrass yourself constantly, even with total strangers. But, all that aside, you were finally ready to settle in and properly enjoy your change of scenery.

#sebastian stan x reader #sebastian stan x y/n #sebastian stan rpf #sebastian stan au #sebastian stan fanfic #sebastan stan x you

638 notes · View notes

kashimos-hajime · 4 years

Text

fragrance | a.h.

summary: Plato said, “The god of love lives in a state of need. It is a need. It is an urge. It is a homeostatic imbalance. Like hunger and thirst, it's almost impossible to stamp out.”

WARNINGS: LMAO SMUT (18+), oral (m!receiving), swearing, drinking, nervous and awkward y/n and hotch heehee pairing: college!aaron hotchner x fem!reader word count: 4.8k

a/n: lmao so i watched a tiktok of THAT SCENE in love and human remains so i am legally obligated to write what inspired me. ok but @venusbarnes,,, it happened,,,

part of the bitter end universe but not required beforehand to read this. takes place in their second year of college

In retrospect, you know you’re freaking out over nothing.

You just showered, changed outfits twice, tried to fix your hair, inspected your makeup constantly since you’ve finished, and tried to figure out a way to call it off to pass the time.

Why are you even worried? Ever since you’ve gotten off the plane, which, in itself, is a step you cannot backtrack since you are merely a college student with limited funds, your knees have been weak and you feel like you don’t really have a stomach.

Why? It’ll be fine.

You’ve been over Aaron for two-and-some-months years, now. The distance did you good, did you both good. Namely, you’re quite damn sure you don’t feel anything for him anymore besides the occasional flicker of irritation, the excited burst in your stomach, the absolute terror of seeing him again.

How has he changed? It feels like it’s been so long.

You glance at the clock.

9:55

You said 10AM. You have five minutes at the most to get yourself together and just run down the staircase, shove yourself into his presence before your nerves can tell you to turn back. Taking a deep breath, you look at your reflection in the mirror one last time before heading to the desk and grabbing your wrist watch. It’s worn down leather is soft to your touch and you feel an overwhelming sense of calm overtake you.

This will be fine.

As you fasten it to your wrist, you glance at the face. Time seems to tick by slower as you pull on your ankle boots, swipe a finger over your lip, and grab your room key. As you descend the cold stairwell, memories grasp at your consciousness, tease you, but you push them away and instead focus on putting on foot in front of the other, focus on gathering the courage to stand in front of him again.

Before you know it, you’re opening the door and walking over to the pacing figure you only know to be your best friend. His hair is still long, but he’s wearing a leather jacket, so that’s new, and he’s frowning to himself.

And it makes you smile, because that’s him. Aaron Hotchner, master frowner, broody boy. His hair is still long, his eyes still so dark. He hasn’t changed.

God, what will you say to make him laugh?

“What’s the deal with the jacket, George?” you say without thinking.

“George? And here I thought I was John,” he replies just as quickly, matching your tone and your entire heart lurches into your throat as your smile grows stiffly.

Crap.

And that’s when you realize that, quite frankly, that convincing yourself that you’re over Aaron Hotchner is going to be a lot harder than it looked at first.

You’re fighting the urge to let the whole facade drop, but you can’t because this is Aaron, your best friend you haven’t seen in forever and although you’re so fucking happy to see him, you know everything is easier said than done.

He’s just your best friend, and you’re… you’re… feeling great. Your stomach is a bundle of nerves but that’s because you’re excited to spend time with him. Right?

“So, where to?” you ask, feeling quite exposed as he looks at you strangely. “I’m starving,” you say, an overwhelming need to explain causing word vomit to spill out of your mouth, “so, I was thinking we could get some breakfast, first. I’m in the mood for anything really.”

“Oh,” he says. “I have a place in mind.”

“O-okay. Lead the way, then. It’s kinda chilly out, isn’t it?”

“Uh, yeah. Do you needa grab another coat?” he asks as you step closer and they begin to walk to the door. He opens it for you and as you slip past him, your entire system shuts down. Your mind heads straight for the gutter, vivid images, voices, feelings from your dream flashing through your head.

Cheap beer, smoke, sweat, and a cologne you can’t forget.

Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit.

“N-no. I’m okay. Are you, uhm, are you going to be okay in just that jacket? It looks great, by the way.” Are your hands shaking or is that just the swelling throat and the hard lump in your gut’s fault?

Shit. Holy shit. Shit. Shit. SHIT.

“Thanks, and, uh, no. I’m okay. Are you okay?”

You nod and smile shakily. “Great. It’s just… I’m really glad to see you.”

He stops for a moment, stares as if he knows or maybe you just feel naked in your own skin, and then matches your timid smile. “I’m really happy to see you too.”

Right. What did you say again about nerves?

[TWENTY HOURS EARLIER]

“You guys better behave,” Aaron sighs. “I’m not gonna be responsible if I have to deck Carter.”

“Woah there, Hotch,” his roommate comments, sliding off his bed and slinging an around his shoulders. “You have a girlfriend.”

“We’re on a break, actually.”

“I thought you don’t believe in breaks.”

“Well, we’re just talking things out with the long distance thing. It’s not like when she was in high school. She just needs to adjust to her first year, and we’re still talking. So, it’s more like… an intermission before we resume after mid-terms.”

“So, you’re single.”

“Technically, but I’m also not looking,” he retorts, just in case his roommate tries to set something up behind his back, but the guy merely shrugs.

“Whatever you say, Hotch-o.”

He scowls, getting up and running a hand through his hair before grabbing his jacket off the hook. “I’m just trying to say that Y/N’s been there for me since before you guys and before Haley.”

“I get it,” his roommate, named Earl, says as he flips the collar of his varsity jacket and grabs the room key. “She’s like a sister to you, right?” Aaron doesn’t say anything to that and Earl doesn’t prod him any further as he grabs his backpack and slings it onto his shoulder. “Don’t worry, Hotch. I’ll spread the word to the guys. They won’t try anything.”

“Yeah, thanks, Earl.”

“I’m heading to class, but it’s the bar tonight, right? You’ll pick her up from the airport?”

“Yeah.” The door opens and closes with a click and Aaron lets out a sigh, turning away from the mirror so he can stop pretending he’s trying to fix whatever Earl thought was wrong with his appearance. He just wanted to stay busy so his friend could leave him alone to his messy thoughts.

He had received your last letter on Monday, confirming your flight for the Thanksgiving weekend. You’d be here with him and his friends for three days.

It wasn’t his idea, nor yours. Sort of like… a mutual epistolary understanding that enough is enough and one of them should just… go.

You had volunteered for that. You had always wanted to see Harvard’s gorgeous campus, according to your last letter.

Aaron runs a hand through his hair and sighs. He has one day off to catch up on the work assigned, get ahead of the reading, and just relax before his friends drag him off to hang out until the sun rises for an entire weekend. He’s sure you’ll love it. You’ve always loved staying out at night where it’s light, watching the sunrise and going to sleep to it.

Despite everything, you enjoy the solitude the night, the contemplative silence of it. Just like him.

He can’t wait to see you again.

Sitting in the RA office and watching time tick by, he can’t help but feel like something is chaining him down. A heavy weight sits between his shoulders and he stares at the clock for what feels like a short eternity, unable to focus.

The day is slow in its passing, and a growing, unwanted hollowness begins to fill his soul as he half-heartedly finishes his criminal causation theory assignment, reviews for the quiz on Tuesday, and reads the next chapter on the foundations of the criminal justice system. He doesn’t really pay attention to any of it, though, and he feels like his head is stuffed with cotton as he gets up for the first time in hours and stretches, glancing at the time.

Your plane is supposed to land at 6:30.

It’s 6:00 now, and he was supposed to eat dinner before going to pick you up.

Shit. He’ll just have to eat at the bar.

Gathering his books and papers into his bag, he slings it onto his shoulder, trying to ignore the cold sweat clamming his hands up just as the phone in the RA office rings. It’s so jarring her starts, turning to the device and his heart pounds in his throat as he goes to grab it. Duty to the job means he has to, even if he might be late. You’ll understand, right?

“Hello, Resident Assistant speaking,” he says with a sigh.

“Hey.”

“Y/N?”

“Yeah, it’s me. Student Services was kind enough to reroute me.” A car beeps behind you and he frowns, holding the phone closer to his ear as he adjusts the strap on his shoulder to sit more firmly. “I’m calling from an airport payphone, but bad news. My flight got delayed, so I can’t come to the bar tonight. I’ll be arriving, like, dead in the morning. Two or three AM.”

“Damn. The boys will miss meeting you,” he says, unable to help the unhappy but forced smile. It comes across as a grimace but he hopes you appreciate the effort. It’s what you’d say if you were here.

“The boys?” you echo, amused. “Well then, tell the boys that they’ll have to wait until morning.” More seriously: “I’m really sorry, Aaron. I was so excited to see you tonight.”

“Yeah, me too. It’s—it’s okay. Don’t worry about it, Sunflower.”

“Sunflower?” you repeat and Aaron feels his throat shrink to the diameter of a needle. “You don’t call me that unless you’re genuinely sorry about something bad. Like, death-bad.” Then, a bright laugh that shouldn’t bat away the dreary disposition overcoming him, but it does. “Aaron, it’s not that important—just one night. Look, let’s meet up at 10AM in the hotel lobby tomorrow morning and make up for it, okay?”

“Yeah.”

“Great. See you in a bit, Hopscotch.”

“Bye.”

He heads to his room, your voice echoing in his head. Freshening up with a splash of cold water and a rake of a comb through his hair, he explains the situation to Earl as they head down to the bar near campus where some of the other guys are already drinking.

“That’s too bad. Would’ve been nice to meet her.”

“Tomorrow, Earl. She isn’t cancelling.”

