#its called NO STRAIGHT ROADS FOR A REASON!!!! | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

roseglazedlens · 6 months

Text

⦑ seeking the light ⦒ ✧.*

NANAMI KENTO X FEM! READER SYNOPSIS: Nanami receives his final wish before passing, with you by his side in Kuantan, Malaysia. CONTENT: character death. SMUT MDNI. S2E18. hurt/comfort, unprotected p in v, oral (f! receiving), body worship (lots), missionary, slow sex, light choking, pet names (darling). briefly mentions haibara, gojo. A/N: nanami girlies, hope you guys are recovering (i am still struggling rn)... sending you all hugs and a care package. « 3.3 k words | masterlist | ao3 | reblogs appreciated! »

A body moves on its own accord in its nature to protect. For Nanami, it comes with a cost this time. Even now, at his final breath, even when his numbed, scorched body pleads otherwise, fractured beyond repairable, Nanami chooses someone else’s life over his. There isn’t a doubt about this choice in his mind. All this fighting, all this suffering, this sacrifice—it was for someone worthwhile. For a generation with bright futures ahead of them, not meant for battles like these.

Nanami doesn’t see his act as a virtuous gesture. After all, this is his job, and protecting children is his duty. Perhaps part of him thinks he a coward to stand compliantly and let Mahito end his life, taking the easy way out.

His only regret—not being able to say goodbye to you. Even when all that remains is a silver of consciousness, you are his last memory. He thinks about how you are praying and waiting for his safe return at home, hating himself for not being able to give you the simplest things in life.

“Nanamin…”

In his hazy mist, he hears Itadori’s voice. Lost of vigor, echoing through the isolated platform of Shibuya station with the two of them burrowed deep in this mess. Poor child, he’s about to cry. That’s not a good look on a young man like him.

“Itadori-kun… You’ve got it from here.”

His eyelids are forced to close as the pain becomes unbearable, embracing the cold blackness behind his eyes.

But in that darkness, Nanami isn’t alone.

Rays of light catches up to him, scorching the path ahead of him: burning, igniting, freeing. It illuminates a straight road that leads him into the end of darkness. Nanami had never seen this road in his life, but when he did just now, for some reason, an overwhelming urge makes him walk down this path.

As he tries to walk, something behind his ear cries out his name, asking him to close his eyes once more. Something in him obliges to do so.

…

“Kento?” Someone calls out.

There are sounds of children giggling away, adults conversing casually in another language accompanied by tunes from local street performances. And most prominently, Nanami hears the waves, rhythmically resonates when it crashes against the shore. He blinks open his eyes.

Light sharply enters his sight, wincing, shielding his face with a risen hand. A shadowed figure stands in front of his sight, slowly becoming apparent as his eyes adjust to the light.

And it’s you, clutching a smile on your face. Your hair catches sun streaks in beachy strands, cheeks sparkle with sand speckles that illuminates your face in some kind of holy light. The clouds, voices and shore freeze when you giggle in your own little world.

“Darling...?” He speaks hollowly as if this is just a memory, fearing that it is, that means it’s all over for real. “Where—am I?”

The world moves again, sounds beginning to rise up into murmured chatter, and his gaze raises in line with the horizon where the sky meets the sea, looking into the deep blue beyond.

“By the beach, sleepyhead. The book’s no good?” You giggle once more, but this time the world doesn’t stop with you.

Nanami has a finger prop up a page in an opened book. He finds himself wearing a tropical button up and pants sitting on an inflatable chair with sand between his toes. “I guess not.”

He doesn’t remember when he got here or how he got here. But Nanami knows exactly where this place is. A famous beach in the east coast of Kuantan, Malaysia—Teluk Cempedak. He saw this view on a magazine once and told himself he would travel here on his day off. That was two years ago. So this is what it looks like in person?

“Did I sleep for long?” He asks.

“Long enough for me to get the both of us something to eat.” You say as you pass an ice cream cone to him. He turns to grab it, and when he does, Nanami’s neck snaps to the seat next to him. A monkey sits comfortably by his side with its grin stretched wide, surprising him so much he drops the ice cream onto the hot sand.

Nanami hears a few tiny click of shutters as both the monkey and you giggle in unison. The camera lens point directly at him.

“You got me. Very funny now.” Nanami sighs, but behind that irritated frown, there is a smile that he reserves only in your presence.

On cue, the monkey reaches over you as you try to enjoy your ice cream, snatches it off your hands, and escapes across the beach.

The two of you stand in shock for a moment, staring at each other, before bursting into quiet smirks and giggles. When the laughter subsides, Nanami brings you close, landing a kiss on your soft lips. He sees his own reflection in the glaze of your eyes, and he realises he haven’t seen himself so carefree in a long time, especially not since he went to Shibuya.

“So, does that mean you won’t make me delete the photos?”

“Since I’m in a good mood, I’ll let you keep it this time.” He says, then corrects himself as you light up. “As long as Gojo doesn’t get his hands on it.”

“What’s he going to do with a picture or two?” You play with your phone, nervously fumbling the screen.

“Knowing that guy, blackmail. Probably.”

“Well… please don’t get mad at me.”

That is when something dings in his pocket consecutively. He reaches for his phone, and he sees the name Gojo Satoru on his screen, spamming rows of laughing emojis.

“I’m sorry! Gojo already saved it. I can’t unsend it anymore.” You whisper, retreating with your head hang low.