“I know, but y’know, it would’ve been fun to beat her in darts.”

“You’re awful at darts.”

“Bigger opponent pool. C’mon, cheer up, Hotch. It’s just a delayed flight, you said so yourself.” More grumpy silence. “Hey, I know what’ll cheer you up. First shots are on me.”

His cheeks flushed with heat, he grabs at the shot blindly and throws it back, laughing as his friends get on the dance floor. The bar seems to haze before him. The darkness is pierced by blue lights and red as the shadowed patrons swing to and fro on the floor. Everything is gauzy, edges blurred as the lights flicker and filter through the crowd. Aaron slouches against the booth, smirking at the way Earl’s trying to lay the moves on a girl who merely walks away and he flashes a sympathetic thumbs up before his friend simply rejoins the rest of the guys on the floor.

Everyone had chipped in to buy him round after round in order to get him to loosen up, and it’s hard to admit, but it’s worked. Everything is ethereal, and he feels like he’s floating through life.

He wants to dance, but he doesn’t think he can stand on his own two feet, to be honest. His entire world is tipped and the silly smile on his face isn’t going to disappear any time soon as a figure makes her way through the crowd, making her way towards him. It catches his eye, the way she moves around people, keeps her head held up.

He can’t quite see her face but even then, he knows that he knows her.

“What are you doing here?” he asks before he can stop himself, like he isn’t in control of his mouth. He gapes as the woman sits down beside him. Her skin smells like sweet fruit and the sting of tequila as she slings an arm around his neck, and his entire stomach flips as she leans over, her arm bent and her fingers playing with the hair by his ear. “You’re not… you’re not supposed to be here.”

“Why not?” she asks, twirling hair around her finger as she gently trails her other hand down his chest. “You don’t want me here?”

“No, no, I’ve missed you, I just—” Her palm runs lower, over his stomach and further. His head whips towards her and he catches the sweet, dulcet notes of warm vanilla spice shampoo. It calms him, sweet in his sinuses and he watches her indistinguishable face. Despite not seeing quite clearly, he knows she’s beautiful with an unintentionally seductive smile, a tentative charm to her movements.

The hand stops and a heat burns through his chest, following the trail she’d carved into him and he feels blood drain from his head so viciously it leaves him lightheaded.

“Just what?” she asks quietly, yet still so loudly over the pub’s pounding music and he groans softly, head tilting back.

“Shit. I just didn’t expect you here. I should introduce you to my friends—” He wants to get up but finds his entire body moving through molasses. He can barely lift a finger and, through the blurred streams of the conscious and the subconscious, he knows he doesn’t really want to.

He doesn’t want to share.

“Oh, then let’s go.” Her hand lifts but, like a flash of lightning, his fingers wrap around her wrist and keep her firmly against him. “Aaron.” Chastising this time, like he’s a housecat, and she, the exasperated owner. Fingers thread through his hair as he grins at the woman.

“I’m not keen on sharing you right now,” he admits, eyes falling to lips that press into a wondrous smile. “I don’t feel keen on sharing you ever.”

“Is that a fact?” she asks, and he nods, his nose brushing against hers as she leans down to kiss him. Her mouth is warm ecstasy, like cider on a cold winter day that burns through his blood, and his heart is beating everywhere at once—in his throat, in his fingers, between his legs. Fingers card through his hair as his hand finds the curve of a hip and he pulls.

Immediately, as if sensing his intentions before he even thinks it, the woman swings a leg over his hip and straddles him, the dress riding up luxurious thighs and he chuckles to himself as her hands find his neck, thumbs brushing over the sharp cut of his jaw. Her mouth opens against his, breathing into the next ferocious kiss again as his hands trace the shape of her, the swell of her legs, the cool heat of her skin against his burning hands.

“What do you want from me, Aaron?” she whispers, leaning in close enough that he can feel her lips against the shell of his ear, and then down his neck. He gasps, breath catching in his throat as her hands gently squeeze his throat as if reminding him of her previous question but he can’t quite speak. She kisses down past his collarbones, pulls down the neck of his shirt teasingly and peppers kisses to the skin that she can reach. Her fingers are pressing into his pulsepoint, the other hand travelling down his waist again and he knows she can feel it, the hard bulge pressing up between her legs.

She trails back up again, her kisses teasing the corner of his mouth and he turns, trying to catch the elusive minx only to delight in her light laughter when she pulls back.

“Tease,” he mumbles, eyes shut tight and only then do her lips find his again just as fingers pull at his belt buckle and he sucks in a breath as she glances down with him, curiously running her knuckles gently along the curve of it. His Adam’s apple bobs when he swallows down his gasp and he hears her chuckle. As if he’s a mere bystander to his own actions, Aaron watches his hands trail up the sides of her and slowly find purchase on her shoulders.

With the gentlest of pressure, he pushes down, and it’s like she melts between his hands, legs sliding, entire body sinking as his legs open wider to welcome her. Her breath is warm as she unzips his jeans, fingers prying his boxers down until they brush against it, pulsing and hard against his abdomen.

“Jesus,” she whispers but he hears it so clearly, her breath teasing the tip as fingers wrap around his dick. A strong, warm tongue follows, from the bottom to the tip, tracing the vein and every single ounce of oxygen leaves his body when she goes down on him, endlessly warm and wet. Hands wrap around what isn’t in her mouth and his fingers find her scalp, grabbing fistfuls of hair as his head hits the wall behind him.

Swallowing tightly, a lopsided smirk crosses his face and he lets out a soft sigh when she tilts her head, takes him in until she’s gagging on it. His hips twitch but a hand against his pelvis stalls him, a firm pressure that makes him open his eyes and look down to see her already staring back at him. Eyes dark, lips shining in what light there is, he nearly loses it right there as she swallows him down, making his entire body clench. His jaw tight, he lets out a hissed moan and the hand not on her head grabs his thigh, trying to stave off the desire to fuck her mouth.

The bass beat of the pub beats in his head as the hand on his hip finds the hand on his thigh, traces the tense veins along the back as her head slowly draws up, teeth grazing, tongue flat against his cock.

And then, down again, heavy breaths against his navel through the nose, and he’s in fucking bliss as the woman just goes on and on, deeper and deeper and when she gags, it almost makes him lose his already ill-tempered control because her fingers dig into the back of his hand, the other one squeezes the base of his cock, and stars explode behind his eyes as he chuckles breathlessly, blindly to the ceiling.

A ringing splinters through his skull as he groans, the need to thrust growing too powerful but she squeezes his hand, telling him to stay still without ever lifting her mouth off his cock. He can hear it, the sounds of her wet mouth rising and falling, sucking and licking and fuck, if he’s not going to come down her throat—

Her tongue drags along the underside of his cock as she pulls away, hollowing out her cheeks and dragging her fingers up his painfully hard erection, through the wet slick her mouth left behind and she pulls herself up, back bending underneath his hand, chest pressed flush against his and he can taste her again; the sweetness of vanilla, the sweat the pub brings all its occupants, the desire that fizzles so wantonly against his tongue.

“Am I still teasing?” she asks, lips brushing against his chin before he’s lifting his head again. Her hands run over his chest, find the planes of his shoulders, the cord of his neck, and he chuckles, squeezing his waist as she climbs into his lap again, sits squarely so that his erection rubs against her stomach. He bites back a groan and her smirk tells him all he needs to know.

“Seeing as you didn’t let me finish…” he trails off, just as humorous and she laughs, mouth ghosting his, and he almost reaches for it before she’s drawing back, always just out of reach. Never his. Never. “C’mere.”

“You’re no fun,” she mutters, but her smile betrays her faux displeasure and as his hands down and under her dress, skirting along the waistband of lacey panties, he chuckles huskily. “I love you, you know that?”

“I know. And do you know how much I want you? How much… how much I need you?” His fingers hook on the waistband and begin to tug just as she cups his face and leans down. His eyes flutter shut and everything seems to melt away as her breath tickles his nose and he grins, pulling down, down, down…

“You could show me, if you’d like…”

Her laughter is the only thing he can hear. Well, that and…

And that ringing—

Holy shit, what is that ringing?

Opening his eyes, there is nothing. Reaching blindly in the darkness, his hand collides with his alarm clock and he slaps the button, turning it off as he groans, turning the digital numbers towards him.

5:45AM

When did he get back? God, his head is pounding, and… he has to get up. Shit. His thoughts are a disorganized mess as he gets up, throwing off the blankets and it’s only then he’s painfully aware that he got… more than excited about his dream.

His dream that’s fading from his memory the longer he’s awake that he can barely remember any of it. Iit was at the bar last night? When did he even get back to the dorm?

Swinging his legs off the bed, he flicks the light on the nightstand, spotting a glass of water with a dissolving alka selzter tablet and a note. Grabbing it, he squints against the light as he reads the messy, uneven scrawl.

Stayed by your side all night because you sulked and got hammered. Like blackout drunk. Even outdrank me, buddy, which is fuckin impressive.

Wake me up for breakfast. I’m drunk.

Goodnight. And you’re welcome.

-E

Shaking his head, he downs the water despite how much his head throbs at the movement before he gets up and awkwardly palms the front of his boxers, trying to ignore how much it physically hurts that he’s not doing anything about it.

He needs to shower and take care of this.

Grabbing new clothes, Aaron glances at his snoring roommate and curses his routine of waking up so damn early. He collects his toiletries, and as he heads for the shower, he tries to think back on his dream, but it’s dissipating quicker by the second.

It was definitely at the bar, he thinks. Something about… he doesn’t know but something smelled and tasted sweet. What was I even doing at the bar?

Well, by the erection against his thigh, it’s safe to assume what he was dreaming about.

The question is more about the who.

Your eyes fly open and you lurch up on your bed.

Your whole body is burning as the remaining wisps of your dream begin to fade and you glance around yourself, disoriented. You could’ve sworn you weren’t in your bedroom for a second, but as you glance around, you know you are. You’re no longer in that dark place with blue lights that swung, figures blurry. That someone who was crouched in front of you, you think, is gone and his hands which had pulled your legs apart with gentle hesitation hadn’t left scorch marks, but they might as well have.

The sensation still lingers.

God, it feels like you haven’t slept a wink and as you slowly wake, your body rebooting, you become more filled with dread. Sighing heavily, you rub at your eyes and touch your cheeks, trying to remember what you did before sleeping.

I showered, went straight to bed. Didn’t go out… then… What’s happening? What was I even dreaming about?

It’s only then you become acutely aware of between your legs. The soaked, uncomfortable sensation, the strange tightness of your thighs.

Holy fuck. And about who?

Running a hand over the cold sheets, you shiver and get up, grabbing the unopened complimentary mini bottle of water you’d gotten from the plane from your bag.

As soon as you take one sip, you’re chugging it down, trying to alleviate the sweat gathering at the nape of your neck, slipping down your back. You feel oily and strangely empty, your heart racing as you toss the empty plastic into the trash can and head back towards the bed, reaching blindly for the light switch. Turning it on, you glance at the clock. 5:47 in the morning.

Charming.

In less than five hours, you’ll have to be heading down to the lobby and facing your best friend.

Why does that thought suddenly fill you with a terrible concoction of nerves, nausea, and cold shivers?

Trying to grasp the last remnants of your dream, you head for the bathroom to splash some water on your face and change your underwear, too bone-dead tired to even think about showering. Then, you head back to bed to try to get some sleep, but the heat seems to be more than skin-deep because despite the amount of splashing and patting of freezing water against an exhausted face, a terrible, sinking feeling twists your gut, making your knees weak.

What on Earth were you even dreaming about? You can’t even remember now except you feel utterly exhausted in the wake of it and the only hint of the content is the slick between your thighs.

Your sleep-addled brain eventually convinces any part of you still awake to just try to sleep, and as you slip into the covers, the faint but entirely unique scent of cologne, beer and smoke clings to your senses.

[THE PRESENT]

Really, it should be okay.

The hotel isn’t too sketchy, the lobby smells vaguely of lavender and cinnamon from one of those bath shop candles, and he shouldn’t be worried.

Why is he worried? His guts have been in knots since he’s woken up, his head feels like it's been dunked in water for hours and everything is swimming as he sits in the lobby, his palms sweating. Maybe it’s the hangover, but it feels heavier than that. Yes, his head is hammering, but there’s a strange upset in his gut, too.

Must’ve been something about that dream he can’t quite place. Just thinking about it makes his head beat even harder.

But, you had said ten o’clock.

Ten o’clock.

He looks at his wrist watch.

9:57

Time seems to be passing so slowly that he’s not sure the seconds even tick by as his knee begins to jiggle, his hands run flat against his jeans. When he can’t take the nervous ticking inside his chest, he gets up to pace, eyes darting to the staircase where you’d be coming down from.

Is he nervous about seeing you or excited? Is it both? Neither? Something else?

Aaron thinks he’s going to throw up. What if it’s awkward? After all, years between the last visit and now—in the summer, somehow they always just miss each other or there’s money problems or some other plan—things are bound to change.

It’s nerves. It has to be.

The door opens and he turns around to see you there, walking over to him with a dark jacket over a green shirt. It clashes wonderfully and you’re smiling like the sun lives in your heart and you’re smiling at him.

“What’s the deal with the jacket, George?” you tease, gesturing to his leather jacket.

“George?” he repeats easily, too easily. An overwhelming flood in his chest and you arch an eyebrow, grinning still, and it’s like no time has passed at all. “And here I thought I was John.” Your smile only grows and he feels like he can’t breathe and that’s when he knows he’s fucked.

As you adjust your own jacket, compliment him on his, and ask where he wants to go for breakfast, Aaron can’t help the terrible ache in his chest.

Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit.

Shit.

He opens the door and you walk by, the smell of shampoo invading his entire space and he reels back, blinking. His breath hitches, his entire body stiffens.

Warm vanilla spice.

Oh, shit.

a/n: so, uh, sex dreams for the win? to be decided ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°) dont forget to reblog if u liked loves ❤️

TAGS: @withyoutilltheendofthismess @thebriarpatch @joemazzello-imagines @thisiscalm-andits-doctor @sera-wonderland @pity-mee @duvetsandpillows @roses-and-grasses @stainedpomegranatelips @angelsbabey @sansonnette @xxlovingfandomsxx @rachelxwayne @kingandrear @simsvetements @emery--nicole--morrison @genevievedarcygranger @mooneylupinblack @sercyan @forgottenword

426 notes · View notes

selmasemlan · 4 years

Text

Hurting With Oikawa Tooru

Author note

Ummmm, I just want to apologize to all of the hurting I am about to put everyone through and I hope you can recover, because I am broken after writting this and I´m not even an Oikawa simp.

Warning: angst, hurt, you might cry, I´m very sorry

Word count: 1112

Song Inspiration: I Found by Amber Run

Imagine this!

You and Oikawa have been dating for two years now. You guys got together during your first year in high school and you've had your ups and downs, but you have always prevailed. And it is your last year in high school. The expectations are sky-high. After high school, you start your adult life and both of you have big dreams. Oikawa wants to play professional volleyball and you want to (dream/job). So the goals are set. now it´s only time for you guys to start moving forward, towards that goal. But lately, things haven't been that great. You and Oikawa haven't talked for a while and that's weird, cause you guys always make time for each other. But it's so bad that you're seeing more of Iwakumi then of your boyfriend. So you decide to talk to Oikawa. You catch him right after practice and asks him, what's wrong?

Oikawa doesn't seem happy at all, so the conversation doesn't turn out well. You start arguing, him finding you clingy and you just wanting to understand how he feels. The arguing doesn't seem to have an end and Iwakumi just stands there, not knowing what to do. But then Oikawa says something that has you and Iwakumi shell shocked.

"I don't even know why I try to stand you. You're useless. You're standing in the way of my greatness. I need to focus on volleyball and if you don't support that, then we can't be together"

You stand there numb, not saying anything, cause what exactly do you say to the person you love, who doesn't seem to love you back anymore? You barely feel the tears fall down your face. Words don't leave you, words can't seem to leave your mouth. So without saying anything you turn your back to him and walk away.

You don't see each other again, not until two weeks have passed. For two weeks you barely know what's happening in your surrounding. Your friends question your weird behaviour, but you don't tell them what's wrong. You suffer in silents, not wanting to bother anyone. Oikawa's words made you insecure about yourself and you no longer know how to act.

For two weeks you walk around confused. You walk around not knowing if who you were or what you did was wrong. You were walking around in a void, not seeing the truth. But on that day. Two weeks after not seeing each other, you finally open your eyes for what was really there. Walking past a group of girls, you slowly realize that they are Oikawa's fangirls. In the middle stands Oikawa with a smile. The same smile he used to give you. You quickly understand that to him you weren't that special. Clearly, if he could smile at any girl like that. With sparkles and a smile from ear to ear. Then that wasn't a special smile and you weren't his special girl.

Suddenly you meet eye to eye. In your silent rage, you walk away and you don't look back. You don't look back when he calls your name or when you walk by Iwakumi whos watching you with worried eyes. You walk all the way home in silence, not a sound leaving you. But when you walk through the door of your home, you can't seem to hold the fort any longer. The walls that held the water, brook down in an instant and you fall to your knees.

But with every tear, you feel yourself getting stronger. You feel a weight fall down your shoulders and when you rise from the floor you no longer feel lost. The void is gone and in its place was clearness. You once again knew who you were and vows to never lose yourself again, especially because of a boy.

The next day you walk with pride. The pride you didn't have before but gained on this emotional journey you were forced to go through. You walk into the school with a smile on your face, no longer lost to the negativity of your mind. And when you walk past Oikawa and don't even glance at him, you feel more powerful then you've ever felt before.

You and Oikawa don't talk to each other for the rest of the school year and when graduation happens, Oikawa himself walks up to you. He tries to apologize. A few months have passed and you are passed it. You have moved on, you don't have a new guy, but you are thriving. So when Oikawa has apologized you look at him and give him a small smile.

"It's okay!"

Oikawa looks at you confused. What he did was wrong! There is no way it was okay, not just like that. But you just smile and look at him with a look he can't describe. You understanding that he doesn't, continues with,

"Don't get me wrong, what you did was wrong. But it is okay. It's okay because it taught me, that self-love is important and loving myself is an important factor to living a happy life."

Oikawa now realising what he put you through lets a tear fall. He approached you, knowing that you might not take him back, and you had every right to not do it. But a part of him, a big part of him, selfishly wanted you to take him back. Because he loved you, he really did. Iwazumi had beat him up extra hard, finding out what he did to you. He even told him to apologize earlier, but he didn't have the guts to.

"So thank you Oikawa Tooru, for teaching me a life lesson, and good luck."

You put a hand on his shoulder and smile wider at him. Oikawa wants to wipe the gratitude he sees on your face. He wants you back. He wants you to be his. But you made it clear, you don't need him.

"I hope you get what you want and what you have worked hard for. I wish you only happiness."

It hurts. Please make the hurt stop. By now, Oikawa is looking down on the floor and his hair is hiding the inner hurt, the fact that his heart can't handle seeing you move on, without him.

"Goodbye"

You let go of his shoulder and you walk away, to your friends calling your name. Oikawa stands still, not reacting. You walk by Iwazumi and wave, but you don't stop to talk to him. You keep walking because this was the end of this book. The last page is written. The last sentence finished.

This was love where it wasn't supposed to be.