Nanami sighs again, but this time with forgiveness. It doesn’t matter to Nanami anyway. Small things doesn’t matter when he’s with you. He kisses your lips to reassure you. “That’s okay. You’re okay. I’m not really upset.”

And it is at this moment, you can hear a roar of music in the background. Some local nostalgic tune, even if he had never heard this song before. Nanami’s feet taps to the beat of rhythm, and an idea surfaces in his head.

“My lady.” He stands to lean his torso into you, mesmerizingly gentleman. “May I have this dance?”

You hesitate at first, an onslaught of eyes staring at his bold gesture in the middle of a fairly crowded beach. Nanami looks up at you, his drooping eyelids and focused gaze only makes him ever the more persuasive. His charms can’t be denied. Reluctantly, you reach for his hand.

Nanami immediately pulls you in to a dance. Jiving through the sand forming love trails with your bare feet, letting the humid wind sweep and sway through the air. He spins you with a raised hand, and when you do, you notice the many pair of eyes on you, momentarily embarrassed.

“They’re watching, Kento…” You whisper.

“Let them watch.” He whispers back into your ear.

It starts with lively children weaving through the crowd to find the lone couple dancing. They punch their fists clumsily in the air, people cheering and awwing, and suddenly, more people joins, forming a circle. Dancing without any concern of the world. A conga line forms, and the crowd livens in cheers and chants when the two of you leaves the dance circle.

“Look what you’ve done.” You say.

“You know I am only charming when I’m not at work.”

He picks up his phone, finding almost ten texts from Gojo with his face Photoshopped in different memes. You laugh at some of them, even though Nanami seem annoyed. He powers down his phone before you get to see more, in case it gives you any ideas.

“That’s it. No more work texts on vacation. This trip is about us, and I’ll make sure you have a great time.”

And so he did. He took you to the best curry mee in town, and you had a sip of your teh tarik while overlooking onto the tide. He teases you with a tired loving smile over how you gawk at your food as you eat the kampung delicacies. Something you two would never have eaten in Japan, or Denmark, when he brings you home to meet his grandfather—and shows you that he intends to marry you.

But that’s not just all of his plans. Kuantan has much bigger delights than just the countryside; you took a taxi to all these places that Nanami briefly saw in a magazine. He tries painting batiks (and finds out it’s harder than it looks), walking and admiring local vendors, shop displays until it’s time for dinner again and you had the loveliest Nyonya style seafood that fuses between two cultures.

As the sun sets, there is one final spot Nanami wants to take you. You see the big Kuantan sign as you take a high speed elevator all the way to the top of the Skydeck. And it’s just you and him alone in the breeze of the night, watching streets light up with traffic, illuminating into the same horizon as before.

“Thank you for making my last day memorable.” He speaks into the deep dark sky, not a moon or star in sight.

And at that moment, you know he realises that none of this is real. That his body—or whatever’s left of it—is still back at Shibuya. But for whatever reason, even when he knows he’s already dead, Nanami is smiling. His blond hair reminds you of the moon hanging high in the sky, shining brighter than any spark of light on the streets.

“Mm-hm.” You reply, no other words needed.

Nanami’s arms come around your waist, pulling you close to him, until your bodies connect as one. He leans his head on top of yours, and breathes in your scent, your bashful reciprocation, and all of you that he will most definitely miss.

“Hey.” Nanami says, barely louder than a cricket. “I have one last request.”

“Yeah?”

“I want to taste you one last time.”

The two of you scramble through the linoleum flooring, giggling through the hotel lobby as you share private jokes between each other without a care for the world. Passerbys wonder: ‘I wonder if they’re on a honeymoon’. And it doesn’t matter if it’s the beginning or many nights, or the end of them, your love for each other remains just as passionate.

When Nanami touches the key pass against his door, you try to push him in while he’s distracted, but he smirks at your boldness, but ultimately he turns you around to kiss you instead. He likes how you try even if it always ends with him turning the tables on you, kissing you while his whole body pins you against the hard wall.

He kisses you with the same fervour as he did the first night you spent together in the bedroom, and even after many years together, that doesn’t change.

Nanami helps you out of your clothes, one article at a time, savouring the look of you with each piece undressed, until you lay stark naked in front of him. He removes his glasses to place them against a bedside table, then he gets to work.

Guiding you to plop your hips onto the edge of the bed, Nanami positions himself on his knees to face you. He nudges your legs to open first, and he can’t help but fall in love again with how beautiful you look down there. His instinct is to put your bud in his mouth, and a cold rush of shiver frights you on your lower body. Your fingers curl slightly in reaction to his forwardness.

“Sorry to keep you waiting. I’ll make it up to you, I promise.” Nanami smirks, kissing on your clit a few more times before his tongue peeks out, tasting at your delicate bud. He does that for a few minutes, varying the intensity and speed to edge you until it fizzes your lower body. Occasionally, if he thinks you sound cute, he’ll impress you by pressing down his tongue on your clit that makes your fingers curl and uncurl over and over. “You like this?” Nanami asks innocently.

Oh, he knows that you do. But of course, Nanami likes hearing you confess his charms from your own mouth.

“Kento…” You lower your voice. “I love everything you do. That goes without saying.”

He hums, satisfied by your obedience.

“Now do th-that thing you always d-do, please…”

“As you wish, darling.”