#oikawa x y/n #oikawa angst #oikawa x reader #oikawa tooru x reader #oikawa tooru x you #oikawa tooru x y/n #oikawa tooru #haikyu x reader #haikyu imagine #oikawa imagine #oikawa tooru imagines #oikawa tooru imagine #oikawa imagines #haikyuu x you #haikyuu!!#haikyuu aoba johsai #aoba johsai #selmasemlan fic

79 notes · View notes

janiedean · 3 years

Note

crack prompt inspired by all the tvd talk on your blog: damon, jaime, tony stark all walk into a bar alone and end up drunk oversharing ~~

(if you wanna include ships in it anything with delena/dalaric/bamon; brienne; pepper/bruce/strange/rhodey is okay lmfao so pretty much anything goes, i just want them being each other's therapist because the timeline collapsed for some time and their universes interacted somehow lmfao)

*spins the wheel* AAAND hello anon we can absolutely try that u__u

ten years on tumblr anniversary prompt post | buy me a coffee | commissions open

Well, now I really did bite off more than I could chew, Tony thinks as he shakes his head and hopes that he and Bruce didn't fuck up the entire fabric of reality.

Well.

He's not in New York and he wasn't in the span of five seconds since they got the machine turned on, but - but well. Bruce isn't here, so hopefully he'll figure out where the fuck he ended up. Maybe we should have been sober when trying to work out that whole different timelines and multiverses thing.

Now, damage control. He should probably try to not go anywhere, but in case he actually just... teleported somewhere, maybe he should just ask where he is. He glances at his back. He's in front of a bar named Mystic Grill, which... okay, shitty name, but he could be anywhere in fuck-all-middle-of-nowhere Idaho for all he knows. He takes out his cellphone, and there is zero reception.

Bad news.

He sees a blonde kid with a police badge coming up the road, so he clears his throat and stops him.

"Uh, officer?"

"Hello," the kid says, "I don't remember seeing you around here."

Yeah, because I'm not from this world, most likely. "Eh," Tony lies, "I was driving my car but it broke down outside town and the way I got in, there wasn't a sign. Would you mind telling me where exactly I ended up?"

"Mystic Falls," the guy says, "I didn't know the damned State of Virginia now took us off the maps, too." That was sarcastic, Tony can hear it, but.

He's sure that there is no such place where he comes from.

"Right," Tony says, "I'll, uh, be out to find a mechanic then."

The kid gives him instructions to reach one, Tony thanks him and lets him go. Well, he can't certainly go anywhere now, but at least it seems like they fucked up just his -

"What the fuck," he hears from his left side -

Just in time to see a blonde guy wearing a white armor and a white cloak fall through a portal just the same as his own, that disappears a moment later. The blonde guy has green eyes, Tony notices, is lacking a right hand because he has a rather heavy golden prothesis on it that looks tacky also for his own tastes and looks completely out of his depth as he moves to his feet.

"Uh," Tony says, "I imagine you aren't from... here."

"Certainly not," the guy says, sounding... near hysterical, as he takes the surroundings. "What - what are those things anyway?" Cars. Oh fuck, he's looking at cars. "How are you dressed? What - what are these houses?"

"Er," Tony says, "humor me a moment. What's your name and where do you come from?"

The guy rolls his eyes. "Jaime Lannister, and I come from Westeros, thank you very much, now where the hell am I?"

... Great, Tony thinks, now it's not even someplace where the USA exist. "Er," Tony says, "in another world. Listen, it's my fault, I, uh, sort of caused it, and my colleague will most likely fix it, but it's really better we don't go anywhere so he can locate us more easily. Tell you what, can I buy you a drink while we wait?"

"Another world?" The guy blurts, and then - then he stares at Tony, then at his surroundings, then rolls his eyes again.

"You know what," he says, "I've had a shit long day. What can this be on top of fucking undead Catelyn Stark? Buy me the fucking drink."

I'm not doing drunk science anymore, Tony vows to himself as they walk inside the place, and he really hopes he can spin some story as to why the guy with him is wearing bonafide armor -

"And who the fuck are the two of you now?"

So: Tony had not taken into account that there would be just one person in the bar and that this person would be of course not human because no one human could pin the two of them to the wall in a split second and hold them there with such strength, and that's how he finds out that pretty guy with blue eyes, dark hair, pale skin and homicidal face is a damned vampire.

Except that the moment Tony explains it - Jaime or whoever he is is just keeping his mouth shut, wisely - the guy stares at them, and then more, and then -

"With everything I've seen in the last years," he says, "honestly, that's not even the most fucking stupid. So, you just want to lounge around until your friend shows up to fix whatever the fuck you did?"

"Er, yes?"

"Whatever. I'm Damon. I can cover your drinks and compel the bartender to forget your face. I sorely fucking need some myself."

He lets them go, but then - "Get that armor off," he tells Jaime, "this isn't New York City."

"I can't just leave my armor around!"

"Just leave it in the bathroom and take it back later," Damon shrugs, and then nods towards what's most likely the bathroom.

Jaime shrugs and goes, muttering something about maybe having drank too much milk of the poppy, and Tony doesn't want to know whatever the hell that is.

"Listen," Jaime says later, wearing an attire that's still obviously Middle-Ages-like but at least doesn't stand out too much, sipping at the bourbon Damon shoved at them, "I'm choosing to think I'm making this all up, but if I'm not, how long will it be before I can go back where I come from? Because you dragged me away from a rather fucking delicate situation."

"No idea," Tony shrugs, "but he's good at his job. And he was less drunk than me. We might get you back at the point you left."

"And what would that delicate situation be?" Damon asks. "Entertain me."

"And why should I tell you?"

"First, I bought you that alcohol and you're definitely enjoying it. Second, this is my town and I could tear your throat open if I wanted to." Fuck. He just showed fangs at the both of them. What the fuck. "Also, my murderous former girlfriend who is the cause of all my problems just finally fucked off this planet for good after possessing my current girlfriend who looks like her but really is the whole contrary and my best friend just came back to life after being dead for a whole lot of time and it's a complicated situation and I need a distraction or ten."

"That... sounds like something," Tony mutters, sipping at his alcohol. It's good, at least.

"Believe me, it is. So, what's the poison from Middle Ages here?"

"Ah, fuck that," Jaime says, takes a drink, and starts talking.

Half an hour later, Tony thinks that he and Damon are equally staring at the guy with the same disbelieving face.

"... Was that the undead woman that got you like this?" Jaime asks, blinking. "Considering that he seems like he's some kind of living dead, that's a tad hypocritical."

"No," Damon says, "that's the least of my problems. How haven't you frenched this Brienne person already?"

"I frenched?"

"Dude, he's from the Middle Ages," Tony takes pity on him. "He means put your tongue in her mouth."

"I - what - she's not - I'm not -"

"Listen," Damon cuts him, "I've been there. I mean, thinking I couldn't live without an arse who didn't give a fuck about me, which you admitted. But you do realize you spent at least five minutes of your charming tale describing us exactly how this Brienne of yours is ripped and has pretty eyes and was about to die for you?"

"Yeah, uh," Tony says, "let it come from someone who had the right people in front of him for ages and didn't let himself go for it, you really don't wanna drag it any longer."

"That's - she's a knight, that's not -"

"Oh, sure, all knights are shit where you come from, you said that, but suddenly someone would rather hang than kill you and you're here jittering because you got sucked here while she's dealing with a zombie that wanted you dead but I have to think you don't wanna french her?" Damon rolls his eyes again, pours himself another drink and honestly, Tony has cut down on the alcohol lately but he's gonna just make a damned exception. "Please."

"He's right," Tony says, "and also, let it come from someone whose dad was loaded on money and fairly shitty and still way better than yours, whatever he said about you is wrong."

"How do you know -" Jaime starts, half-blanching.

"Told you," Tony shrugs, "loaded on money, shitty father, at least I missed out on the shit sister. Honestly, man, just fucking drop her like hot coal and follow your gut. And let it come from someone who's fucked around a lot to get distracted, if you wanted to bone her in that bath then you're into her."

"I -" Jaime goes red in the face, finishes the drink, "it's not like it ever happened with anyone else before, it was a mistake, most likely -"

Damon gives him a look that looks halfway worried.

Tony thinks he just matched it, except even more worried.

"My vampire friend," he says, "are you thinking what I am thinking?"

"I'm afraid so," Damon says, and then looks back at Jaime. "Newsflash," he goes on, "if you get hard looking at a naked woman most likely you find her attractive. Also, you can find more than one person attractive in your life. And let it come from someone who's been there in the sense that I thought I could only love fucking Katherine, you really don't want to keep on doing it."

"I didn't say I wasn't done with Cersei," Jaime replies, somewhat weakly.

"Good," the two of them reply at the same time, and Tony has to snort.

"Look at that," he says, "for once I'm the one with the healthiest relationship history sitting at a table. Who'd have thought?"

"Fuck this," Damon says, "I'm getting more bourbon."

"Please," Jaime says, and - well. Seems like when Bruce comes to collect him, Tony won't be sober.

"Wait," Jaime says, "wait, wait, wait, she possessed your girlfriend?"

"Yeah, well, as if," Damon shrugs, "honestly, sometimes I think I should have just run away to New York after deserting."

"You deserted what?" Tony asks.

"The fucking confederacy," Damon shrugs. "Well, what are you staring about? I'm a vampire, I've been around ages, I'm from fucking middleofnowhere Virginia, you think I got drafted with the unionists? But I disagreed and I hated it and I never wanted to go, so I fucking deserted. I hope you aren't here judging me, or -"

"Please, I used to build weapons for the army and stopped when I realized it wasn't what I wanted to be, and honestly, that just means you have a conscience, so -"

"Wait, you did what," Jaime says.

"Deserted. An army. Back in the day. Risked my neck for it, and I came back and met Katherine and honestly I should have just gone North, but -"

"Hm," Jaime says, drinking, and then - "you don't regret it?"