Nanami loves to satisfy you, loves to obey you and make him yours. He takes your bud in his mouth, his tongue inside, circling along your clit while his middle finger dips in your wet coated slit. Long finger curls to meet your g-spot with ease, moving only his last knuckle on his hand so he can repeatedly rap at your sensitive spot until your whole body feels drowned in your own pleasure.

“Oh god…”

His tongue darts out in quick succession, letting the needy bud smack against the tip of his tongue until it grows swollen and sensitive to the touch. Nanami wonders if you are enjoying yourself until he hears a weak noise, back arching, cunt pulsing as the pleasure lightly tips you off the edge like a gentle ripple.

“H-Hey, that’s enough.” You say through huffed breaths.

“Five more minutes.” Nanami says, his breath just as uneasy.

You hesitate. “One.”

“Fine by me.”

Every passing of his tongue on you can’t seem to satiate him, he laps at your taste over and over again. Until foams of saliva bubble over your wet clit and you are soaking under his finger. His chin coats wet with you, with how delicious you are, but he doesn’t mind one bit of the mess. Taking his time is his priority.

“Nnh.” Just like he promised, almost sixty seconds later, he parts himself away through a throaty huff, withdrawing himself to lick his lips clean and wiping streaks of drool from his face with the back of his wrist.

Nanami moves in quickly for another kiss on your lips, and you respond with equal enthusiasm. He shuffles you backwards to accommodate him to enter the bed, lips bound together through the awkward motions. Naturally, you prop your legs on top of his thighs, and you feel his length taking advantage of you without obstructions, closing the distance until his tip meets you at your entrance.

He guides your torso flat against the bed through the firm pad of his palm, pressing them up form your pelvis all the way to your belly, your chest, your collarbone…

He stops moving. “How hard do you want it this time?”

“Hard.”

“As you wish, my darling.”

His left hand continues upwards to find your neck, curling around the circumference of your neck. Some pressure is applied, and you roll your eyes back. Gentle at first, until you’re comfortable with his hand, he settles his tip inside of you. Quiet grunts leave his body as he puts you in missionary, overcome by the need to probe at you further until he feels all of himself buried.

But he restrains, for your sake. Nanami knows, with his size, bottoming out in one go only hurts you more. So he takes his time when he does so, easing himself in and fucks you with the intent to make eternal love, letting him continue this dreamlike state that will soon come to an end.

“You’re gorgeous…” He grunts, simply gazing at you, into your heart and into your soul. You do the same, admiring all his worn-out features relax like creased fabric undoing in the presence of you.

Nanami blinks away a watery glimmer between the speckles of his eyes, hoping you didn’t see it even though you did, and moves again.

Throughout the whole time, he only wants to stare at you, think of you through the burning sensation in his body that continues to remind him his time is almost up. But that doesn’t deter him, in fact, it only makes him want to take as long as the both of you need with no urge to climax hastily.

Each part of this is an experience, one final pleasure before the curse of reality hits them. You, in front of him, probably isn’t real. But it feels so real. It feels like Nanami has been granted his final wish. You, and this lovely scenery.

Soft, sensual pulses throb below you in a flowing state, crashing like the low tide on the evening beach, just like the view outside your fancy hotel window. Until the orgasm comes, in due time, through the labour of his efforts. How Nanami comes down to kiss you in gratitude as come spills inside of you, and the both of you grin into the kiss.

As you snuggle under the sheets next to Nanami, he brings his arm around your belly, grazing, pressing, worshipping—that this is the last time his hands will feel the warm plush again.

“I don’t want this night to over.” You mumble weakly.

He pulls you in with a hand that weighs a thousand of thoughts in his mind.

“I know, darling. I know.”

He sees himself in your eyes for the final time. Looking through the clearness, Nanami’s real body, burned and bruised on one half. Yet you still look at him with eyes that would stay by his side forever.

But this is not your time yet.

You blink back the tears, a rainfall along your cheek. He brushes it away with a look of yearning.

“Promise me you’ll have a good life, darling.”

You nod, unable to say anything else, knowing the tears will return if you do. Between you two, no words are needed. He can read you, and you can read him without any words uttered. Reaching for his jaw at first, you graze your fingers along Nanami’s cheek, and rests his eyes to a close. He mouths something inaudibly in his sleep before he departs.

You do the same, but he can’t see you.

...

Nanami opens his eyes in the middle of nowhere. He fell asleep at a bus stop sitting afloat above the sea’s surface. He sees now, the same path as before, ablaze above the sea levels, leading into the horizon where the sun falls into evening glory. At the start of the road, stands a figure.

Yooo, Nanamin. There you are!

The blinding lights on the path dims when the figure takes big, energised strides towards Nanami. Upon closer inspection, it’s a man in uniform. He has a distinct lean of someone he used to know a long time ago.

“Haibara?” Nanami asks.

Long time no see, bud. You don’t have to suffer anymore.

What is this feeling? Overwhelming pain, or relief when meeting a long, lost friend? There is so much Nanami wants to say he doesn’t know where to begin.

That he should have been stronger ten years ago, should have rescued Haibara in a battle beyond both their abilities even though he was just a kid. How he spent the rest of his life repenting, dedicating himself to protect the children who didn’t deserve to be in war. How he tried and failed and made it here…

… but none of that matters anymore after death.

Nanami jumps into his arms, bringing Haibara into his tight embrace. He hugs back. Nanami closes his eyes when he feels a sting behind his cheeks, then opens it again with newfound determination. Haibara bellows a laugh, pointing at Nanami’s reddened eyes which he fails to rub away.

Let’s head on to the other side, shall we?

Nanami nods. And they walk forward, side by side, towards the end of the path. He knows it’s all going to be all okay.

thanks for reading! come check out my other works. —yours truly, rose. ITINERARY: > Teluk Cempedak > Lunch (Hoi Yin Restaurant) > Dessert (Kula Cakes - not mentioned) > Natural Batik Village (batik painting) > Kuantan 188 Skydeck taglist (open): @valsthea @kennedyswhore @emilzke @daydreamrot @navstuffs @j3llyd0nut @ovaryacted © roseglazedlens — please do not repost, plagiarise, or use in ai & other machine learning programs.

413 notes · View notes

fourmula1 · 2 months

Text

so what about a nashville gay bar full of wannabe cowboys in western shirts but with the sleeves cut off of course. its all boots and belt buckles, hats and bolo ties.

and there’s country music and line dancing. there’s a mechanical bull in the back. daniel’s taken it for a ride already and he knows how to move - both to hold on to the bull and keep all eyes on him. the bull is always a shoe-in for nabbing him a hot cowboy for the night to dance with under the dive bar neon and he’s got more than a couple of boys flashing their belt buckles and offering to buy him a drink. daniel’s spent most weekends here and he’s fucked most cowboys here but it never gets old.

but what is new is the boy in the corner - wrangler jeans tighter than all get out, pulled over his boots, tight around his thick thighs. his pendleton print denim shirt doesn't have the sleeves cut off and his top few buttons are actually done right up. he’s not showing off for anyone. the boys in here are mostly playing the part of country boy but daniel can tell this guy is a real one. a bit of an awkward standout in a place like this but he probably fits in just fine on a ranch, tossing bales to the cows with well-worn leather gloves.

daniel nudges his way past the guy trying to chat him up and crosses the bar to the new stranger trying to hide in the dark corner.

never seen you here before, he says; tips his hat and grins at the immediate pink blush dusting the guy’s cheeks. daniel can’t see his eyes beneath the brim of his hat, pulled down low. he’s shy. maybe scared. daniel leans up against the pillar at the edge of the dancefloor and crosses his arms over his chest. his is on show - three buttons undone, smooth waxed skin glistening under the lights of the dancefloor.

never been here before, the guy tells him and lifts his head and daniel’s heart stutters in his chest at the shine of the guy’s pretty blue eyes. the dimly lit dancefloor doesn’t hide anything. blue blue blue.

he has a little twang of a country accent, and he shrugs a little, and daniel feels hungry. the guy is stocky and muscular in the way a man gets from actual hard work, not from hitting the gym just to look pretty. daniel wants to be under him immediately.

but first:

well, you wanna take me for a twirl or what? he asks, signature cheeky grin shining through. he knows he’s irresistible.

you know how to two-step? blue eyes asks and daniel’s knees would have buckled had he not been leaning up against that pillar.

most of the boys in these parts are Rainey Street wannabes who buy a cheap cowboy hat and call it a night. they know some line dances but that’s about it.

daniel smiles and stands up straight, holds his hand out to blue eyes and shivers when he takes it.

and then he’s being pulled in close with a big hand at the small of his back, and pressed against blue eyes’ chest and oh, he is good. they flow together perfectly and daniel’s never danced with a stranger and had it go this well. the guy leads, and daniel goes easy, and it’s when he does indeed get twirled and pulled back into the pretty boy’s arms for a dip that he’s sure he’s a bit in love.

and they two-step the night away and daniel gets them drinks and learns that blue eyes’ name is max and he works on a ranch a few miles down the road and later daniel gets to learn for real how strong max’s hard-work muscular body is and how max’s hat looks hanging from daniel’s bedpost and how max’s roughed up hands feel pressing him into the sheets and how after tonight he never has a reason to go out dancing alone ever again because their life together is a real life country song.

#maxiel #my ficlet #the kind of love we make by luke combs #inspired this #and it's THEM!!!!!!!!#i haven't written in MONTHS and this just happened to me todaay

180 notes · View notes

ghostboneswrites2 · 3 months

Text

The Fuck Are You Doing on His Bike? || One Shot

New account! @ghostbones was banned! Transferring all my work here slowly!

This was a request on my old blog: "After Dwight and Sherry steal Daryl's bike, it's up to reader to get it back for him."

Summary: Reader and Daryl get separated from Sasha and Abraham when they lead the heard away from Alexandria, then Reader and Daryl get separated from each other. When Reader sees a couple riding away on Daryl's bike, she risks her life to get the bike and his crossbow back, reuniting with him later.

18+ MDNI || WARNINGS: profanity, violence, injuries

The triumphant feeling of successfully leading hundreds of walkers away from Alexandria was quickly washed away when gunfire rained down on the four of you, you and Daryl on his bike, and Sasha and Abraham trailing behind you in a car. The crash was unavoidable, and between the unknown strangers shooting at you and the few walkers here and there, you all got separated. The only solace you found was in the radio you still had, and your pistol.

You didn't know where Daryl went, or if he even realized you had fallen off the back of his bike when he took an extra sharp turn. It wasn't his fault. You'd still be there if you didn't loosen your grip from around his waist to shoot back. You were simply a victim of poor timing, as was usually the case in a world plagued by death and destruction.