"No," Damon says at once, "best decision I ever took. Why, you want to do that, too?"

"Sure he wants to," Tony says when Jaime doesn't immediately reply. "Let me guess, not just your army. You want to desert the whole shebang, don't you?"

"I don't know what a fucking shebang is, but yes. So what?"

"Well, if you want my been there done that advice, do that," Damon shrugs. "From what it sounds like, your entire world is collapsing because of zombies anyway, what do you have to lose? Your sister? You're better fucking off without."

Jaime stares down at the glass, then knocks it down. "Can I have another?"

"Sure," Damon says, and generously tips it.

"So what," Tony says, "now that your best friend you had a thing with while your girlfriend was with your brother is back to life you're having trouble adjusting?"

"She also hadn't been possessed by my murderous ex until then," Damon shrugs.

Jaime just looks at them, then drinks some more. "Who am I to judge on that anyway," he says, "but that sounds like a lot of work."

"You wouldn't believe," Damon shrugs, knocking down some more of his bourbon. "Never mind that Stefan won't get over brooding instead of fessing up to the girl he is in love with now, but it's not like I hadn't expected it."

"Tell him to," Jaime says at once. "I let my father fuck things up for my brother once and I hate that I ever did, just - don't."

"This is getting fucking eerie," Damon says.

Tony, who is currently feeling very thankful he doesn't have siblings, takes another sip. Then -

"Man, if it's complicated just date the both of them. If they both like you and aren't the kind of super monogamous people that can't handle a threesome once in a while, they won't have a problem."

"... And what do you know?"

He shrug. "Well," he says, "my steady girlfriend was in front of my eyes for years. Took us a while to get over ourselves. The guy I was doing drunk science with, well. Was an instant hit and I didn't let myself drag it in the centuries and guess what, we have a nice lovely arrangement where I'm with both of them, they commiserate about how much of an idiot I can be and sometimes we all occasionally have sex. It's grand. You should try it."

And I really hope Bruce shows up soon.

"Huh," Damon says, "maybe it has merit. For me. Not for you."

Jaime sputters. "I said nothing!"

"You shouldn't even think about threesomes. I can see it in your face you're not the type. And certainly not including your sister."

"Fuck you," Jaime replies without meaning it, "I was not considering that." Huh. Now he sounds offended Damon implied it. Maybe he really will fess up to the other one when he's back.

"Then it means this enlightening talk has enlightened you," Tony grins. "Mind telling us more about that hand?"

"And why?"

Tony shrugs. It's not like he doesn't have time to waste. "What if I could help you with that thing?" He says, nodding towards Jaime's stump, and then - well. Time to test if he can summon the armor here, too.

"God," Damon says a while later, "I'll have to compel that poor bartender so hard, but fuck this is something."

Sure it is, Tony grins. "Hey, I managed to fuck with quantum reality, I'm not the first idiot that passes by."

"Seven Hells," Jaime says, "I have no idea what it is you're putting on me but if it works half as well as that thing you have, I'm going to show back up in King's Landing just to show my sister who has the useless hand now. If she didn't get herself killed."

"Well, now that is one reason I could approve of," Tony laughs, "and don't fucking move."

Sure, building a prothesis from the rests of whatever nonfunctioning electronics the bartender had lying around is... somewhat a challenge, but as stated, he has time to waste and it's not like he's wanted anywhere soon.

"By the way," Damon says as he watches him tinker around with the toolkit he found him in the backroom, "do you need advice in the whole I fucked up and want my brother to forgive me department?"

"What if I do?" Jaime replies through his teeth. "Because now that would distract me from how much this entire thing is fucking hurting."

The more they talk while he tinkers, the more Tony decides he's absolutely glad he was an only child and that his father only fucked one son up.

"You're doing this while not even being fucking sober?" Damon knocks back more bourbon. "You sure you don't wanna stay here and turn into an immortal? You'd be useful."

"Thanks but I like my life as it is," Tony snorts. "But if you need tech tinkered with, you can ask while I'm here."

Jaime is just staring at the steel-colored hand coming to life while Tony puts piece after piece together, his throat working up and down.

He drinks some more. "Fuck, if only I had such a thing when I realized what the fuck Aerys had turned into."

"Wait, who's Aerys now?" Damon asks.

He hadn't told them that part in detail.

When he's done and Tony is at the fourth finger, he kind of wants to hurl, but mostly -

"Do we really have to stay here," Damon says, "or you think we could sneak him to a VA? I can compel them to just hear that he's talking about Vietnam or something."

"He's not old enough for Vietnam, but you know what, I think we could risk that."

"What in the Seven Hells is a VA?"

"Someone I really could have used in the nineteenth century," Damon sighs, and then just as Tony moves to the last finger -

"Tony, what the hell is this?"

Turns out, where Bruce comes from it took him two days to figure this out. He also immediately spots three different improvements Tony could do to that hand, and when he hears the entire shebang he raises his hands and says that he can send Jaime right back when he left at any point and he and Tony, too, but he supposes that if they want to compel the VA before they leave it's not like he's in a hurry, and wait, vampires?

Damon ends up asking him if the threesome thing is really working out as well as Tony says.

While he does, Tony manages the finishing touches on the sort-of-steel-and-iron-hand he cobbled up together, and thank fuck Bruce showed up because he had been the one studying how Barnes's arm worked, back in the day, and gave Tony the pointer he needed to make sure the entire thing was... well, connected to the nervous system without needing to rip Jaime's wrist open.

"Right," he says, "try to move the fingers."

Jaime holds them in a fist.

It works.

"Seven fucking hells -"

"Yeah, yeah, I'm a genius. Just keep it out of too many lines of fire, but if you're from the middle ages it should withstand most stuff. You're welcome. And go french that knight of yours instead of waiting, really."

"I think in between him and you, you've made a case. Uh, thank you, I -"

"Nonsense, I was the reason you're here, I might as well have helped out. Hey," he says, "so, what about a last round before we drag him to the VA and Bruce here settles everything?"

"I'm so down for it," Damon says.

"Do I even have a choice," Bruce groans, but then he does sit down at the same table and lets Tony fill his glass.

"Oh, don't look like that," Tony says, "after all I didn't destroy the universe and made some friends, it could have gone worse."

"Wouldn't know about that, but I could have done worse, too," Damon says, and orders more bourbon.

"I sure as the fucking Seven Hells will never manage to explain this to anyone," Jaime says, "but I guess I'm not too disappointed, either."

"Tony," Bruce groans, "did you manage to somehow end up with two people with - never mind. Of course you did. We're never doing drunk science again, hear me?"

"Maybe so," Tony agrees, though... well.

Maybe he will want to check on them, once in a while.

But he can think about how to convince Bruce to make sure they can later.

For now, he'll enjoy his last round.

#tony stark #jaime lannister #damon salvatore #ten years anniversary promptfest #... this was LONG #jaime x brienne for ts #my fic #god idk what happened anon but i hope you enjoyed this mess #tvd for ts #anti jaime x cersei #only slightly less toxic than chernobyl's ruins #anti katherine pierce #my stuff

36 notes · View notes

yuriyuruandyuraart · 4 years

Text

part 12

ink was getting nervous. Error was coming by at night, and since every other vampire was sleeping, he couldn’t do anything but wait in his garden-

Something wasn’t quite normal with error. He looked pretty anxious, wary even-

Ink sighed. Life was so empty- not even death could fix that

He discovered that over time, most vampires could get used to the sunlight after being exposed to it very lightly. He also noticed that vampires couldn’t be murdered unless they were shot or stabbed in the soul

He not only wasn’t affected by the sunlight in the first place, but he had no soul to begin with-

Death wasn’t an option.

Boredom was the only thing that was “killing” him

Ever since he could remember, life was always so boring

Empty

Without any goal to achieve or get going with

He clenched his fists

The only thing that was following him around and that let him stay alive was…

Guilt

For something he could never forgive himself for

Maybe he could fix it?

He didn’t want to think about it now-

He traveled inside his garden, wandering around his maze, then sat down near some bushes

He was an immortal being with barely no will to live, but he did have a passion to stay sane

And it ended up being art.

Painting, sewing, designing, sculpting-

Creating was a nice compensation for destroying everyone’s lives…

Now that he was thinking about it…

…….

Wait, who was that?!

Ink noticed a shadow fly away from his garden. ‘Right when he had some inspiration to draw’. He ran to them, but he realized they already left.

It was probably another vampire, but the vast majority preferred to go out at night since they won’t be so visible to the mortals. Though it was unusual for a one to fly off so fast and early in the morning. The sun was bright, and even he felt pretty nauseous staying on spot without anything to shield himself from the heat of it.

Even so, he stared at his surroundings, curious to see if the person left something, when he noticed a crispy letter on the grass.

Ink sighed, who could it beee?

He painfully leaned down to catch the letter, and opened it.

Right, it was him.

Just when he thought he’ll get to talk to him personally-

He sat down and read the long paragraph that decorated its paper.

…

“…oh-“

He got up and dusted off his clothes from the remaining dirt and leaves that stuck to him, then trailed off to his castle-

“Looks like the meeting is still ongoing”

******

His steps were heavy,

And he was getting weaker-

He collapsed on the ground

It was so painful to be alive

And he hated it

He HATED ink for what he did!

He-

He…

….

Well, the forest wasn’t a good place to fall unconscious in, so he painfully got himself up.

He could hate ink all he wanted, but the mortals were even worse

If only he could just KILL THEM ALL

ALL OF THEM

Ugh-

“…”

Huh

Crying?

Him?

Out of character, right?

He wiped away the tears that were slowly forming themselves in his sockets. He had to- he had to go and ask for help like the idiot that he is! He…he didn’t want him to-

…

Die? Who? What the flip was he even doing in that forest anyways?!