You were limping through the trees, following alongside the road, hoping to see any form of life from your friends. "Daryl?" You radioed. You huffed in frustration realizing it was you who had the radio, how could he hear you? "Sasha? Abraham?" Silence. What could you do? You guessed all that was left to do was search for your friends and keep going.

"Fuck!" You groaned. You slid across the asphalt when you fell off his bike, tearing your clothes to shreds along with the flesh underneath. In short, you had a serious case of road rash and you'd kill for some Neosporin and a bandage. The dry air on your raw flesh was unbearable.

Nonetheless, you pushed forward. There was no time to feel bad for yourself, you had a mission. Find Daryl and the others and get home alive.

Hours had gone by since you'd seen anyone. You were beginning to lose hope, between the radio silence and the recent attack. That was, until you heard the familiar hum of a loud engine guzzling gas in the distance. You smiled and stopped walking. You were near a small store, so you crossed the street from the trees you used as cover and crouched down behind an abandoned vehicle in front of the little building, just in case it wasn't who you needed it to be.

The motorcycle came into view only moments after you positioned yourself, and to you dismay it was a skinny blonde dude and a chick with dark hair, not Daryl. It was, however, for sure Daryl's bike. The couple slowed down and propped the bike on its kickstand, and the two of them stepped off. Some kind of argument took place, the girl pointing back to where the came from and the guy throwing his hands around with frustration. You couldn't hear them well, so you couldn't know this, but she was scolding Dwight for robbing Daryl after he helped them, and Dwight was defending himself, citing survival as a valid reason for his betrayal.

You checked your mag to ensure you had plenty of bullets before you stood straight, aiming right for the man.

"The fuck are you doing on his bike?" You shouted to them from where you stood behind the broken down car. They both snapped their faces toward you, Dwight holding the crossbow up at you. "I asked you a fucking question, asshole!"

"Well, I don't feel like talking much!" He called back.

"Well I'm definitely in the mood for some shooting, and from where I stand I see two strangers riding my friend's bike. And you, sir, are aiming my friend's weapon at me." You shot back.

"We just found this stuff!" He lied. You scoffed, running your tongue over your teeth, begging for a reason to shoot. You thought, maybe I'll shoot the guy, and question the girl at gunpoint. Then, maybe if she cooperates, I'll let her live.

"Well it's not yours so how about you leave it there and walk away, nobody gets hurt!" You suggested.

"Not gonna happen." He shook his head.

"Have it your way." You shrugged, opening fire on the both of them. They ducked down behind the bike with haste, Dwight firing an arrow at you and missing completely. "You telling me you robbed by friend of a weapon you can't even fucking use?!" You spat, peeking from one side of the car, searching for the right moment to show these motherfuckers that you meant business.

"Why don't you stand up and let me prove myself?" He called back.

"You first, shitbag!"

"Real classy." He retorted.

"This ain't classy world. Give me my fucking bike!"

"Thought you said it was your friend's!"

"That makes it mine, too." You clarified, standing quickly when you saw him peek over the bike and firing a shot. He must have had the same plan because he, too, fired a bolt. You fell back to the ground, a shaky hand raising up to your shoulder where the arrow protruded.

"Alright," you called back. "You're getting better at this."

"Not good enough, or you wouldn't be talking right now."

You ignored his remark, resorting to laying flat on the ground and watching him from the underside of the car. You fired a single shot, and it must have hit, because there was a loud groan following suit.

"Guess we're even!" You yelled.

"Even doesn't get you far anymore." He said back. You could hear the painful strain in his voice and wondered if he heard your agonized tremble when he first shot you with the bow.

"No, no it doesn't. But you could still give me our shit back and tell me where my friend is and walk away from this alive. Alive is all that counts, man."

"Can't do that."

"Then I guess one of us just has to die!" You winced as you fired another shot, the kickback of the handgun reminding you of your shoulder being impaled.

"Fuck!" He shouted as a bullet ricocheted, grazing him deep.

"Walk away, man!"

"No!" He shouted, unsuccessfully firing another arrow.

"Ya know, the man you stole that bow from always told me rage didn't make for a good shot!" You taunted, checking your mag again. Two bullets left. You'd have to make them count.

You went over what you knew in your head. This guy isn't a good shot, and he stole Daryl's shit. Which meant if you ran, he probably would miss you, and if you did have to kill him, he brought it on himself. You hadn't really decided what to do with the woman he had with him, but you reasoned to cross that line when you got there. For now, you only had one plan in the heat of the moment, and it was to run out and shoot him.

You took a deep breath and snapped the arrowhead off the bolt sticking out of your shoulder. You bit down on your tongue to stifle the cry as you pulled the other half out of your shoulder from the back, and sighed a shaky breath once you got it out, throwing it to the side. When the blindness of pain faded, you readied yourself and made a break for it, running from behind the car as fast as you could. You didn't stop until you heard the whistle of the bolt behind you.

Knowing he'd need time to reload, you made your move, shuffling over to the bike and holding the gun to his temple. Defeat washed over his demeanor as he let the bow fall on his lap and raised his hands slowly.

"Check mate." You said, coking your head to the side a little.

"Yeah." He scoffed, shaking his head.

"Where the fuck is he?"

"Daryl?" The woman asked from beside him, earing a glare from her counterpart. Fear and panic were written all over her face.

"Yup. The one and only."

"He's alive. Just a mile or so in the direction we came from. We didn't hurt him." She assured you.