Oh yeah, heal himself

Obviously

He sat by a tree and painfully tightened the holes and scars with bandages after carefully removing the bullets and disinfecting the injuries with his magic. He really didn’t want to see him again,

But he didn’t have a choice anymore

********

*tap*

He sat on his sofa, slowly waiting for his guest’s arrival in front of his large window.

He closed his eyes patiently, then sighed calmly

“nice seeing you again, error”

His silhouette slowly appeared in front of him, threatening as always.

“…”

He looked away, a frown still in place.

“it’s okay if you don’t want to see me, but god can you be stubborn!” ink pouted. They knew each other for years, but one thing that didn’t change was the fact that error was never happy to see him

Nor to spend time with him

Actually, the times where he’ll be “happy” is when he almost “kills” him, or when he leaves-

Yeah, a nice “friendship”

“I swear if it wasn’t for an important reason I would’ve never stepped a toe in your hell of a castle!”

“but you still came here. And I’m sorry if I am worried about this reason that’s so important it actually made you sit here, and talk to me for once.”

Error flinched at his sarcastic tone, and he thought about giving a spiteful remark back, but he sat on the sofa in front of him, directly facing the window, choosing to ignore his off handed retorts to leave that place as soon as possible.

“… well-“ error tried to collect his words, obviously tired of what had happened to him this past weeks.

“there is a small town very far away from here who sent a…detective? Spy? Whatever, A trained mortal to hunt down the vampires while being hidden amongst the normal villagers, and he’s been very wary of YOU especially.”

“He had been giving some “ideas” to the mortals, and if he manages to convince them to overthrow your rules and influence, he’ll quickly discover your intentions and the hidden place of multiple thousands of vampire, causing the extinction of the race in a second. And while I flipping hate your guts and I despise you all so much, vampires and mortals alike, I can’t really be all that powerful and safe when the humans can win over me; the amount of vampires decreasing giving them “courage” to kill the remaining.”

He stated the last sentence with disgust. He didn’t give two cents about vampires, even less monsters or even humans, which he hates even more, but ink’s motives were vastly different

ink loved vampires, because he had to; Being the original vampire who first existed. He was the reason so many mortals turned into those people, feared by the pitiful society called the living. And just like that he and the other vampires that followed began growing stronger in number and power.

You could say that he didn’t have a choice- that it was in his nature; he’s a vampire! He can’t help but drink blood, in the case of monsters, magic-

But

Not only can vampires resist the urge to drink blood, by simply eating meat, but in ink’s case

He doesn’t even like drinking blood nor magic

He was more into literal ink

The only reason he drank blood in the first place was to get feelings

The first vampire didn’t have a chance to get a soul, so he discovered he could get feelings another way.

And he despised doing that

Because

Of how he discovered

That-

“INK!”

Ink looked at error, realizing he must’ve been daydreaming for too long

“…”

Ink got up, then undressed himself from his coat.

“Huh? What the he- what are you doing???”

“Well, suffice to say we’re going to catch that little comedian and eliminate him as soon as we can”

Error didn’t expect such bluntness from ink, but he couldn’t care less about that, more like, he was caught off guard by the “we”

“Hey, hey, hey- this is YOUR job, mister! It is not my business to attend”

Ink looked back at him, and gave him a warm smile

“Didn’t you say earlier it affected you if all the race disappeared? Wouldn’t you want to stop that from happening? I might add that you wouldn’t come here unless you really had to, so is it just for a message or did you need my help?”

He hated it when ink gets smart

But at the same time he was right

Though there was still another reason on top of it all, but he kept his mouth sealed

That bastard didn’t need to know

“…fine. What to do now”

Ink’s smirk became predatory

“What makes you think we’ll need to do anything?”

Error flinched

“What?”

Ink giggled-

“Well, it’s getting quite late don’t you think?”

Error looked back at the window, the moon shining bright in a cold, dark night

“Ink! I need answers!”

Ink paused his laughing, then smiled

“I’ll tell you more about it if you’ll be my guest.”

He bowed slightly, still keeping eye contact with the other

Error tensed- he didn’t know what to do now

“…is this a trap?”

Ink looked surprised at that statement, but quickly rectified

“Not at all!”

“Then what makes me believe that you’re not going to kill me in my sleep!”

Ink paused a second, kind of offended by the other’s skepticism when he just wanted to welcome him

Well, guess it can’t be helped

“I promise you that I will answer your questions tomorrow, It’s just that you might be exhausted from the constant travelling- the bruises and scars look like they just need a bit of attention, and you-“

He trailed off, citing multiple reasons why he needed a shelter from him, and error quickly cut him off

“Okay- okay- I get it”

It did make him feel a bit better though, considering ink takes his promises very seriously, so he might as well stay for a night

“Just ONE night”

He crossed his arms, and ink chuckled

“Sure, sure-“

He smiled

“Goodnight then, error”

*******

“well, how about we talk more about it in a more...private environment, yes?”

**********

ink belongs to @comyet/ @myebi

error belongs to @loverofpiggies

dark cream belongs to @zu-is-here

well, it took a while to update you guys, but i’m really happy about it!

error holds a huge grudge against ink- what is it? still haven’t finished that part yet guys ;D

also, the illustration is a spoiler for the next part focusing about ink, but as they say- it’s not a real spoiler if you have no context right ;)?

((remind me not to paint an illustration for a writing i haven’t updated in a while it just makes it worse))

also, the reason i haven’t drawn error once is because i can’t decide on a design he often hides his face with a very dark cape. i will give you guys a sheet with everyone’s faces (protagonists only) their mouths (the difference between their fangs) and their markings/eyelights

very exited to write more about ink though- it’s going to get interesting very soon ;)

first- previous- next

83 notes · View notes

waywardwrestlewritingwaif · 3 years

Text

Raise the Stakes, Part 10

Hope you've enjoyed the pic/ inspiration spam I've ben posting! Here's the next section. YOu can find previous sections on the Master List.

Do I have an ending for this coming up? No. I have about 6 and I haven't decided which direction I'm going to go in. I've pretty much resigned myself to the fact that I'm not going to be able to "pick" an ending until after they have their match at Resurgence next week. But please feel free to message me and tell me what should happen. In the meantime...

Pairing: David Finlay x OFC x Jay White

Word count: 1,943

Content advisory: nothing really, although I guess there's some behavior that could be interpreted as creepy

You’re dimly aware of someone lifting you and carrying you and by the time you get backstage, you’re more or less fully conscious.

“Are you ok?” one of the production assistants comes running over.

“Yeah, I just haven’t had a lot to eat today,” you mumble. “I’m not hurt or anything.”

“I know it’s hot out there with the lights and everything.”

“Really, it’s ok, I just got a bit dizzy.”

The security guard looming over you, the man who brought you back here, looks a little skeptical.

“What happened?”

“You fainted.”

“No, I mean, what happened with the show? I saw that… Switchblade showed up.” You chuckle a little. “Did the other guys beat him up or are they all together?”

The production assistant smiles. “It was pretty cool. They kind of stared down but before anything happened, Juice and David went running out, so them and Callihan cleared the ring.”

“Nice.” You very much like the sound of that. “The good guys got one back.”

“Yeah, I mean Jay hit David and took him out at the end but it was pretty positive.”

“He what?”

“Yeah, after they’d driven everyone off, Jay jumped back in and did his blade runner thing on David. Looked pretty cool.”

Panic sets in.

“Is David ok?”

“I’m sure he is. Maybe his ego’s a bit bruised.”

“Where is he?”

You and David aren’t “out” as anything, you’re not even sure if you are anything, but you don’t care what anyone makes of it because you need to see him.

“I think he’s with the doctor,” the PA answers confusedly.

You’re immediately on your feet, all of your faculties returned, running for the medic’s office. When you get there, Juice tries to grab your arm but you dodge him and go skidding into the room where David is seated on the examination table. He looks at you like he’s surprised to see you.

“Are you alright?” he asks.

“Fine. Are you? I sort of fainted and… I heard you got hurt.”

He gives you a wink. “Nothing I haven’t felt before. This is just a precaution because I wasn’t expecting the…” He stares at you hard before addressing himself to the doctor. “Could you give us a minute?’

“No problem,” she sighs. “You look fine.”

David thrusts his chin out at Juice to tell him that he should back off too. His partner looks a little unsure but steps back a few paces.

Once you’re alone, David raises his arm, inviting you to come closer. When you’re within reach, he pulls you against him.

“I didn’t know,” you croak. “I had no idea about any of this, you have to believe me, I wouldn’t-”

“Hey,” he says softly, touching your cheek, “if you say you didn’t know then I believe you.”

“This is my fault, though. I made it worse.”

“Stop that. Jay’s an asshole. He always has to be angry about something. I beat him in Japan and you ditched him to come here.”

“For you,” you remind him.

He gives you a sweet kiss and runs his finger along the shell of your ear. “What do you mean, you fainted?”

“I just got dizzy. I haven’t really eaten.”

“Well let’s fix that. I’ll just finish up with the doc and we can go get something to eat.”

“You mean it?” It’s such a relief that he still wants to spend time with you that you feel like you’re going to pass out again.

“Yeah I mean it.” He grins and calls out for the doctor to come back in. She does a quick final check and determines that he can go.

He slips off the table and, as you go to leave, slips his arm around you. You respond in kind and it feels like your body is glowing.

Until you get into the hallway. There he is, talking to some of the guys, laughing away, the arrogance just rolling off him. He glances at the two of you with a sinister expression, his eyes locking onto yours until you turn your head away.

“You should kick his ass right here,” you growl.

David looks at you and shakes his head. “Not worth the trouble.” He gives you a squeeze before continuing, “Now what do you feel like eating?”

“At this point, anything that doesn’t eat me first.”