"Well, that's great to hear! Unfortunately, though, now I have to figure out what the fuck to do with you two ass-hats."

"Let us go. Let us walk away, alive, just like you said." She pleaded.

"See I really would have loved to do that, but me and your boy here already agreed that one of us is gonna have to die." You regretted to inform her.

"Me. Kill me." He sighed. "It was all me."

"No! He was just scared. He didn't wanna hurt anyone. That's why he didn't hurt Daryl. Those people we were running from, they're bad people. We just had to get away." She begged.

You looked between the two of them, putting yourself in their shoes. If what they say is true, then you could sympathize. Still, who would you be to let him shoot an arrow through your shoulder and walk away? You guessed you shot him back, twice if you counted the ricochet, so maybe it was even. Then again, he did say even didn't get you anywhere anymore.

"Daryl -- Your friend. He offered to let us come back with him to your community. But he panicked and took his stuff instead. That's all that happened. I swear. He's alive." She continued to try and persuade you for mercy.

"Give me one good reason I shouldn't kill you." You said to Dwight. "One reason why letting you live would not be a threat to my own wellbeing."

"Because we just want to live. Me and my wife. We'll go, no questions asked, no following you, no nothing. We just wanted to save her sister and she died anyways, so, it's just us. We don't want trouble."

"Well, you seem to make trouble. A lot of it." You sighed.

"You," you looked to Sherry as you slowly picked up Daryl's crossbow and slung it over your shoulder while the barrel of your gun never left Dwight's temple. "Stand up slowly, and walk into the woods."

"No." Dwight growled. You pressed the cold metal to his head harder.

"If you want her to live, she does as I say." You growled.

"It's okay." Sherry said. "I'll go."

With that, she stood up slowly, and took careful steps toward the trees.

"You don't stop until you hear the engine start, you hear me?" You instructed her. She nodded and kept walking.

"Now, you." You said to Dwight, kneeling down so you were at his eye level. He glared at you. "You're gonna stand up, and drop any weapons you might have hidden down on the ground."

Reluctantly he did as you said, dropping his only knife and his empty gun to the ground.

"There's more in the duffel." He confessed, nudging the army green bag with his foot.

"Okay." You said, aim still trained on his forehead. "Now, you're gonna walk the other way, into the trees behind that gas station over there. That way you two can't plan any funny business."

"That's my wife, man, please." He breathed.

"Listen. You keep going until I start the engine. Then you can come back here and get your weapons. By then, I'll be riding into the fucking sunset. My only concern is my friend." You explained. He obliged with little more argument, and when you couldn't see either of them anymore, you picked up the duffel, threw his empty pistol into it, and left his knife on the ground. When you got the bike started, you revved the engine to let them know you were holding up your end of the deal, and you sped away.

It was only about twenty minutes later that you saw a stocky figure storming along the side of the road. You recognized the vest from a distance and sped up. You already had his attention when he heard his bike, and he was relieved to see that it was you. You pulled up beside him with a little smirk.

"Care for a ride, pretty lady?" You teased.

"Move over." Was all he said, clearly still sore that the couple had gotten one over on him. You swung your leg over the side and stood up. That was when he noticed the blood all over your shoulder and all the road rash under your ripped clothes. You shrugged.

"Wasn't easy getting your shit back." Was all you said. He gently examined your shoulder.

"They shot at you?" He asked, showing concern.

"He was a shit shot, but yeah. Got me with one of your bolts." You confessed.

"Hope you killed his sorry ass." He grumbled.

"Not.. exactly." You said.

"Shoulda." Was all he said, before placing a short sweet kiss on your lips, and another on your forehead. "C'mon," he said as he swung his leg over the bike and turned it back on. "Let's find Sasha and Abraham and get the hell outta here."

#daryl dixon fanfic #daryl dixon #twd daryl #the walking dead daryl #daryl x reader #daryl fanfiction #daryl twd #daryl x female reader

114 notes · View notes

littlenightma · 6 months

Text

Protective!Rusty Nail Headcanons

• Once you have Rusty’s unconditional love and trust, there’s no going back. He doesn’t get attached to people easily so once you’re his, you’re his for life. He is not going to let you go, not after you’ve won over his heart.

• You guys have seen what Rusty is willing to do for a car that was gifted to him so just imagine the lines he’d cross and the skulls he’d crush if anyone was stupid enough to lay a hand on you. Do not touch his cars and lord don’t ever touch his lady.

• One thing about Rusty is he may be a maniac with a temper problem, but he ain’t no cheater. You will never have to worry about him being with anyone else while on the road and he expects the same respect in return. He has two things on his mind while traveling; getting the load to its destination then coming straight home to you.

• When out in public, don’t expect to get any space from this man. He’s attached to you like bees to honey. If he’s unable to be near you, best believe he’s watching your every move from the shadows, waiting for any signs of distress.

• Hates crowds. By himself they’re not a problem since most tend to avoid him, but with you he’s in a constant state of vigilance, eyes actively searching for possible danger beneath his hat.

• If he ever looks and sees you aren’t there, this cool and collected man will become the definition of distraught. When he finds you, you are so going to hear it on the way to the truck and on the way home.

• “Rusty please, I said I was sorry.”

• “Damn near caused me to have a heart attack looking for you, darlin’. You can’t do that to me.”

• If this man could put you on one of those toddler leashes, he would.