“I never did get my cheat pizza.”

“I think you deserve it,” you grin.

“So let’s go pick up some pizza. Then we can go back to your place and you can take care of me.”

A broad smile spreads across your face. “You aren’t getting sick of me yet?”

“Not even a little bit.”

He pulls you in front of him and kisses you full on, not wildly but enough to make it clear to anyone who sees you what’s going on. He chuckles when he lets you go and glances down the hallway where Jay is still holding court with his hangers-on.

“Jay,” he calls, waiting until he’s sure he has his enemy’s attention, “you lose.”

When you arrive at work on Monday, it’s with a considerable level of anxiety. Things have definitely gotten more complicated. Jay is, after all, a New Japan performer, and as the liaison between New Japan and US promotions, that means you’re supposed to work with him. Even the idea of being in the same room with him makes you shake a little. You and David finally spent a night apart so that he wouldn’t have to get up early when you did, but you’d still been texting until you both fell asleep. Truthfully, Jay hadn’t been on your mind as long as you were with David but now you can’t avoid thinking about him.

What you have with David feels amazing but it’s also new and fragile, a tiny shoot rising up from the soil, still trying to grow and lay down roots at the same time. You want to protect it and you know that Jay wants to kill it off because no one embarrasses him the way the two of you have. You don’t know what he’s planning to do, you just know you have to be wary of it.

For the first part of the day, it’s just backstage people and the production team going through what’s needed for the day’s tapings. Talent will arrive in the afternoon, followed by a small audience. You make your notes on who needs to be where and making sure it lines up with what Tokyo tells you they’re expecting. Some of them have to fly to California to do shows there and you need to make sure the tapings happening in the next few days aren’t going to interfere with any of those plans.

“Did you get it out of your system?”

He pounces on you out of nowhere, crowding you against the wall, eyes incandescent with anger. It’s hours before any of the performers are supposed to be here, which makes it a perfect time for him to ambush you.

“Get what out of my system, Jay?” you gasp, trying to hide how much he’s scared you.

“Don’t be coy,” he hisses. “This little romantic excursion you decided to send yourself on.”

“I told you, I felt like I’d accomplished all I could in the job and so I decided to grab this new opportunity-”

“I know exactly what you did and not because you told me anything. I got your cute little note. Blocking me on social media and everything was an especially nice touch. After everything we’d been through, everything I’d done for you, you didn’t even have the guts to say any of that bullshit to my face.”

“Ok, I should have done that. I owed you that. I apologize and I hope it didn’t cause you any…”

You look into his eyes and just freeze. He’s so sickeningly beautiful and frightening at that moment that there’s nothing you can do, not appease him, not flatter him, not reject him. You were right when you said you needed to get away from him to get over him, you just didn’t expect that he’d refuse to give you the chance.

“Aren’t you cute with your little prepared business speech. ‘I’m so sorry, Jay, I hope you found another person to do my job because that’s all that was going on, just me being your secretary.’ How long have you been memorizing that for when you finally had to see me again?

“You’ve had your fun, your laughs at my expense, but it ends now.”

“How fucking dare you!” Now you’ve found your voice and your strength. “You think you get to order me around like I’m something you own? I don’t work for you anymore. My job is here now. My life is here now.”

Jay straightens up to his full height, regarding you with a smirk. “Your life? Is that what you’re calling him now?”

“I meant just… everything.”

“Aw, David must feel so happy thinking this is where it ends.”

“As far as you and I are concerned, it has ended.” You glare at him. “I love him.”

The soft laugh he gives you is utterly unnerving. “You love me. You’ve loved me for years. Nothing’s changed. You ran off here because you got it in your head that you could make yourself love him, because you wanted to get back at me for whatever it is you think I’ve done to you. And you couldn’t even be around me and convince yourself at the same time that you really want him.”

“You arrogant prick. What the hell do you know about what I want?”

He laughs a little and captures your face with one hand, pressing his lips close to your ear.

“I love how angry you get when you know I’m right. And I love having you trapped like this.”

“Trapped how? I’m going to walk away from you and it’s going to be like this never happened. I’m going to have fun imagining David wiping that condescending look off your face for a few weeks until I finally get to see him do it.”

“Do you seriously think anyone in New Japan is going to think twice about dumping him if I tell them that I won’t work with him?”

“Whatever. He’s doing fine here.”

“Oh yes, he’s doing so well in Impact, the company that’s riding a wave of popularity because they’re working with other, bigger companies. I’m sure they’d stand up for him against all of their partners. I’m sure he’s so much more important to them than being able to work with me or any other real stars.”

He chuckles a little, pressing his face against yours.

“That’s the funny thing about forbidden doors. When they close, they all close at once.”

“Oh, so you’re threatening to get him shut out of every wrestling company just because you’re annoyed he stole your assistant.”

“You sell yourself short. But if you want to put it that way, yes.”

“You don’t have the attention span. You’ll get distracted by someone else you think has wronged you by the end of the week.”

“If that’s how you want to approach this, go right ahead. If I were a betting man, I wouldn’t like your odds of being right but I already know you’re going to do what you want.”

He grips your head firmly and plants a hard kiss on your forehead before backing off and sauntering down the hall as if nothing’s happened.

You were right when you told David he should stay away from you. This is bad.

#david finlay fanfic #david finlay imagine #jay white fanfic #jay white imagine #njpw fanfic #njpw imagine #impact wrestling fanfic #wrestling fanfiction #wayward wrestle writing

18 notes · View notes

justcourttee · 4 years

Text

And They Were Roommates-Pt 2

Marinette woke to the piercing ring from her alarm clock. With a groan, she blindly hit her nightstand, trying to find the snooze.

“Marinette! If you snooze, you’ll be late again! Professor Brookes may like you, but she did threaten that one more tardy to the meetings and you’ll be fired!”

Tikki pulled at a strand of Marinette’s hair trying to pull the girl from her bed.

“Tikki it’s just five more minutes, please!”

“Dupen-Chang, Tikki wanted to wake you the nice way but if you don’t get your ass out of bed in the next five seconds, I will dump a cup of ice down your shirt.”

Marinette’s eyes flew open as she sat straight up, scowling at the sight of Chloe and Tikki high-fiving.

“I hate you two.”

“Mhm, now go shower. You look and smell like you just wrestled with pigs.”

Chloe’s nose scrunched up as she threw a towel at the girl. Marinette rolled out of bed with a heavy sigh, trudging to the bathroom.

“Chloe, will you pick me out an outfit?”

“Already done, now hurry up!”

Turning on the water, Marinette noticed the dark ink covering her skin. A beautiful robin stretched from her wrist to her elbow, every last detail drawn with care. She sucked in a sharp breath as she allowed her fingers to trace over the artwork. As she stepped into the shower, her eyes never left the picture, scared her soulmate would erase it before she had a chance to photograph it for later inspiration.

Turning off the water, she wrapped her towel around her body tightly before racing back to her room, almost diving for her phone. Her tongue stuck out of her mouth from the pure concentration of capturing the art at the right angle. Once she was sure it was photographed properly, she fumbled for the pen on her nightstand.

“I love waking up to your artwork, would you mind leaving it for the day?”

She stared intently at her hand, waiting for his response that couldn’t seem to come fast enough.

“Dupen-Chang! If you want a ride, you better be dressed in the next five minutes!”

Chloe's voice echoed through the apartment, snapping Marinette out of her trance. Within three minutes, she pulled on the dress Chloe had laid out and managed to pull her hair back in a messy bun, sticking a pen through it just in case. She was working on the heels when she finally felt the tingle.

“Sorry Angel, important interview today. I’ll leave you something tomorrow though. Promise”

Marinette let out a defeated sigh, but tried to push it out of her mind. After all, she couldn’t be mad, he had a life too, one he didn’t want to publicize and she could respect that. Putting the final touches on her outfit, she grabbed her purse, leaning down beside the dollhouse to allow Tikki to fly in.

“Dupen-Chang!”

“Coming Chloe!”

Tikki let out a giggle as Marinette rolled her eyes. It was going to be a long day.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

“Ms. Dupen-Chang, can I see you in my office please?”

Marinette internally groaned as she plastered a smile on her face. She picked up her design book, throwing a cover over the mannequin before she turned to walk toward the professor's office.

“What can I do for you Professor Brookes?” Her smile was sickly sweet as she stared down at the woman.

“Sit, please.” Brookes didn’t even look up from her paperwork, just made a vague gesture to the seat in front of her desk. After several minutes, she finally looked up, making a show of clicking her pen shut.

“Do you know why I called you in Marinette?”

“Because you were lonely and wanted someone to talk to?”

She offered the woman a pity smile, but Professor Brookes was not having it.

“You have refused every offer I have arranged for you in the past three months. Marinette, what did I tell you when you accepted this position in my work field for young entrepreneurs?”

Marinette let out a sigh, her eyes falling to the ground.

“It’s easier to work under a big name and break away than it is to build your own empire. But Professor-”

“Exactly. So tell me, why exactly have you refused not only Giorgio Armani and Karl Lagerfeld, but now I hear that Audrey Bourgeois has been after you for years now and you’ve refused her as well!”

Marinette bit her lip, trying her best to level her breathing before she snapped at the woman.

“With all due respect Professor Brookes, they don’t want my name on the designs. I can’t make a name for myself if everyone else is taking credit for my work. If there’s any way you can find me an internship under someone who will let me be myself I’d be more than glad to take them on.”

It was Professor Brookes turn to sigh as she slipped off her glasses, pinching the bridge of her nose.

“You’re a talented girl Marinette, nobody is denying that. But you just don’t understand how the business world works. This work field is for entrepreneurs who will listen to my advice, not do everything in their power to ignore it.”

“I understand if you want me to relinquish my position Professor Brookes. I’m sure you could fill it easily.”

The professor looked up, her face unreadable as she stared down the designer. Several minutes passed and a sinking feeling began to settle in Marinette’s gut.

“Ms. Dupen-Chang, what you’re asking me to do is to find you a sponsor. They’ll put their good name on the line for you, allow you to take credit for your work, and in return you’ll give them a portion of your profit. That’s anywhere from 5%-25% depending on how the sponsor operates. If I do this for you, you are going to have to up your production levels from one outfit a week to three, which means you’ll need to be here for three days instead of just one. Is this something you really want?”

Marinette’s heart pounded in her chest as she felt her body flood with relief.

“It is. I really want a sponsor.”

“Then it’s settled, I’ll need you to complete a portfolio including pictures of models wearing your designs and at least three test designs that I can send to possible contenders. The test designs allow them to view your work up close and personal to look at stitchwork and such. I’m assuming you already have models in mind seeing as you live with two of them?”

Marinette nodded, her heart feeling as if it were about to explode with joy.

“I won’t let you down Professor Brookes.”

The designer stood hastily, practically running back to her workstation.

“I’ll need all of that before the first day of spring semester Marinette!”

The professor's voice echoed in her ears but she was too stunned to care. She was getting a real chance and that meant she had to put everything into the next month. Sitting on the spinning chair, Marinette pulled out her phone to view the picture she had taken earlier. Admiring his sketch, an idea began to form in her head as she cleared the workstation, laying out her various pencils.

After a couple minutes of sketching, her phone began to buzz. At first she ignored it, trying to focus on her design, but after the third time, she finally gave in.

“Chloe, I’m sorry, I know I said 3 but it’s looking like 5 or 6 instead, I finally got the break I was hoping for.”

“Well that’s great Dupen-Chang, but you see, I have a guy here responding to the ad placed this morning and I just wanted to ask if we could interview him without you.”

Marinette sat down her pencil, her eyebrows furrowing in concern. She distinctly remembered emailing Julia for the spot, but she never sent in the ad. So either Julia’s newest boyfriend was applying or someone from the news team was.

“He’s not dating Julia is he?”

“I don’t know, let me ask. Hey! You! You’re not dating Julia, right? No? He said no.”

Marinette shook her head as she looked up at the ceiling, trying her best to send apologies to the boy.

“So?”

“Go ahead Chloe, that’s assuming you haven’t chased him off already. I’ll be ready to go in an hour.”

“Great, you’re the best. Congrats on your break, I’ll order some food from that italian restaurant near our apartment to celebrate.”

Before Marinette could even respond, the line went dead, leaving her to stare at her sketchbook in slight despair. The poor guy would be scared senseless before she even got a chance to meet him. With a sigh, she returned to her sketch, determined to finish at least one design before she left for the day.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Marinette waved bye to Professor Brookes before she made her way up the stairs to her apartment. She had texted both Chloe and Adrien several times, but neither came to pick her up, something she was going to lay into them for.

“Hey guys what’s the deal-”

She stopped in her tracks as her eyes couldn’t process the sight in front of her. Adrien was playing Ultimate Mecha Strike V, but that wasn’t the problem. No, the problem lied in the fact that some guy she had never seen before was battling him using her lucky controller.

“Hey Mari! Meet Damian Al Ghul, our new roommate!”

The guy stood up, offering his hand, but Marinette’s eyes weren’t focused on his. Instead, she watched in horror as he tossed her control backwards onto the couch, the force sending it flying to the floor.

“Damian huh?” She pushed past his outstretched hand to pick up her controller, examining it for any cracks or chips in the paint job.

“Yes?” He moved his hand to awkwardly rub the back of his neck, trying to figure out what he had done wrong.

Marinette sent a sour look at Adrien who only shrugged.

“Damian is a double major as well Mari, history and business, sound familiar?”

“I hear you are quite competent in both subjects.”

Marinette rolled her eyes, setting her controller on the coffee table before standing to face the man.

“I’m more than ‘competent’, I excel in both with a perfect 4.0 GPA.”

Damian scoffed sending a wave of fury through the girl. Just who did this guy think he was? Adrien watched the interaction, amusement clearly written on his face.

“So Mari, you want to play the winner of this round?”

“No, thanks. I’m going to study. My first final is on Tuesday, just ask Chloe to leave my food in the microwave, I’ll get to it later.”

Without another word, she marched back to her bedroom, shutting the door harder than she meant to. She pulled out her sketchbook, opening it to her unfinished design from earlier. Her pencil hovered over the page as she tried to remember the feeling she had earlier.

“Tikki, how did I manage to let him get under my skin in less than five minutes?”

She let out a groan as she fell backwards onto her bed as the kwamii let out a giggle.

“He’s got a unique personality, very straightforward Marinette. He almost reminds me of Chloe when I first met her.”

“That has to be it. PTSD from when I was 13 and Chloe was still a menace. I just don’t think I’m going to be able to get back into this design tonight.”

“That’s okay Marinette, let’s work on the last essay for your Grad school application!”

Marinette sat up to reach for her laptop, pulling up her browser that never closed. The Metropolis University website was still up, her application reading 95% complete. She clicked on the textbox and attempted to zoom in on the final question that had been bugging her for a week now.

‘How will you use your education to benefit the world?’

“Why does my degree have to benefit the world Tikki? I just want to do something I love, can’t that just be enough?”

“You’ll think of something Marinette, you always do!”

“Yeah,” the girl huffed out a puff of air, leaning forward to reread the question for the hundredth time. “I always do.”

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Around 10:30, Chloe stumbled into their room, tearing through her closest.

“Marinette, come clubbing with me and Adrikins! He needs a distraction for the night or two if you know what I mean.”

She let out a giggle as she pulled out her favorite dress, not even bothering to shut the bedroom door before throwing off her top.

“Chloe! We’re living with another guy now!”

“Yeah yeah Mari, you’re the only straight one here so there’s no problem!”

“Just because you’re not straight, doesn’t mean he can’t oogle at you.”

Chloe stood up, her eyes narrowing as she looked at the girl.

“Oogle? How old are you? 75?”

Marinette rolled her eyes as she stood up to pull her dress over her head. With her help, Chloe finished touching up her makeup.

“So you gonna come with us?”

Marinette shook her head at her, earning a pout from the blonde.

“Boo, you and Damian are both lame.”

Picking up her clutch, she opened it long enough for Pollen to fly in before shutting it tight.

“You losers have fun tonight staying home.”

“I think I’ll just barricade myself in here instead.”

“Whatever.”

Adrien appeared in their doorway, equally tipsy as he offered Chloe his hand. Marinette watched with worry as they made their way to the front door, both stumbling over their feet at every other step.

“Are you guys taking an Uber at least?”

“Yes mom!” They both looked at each other in shock before dissolving in a fit of laughter. Marinette rolled her eyes, waving goodbye as they slammed the front door shut.

With a sigh, she made her way to the microwave, hitting the reheat button for her pasta inside.

“Is that an every weekend occurrence?”

Marinette jumped, whipping around to find Damian leaning against the kitchen counter, his face expressionless.

“How about next time a warning like ‘Hey Marinette’ or ‘Whatcha doing?”

He didn’t reply, just remained stoic as he waited for her answer.

“No, it's not, just an occurrence whenever Adrien gets his heart broken. So try a monthly thing.”

He nodded in response, watching her carefully. Marinette shifted under his gaze, trying to keep her cool and not melt into a puddle. He may be a jerk, but he was still a hot jerk. The ding of the microwave severed the tension between them as she opened the drawer beside her, pulling out a fork. Sliding out her pasta, she didn’t even check to see if it had heated all the way through before she rushed past Damian and back to the safety of her room.

He didn’t follow, but she heard him let out a thoughtful hum before he made his way back to his room, shutting his door. Letting out a sigh, she stirred through her pasta, reaching for the pen beside her bed.

“How’d your interview go?”

She was halfway through her pasta when she felt the tingling.

“Aced it. How was your day Angel? I apologize for not writing sooner.”

She rolled her eyes at his formalness, trying not to let her smile get the best of her.

“I finally got my break. I’ll be getting a sponsor!”

Finishing the last bite of her pasta, Marinette weighed the risk of running into Damian again if she went to put up her dishes. Deciding it was too great, she set the plate on her nightstand, mentally preparing herself for the backlash she would get from hungover Chloe in the morning.

“That’s fantastic, I hope it works in your favor habibti.”

A shiver ran down her spin as her cheeks flushed red. She had used google translate a few times of the names he gave her and was surprised to find the Arabic traces. When she asked him about it, he just brushed it off to being from his mother’s side, never bringing it up again. Picking up her pen, she etched a small Robin on her arm, leaving a space beside it to write;

“Your pictures always inspire my designs. I can’t wait to see what you leave me tomorrow.”

A minute hadn’t even passed before he responded.

“If you wash your arm off now, you won’t have to wait.”

Her heart picked up pace as she rushed into the bathroom, scrubbing furiously at her arm. She returned to her bed, toweling off the few wet spots as she watched in awe as pen strokes tickled her skin.

“He’s so talented Marinette!”

Marinette smiled as she watched his delicate art slowly cover her arm, her mind drifting from the stress of the day.

“He really is Tikki, he really is.”

Tag List:

@damianette-is-life @ladybug-182 @fusser90 @thestressmademedoit @dast218 @thezestywalru @jardimazul @olynix @dorkus-minimus @xahriia @kris-pines04 @urbanpineapplefarmer @moonlightstar64 @itsmeevie01 @little-lady-bird @alexandriamw @lozzybowe @emmdaenovice @loysydark @toodaloo-kangaroo @jessigurl-design @aegyobutpsycho2 @stark-morgoona @kris-pines04 @rebecarojas07

#daminette #maribat #roommates

552 notes · View notes