• Seatbelt in the truck is a must. No ifs, ands, or buts. He drives a heavy piece of machinery all day long and when you are on board, he’s hauling precious cargo. If you try to argue, he will put it on himself, kissing you hard as he leans over to hush your complaining.

• Keeps a pillow and blanket in the truck when you get cold or need to sleep. The first time you fell asleep in the passenger seat your head kept banging the window and he was worried you were going to end up with a concussion.

• “That was the best sleep I’ve ever had I think.”

• “You worry me sometimes.”

• Hates to see you in pain, especially when it prevents you from riding with him. It eats him up inside when he’s unable to be near you. He’ll call you from the road every few hours to check up on you and if you ask for him, he’ll stop whatever he’s doing and turn the truck around.

• Don’t get him started about your period. He dreads it every month.

• “I hate it for you, baby girl. Is there anything I can do for ya?”

• “Can I put my feet on you? They’re cold.”

• “Prop’em up here.”

NSFW 18+

• Loves how horny you are on it though. Waking up in the middle of the night because you’re in the mood is the one and only reason he’d wake up early on his day off and not be grumpy. You have every permission to use his body as you please. Playing audience to you half asleep seeking him out, hand slipping him out of his sweatpants and making a pleased noise when you do is a sight to behold for this old man. He’ll lean against the headboard with an arm above his head and a hand stroking the back of yours while you suck eagerly.

• “My, my, what an appetite. Were you hungry, darlin’? Take as much as you want, then.”

• Always makes sure you are satisfied. He ain’t happy until you are. If he doesn’t think you’ve had enough, he’ll give you more. One more thrust, one more swipe of his tongue, whatever it is he’s giving it to you. He loves seeing you come undone, spewing nonsense, taking turns from pushing at his chest then pulling him back down again.

• One day he jokingly says that he’d love to brand you with the cattle iron with his initial on it not thinking anything of it until you ask him where he wants to put it.

• And were dead serious.

• He places the prod on your hip and presses, holding you in place between his knees while you bravely take the pain. When it’s over, he’ll admire his work and the person it’s placed on.

#joy ride 2: dead ahead (2008)#rusty nail #rusty nail x reader #mark gibbon #horror headcanons #slasher community #rusty nail the trucker #ken kirzinger #joy ride 3: roadkill (2014)#joy ride 3 #joy ride 2

198 notes · View notes

livlaughloveluke · 6 months

Note

Hiiii can I request Ethan x Reader of a best friends brother trope where Quinn and reader are bestfriends but reader has a thing for her brother and they go on vacation and reader goes with them and like they stay in a cabin and reader and Ethan confess there and like they have a small make out sesh there and Quinn walks in and says something like “I knew it” Tyy 💗💗

𝐛𝐮𝐧𝐤 𝐛𝐮𝐝𝐝𝐢𝐞𝐬- 𝐞.𝐥

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: a vacation in the mountains leads to a new relationship (non!ghostface ethan, but still siblings with quinn and richie)

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: make out sesh!

𝐚/𝐧: first post in a LONG time. sorry babes!! life has been a little chaotic recently, but hopefully i can start posting at least once a week now. requests are being filled, sorry its taken me so long. feel free to request more, and hope you enjoy the story!💗

you shoved the tightly packed shirt into your already stuffed suitcase before attempting to close it. you used all of your force to keep it together while zipping it up, and once it was finally complete you sighed from relief. you had spent the last three hours packing for this ski trip you were going on with your close friend, and lets just say you were excited for the wrong reasons.

your childhood best friend, quinn, would be attending with her younger brother ethan. her parents finally trusted their kids to use their second house up in the mountains, by themselves. richie was not interested, and since you were like another child to them, you were immediately invited. quinn was a few years older than you, so her brother was around your age. there one issue however.

you had been madly in love with ethan since the both of you were twelve years old. when he hair was still straight, and his teeth still crooked. his recent “glow up” only added to your liking of the boy.

him and his older sister barged into your room after you had finished packing, and you quickly brought them into a hug. you wrapped your arms around quinn’s waist for a short and sweet embrace, then letting go for the other sibling. you stood on your tallest tiptoes as you reached your arms to rest around his neck, holding him for an appropriate time before dropping your hands and stepping back.

you greeted them with warm welcomes, and after a little chatting, you loaded your bags into their car and set off for the long journey.

the extensive ride was filled with laughter and music, along with quiet snores as the sun set. quinn spent the first few hours driving, then ethan, and then what was supposed to be you. however, when ethan saw your body curled up in the back seat snoozing away, he battled his exhaustion and kept driving.

“you sure you don’t want y/n to take a turn? i’m sure she wouldn’t mind waking up for you.” his sister asked, and he ignored her suggestive tone.

“yeah, seriously i don’t mind.” he replied, eyes focused on the road, blushing at the lingering smell of your signature perfume. quinn gives him a weird look, before shrugging it off. she knew.

after waking up, you swiftly switched places with ethan so he could rest. both of the kirsch siblings were fast asleep when you pulled into the driveway a few hours later. the brunette boy slowly woke up as the car came to a halt, curls messy and some attached by sweat to his forehead.

you gave him a smile, his chapped lips returning the action with a genuine grin. you sighed and braced yourself to wake up the feisty sister, scared of what she might do when you shook her awake. it turns out she would snap at you like a freshly lit firecracker, for she was upset you ruined her… spicy dream.

you slammed the trunk shut after grabbing the final suitcase, carrying the large bags to the porch. you looked back at quinn, who threw you the keys to the house, and you easily unlocked the door.

“i call master bedroom!” quinn exclaimed, before dropping her luggage and running down the hallway. there was two bedrooms, one a lot larger and containing a king sized bed, and the other one had two twin beds, both tightly packed into the cramped space.

“damn it!” you groan out. you and ethan carry your stuff into the other room, and you plop face down onto the comfortable bed. even with your power nap on the drive, you still felt exhausted.

“you okay?” you hear from ethan, his voice sounding muffled due to the position you were in. you lifted and turned your head to him, letting out an exasperated sigh. you the see the gorgeous behind him, which consisted of huge mountains covered in powdery white snow. not to mention, on the porch was a large blue hot tub.

“holy shit! you have a hot tub?!” you perk up, excited due to your new found discovery.

“you didn’t know? i though you said you brought a swimsuit..” he asked, tilting his head slightly, a smile on his confused face.

“I didn’t know i would actually get to use it! i just like to be prepared.” you say, lifting up your packed suitcase and placing it on your bed so you can unpack.

“i’ll heat it up so we can use it after dinner.”

he replies, going to grab his luggage do he could also unpack.

the sun began to set, the sky stained with gorgeous pinks and yellows behind the tall mountains. quinn decided to doordash a pizza from the closest restaurant, since all the house had was snacks that had been brought and acquired on the road trip.

you ate the delicious food, talking about anything and everything with the two siblings. laughs echoed throughout the walls of the cabin as you chatted with thrm.

“me and y/n were going to hop in the hot tub after this, wanna join?” ethan asks his sister, and she looks at him with a mischievous grin on her face.

“i’m okay, you guys can go ahead.” she responds, trying her hardest to suffocate her giggles. you and ethan give each other a weird look, questioning what she was planning. you shrugged it off before going to change.

the swimsuit you wore complimented you perfectly, hugging all of the right places. not to mention, the blue hues enhanced your already beautiful features. you stepped out of the bathroom, eyes finding ethan who was wearing his trunks, scrolling through instagram on his bed. the sound of the door opening caused him to glance your way, and he grew a a shade of red upon seeing you.

“you look.. good.” he stutters out, trying to hide his nervousness. you thank him before opening the sliding glass door that led to the back patio. he followed behind like a lost puppy.

the warmth of the water was a great contrast to the cold, crisp air. you talked to him for what felt like hours, opening your heart up to him.

you subconsciously grew closer to him, now realizing that you were less than a foot away from him.

“so.. how are things with your boyfriend? mike, right?” he asked, trying to distract himself from the close proximity you shared.

“oh, we broke up a couple months ago. i think my heart belongs to someone else.”

ethan quickly apologized for bringing him up, although he didn’t ignore your last sentence.

“what about you? any special someone in your life?” you say.

“nope, no one new. like you, i think my heart is distracted by someone else.” he responds, looking into your eyes. you gravitate even closer to him, eyes still locked with his.

“i’m not reading this wrong, am i?” you ask, praying he really did want to do this.

“nope.” he replies, before placing his lips on yours. you passionately kiss back, his warm skin glazing across yours. he then pulls apart, looking at you to make sure everything is okay.

you smile at him before grabbing the back of his head, gently pulling him in. your lips fit together perfectly, and he carefully places his hands on your thighs. you gently run your fingers through his hair while you continue to kiss him. the heat from the water mixing with the fresh mountain air created a steamy atmosphere, adding to the fervid sensation.

unfortunately, your make out session was quickly interrupted by a careless sister. the door slid open, quinn obliviously walking out.

“y/n, i need your opinion on this dress-“ she said, now looking up from her phone to see two shocked teenagers. quinn freaked out at the sight of her brothers spit coating your lips.

“ew! i mean.. yay? i’m just gonna go back inside..” she states, backing up into the warmth of the cabin. she closes the door, and you and ethan glance at each other, unsure of what to do. a shout coming from the house sent you and the boy into a fit of laughter.

“i knew it!”

taglist- @nowitsmissing, @nikoschrissis, @lvndryyhoe, @ieattoesforbreakfqst, @sevenheavxns, @wonderstruck4llthew4yhome, @imkillmyselfxoxo, @lumaxstans-blog, @ilovejackchampionnn, @hyeyulove, @jackchampiongf13, @sebastiansallowsgf, @michaelangdonsslut, @1212valee, @teenagedramaqueenlisa, @fherlima, @kate4katie, @itsb3a2, @maybankfr, @azumakina, @jamiecoree, @creneal

some names wouldn’t let me tag :(

#ethan landry #jack champion #ethan landry angst #ethan landry smut #ethan landry x reader #jack champion x y/n #jack champion x reader #jack champion x actress! reader #fanfic #masterlist #liv’s writing !

255 notes · View notes

thisreadswhatever · 8 months

Text

Anything For The Club: Part Six

Will you betray Jax to protect The Club?

series masterlist

[description]: jax teller x female reader, reader x oc characters

[wordcount]: 3.2k+

[series cw]: 18+, female reader, swearing, sexual harassment/assault (non-canon characters), alcohol use, mix of fluff, smut and angst throughout, p in v sex, teasing, violence, gun use, mentions of blood, murder, blackmail

[authors note]: and that’s the end! hope you enjoyed this as much as i did writing it :)

“Assume you’re used to riding shotgun”, The President asked as he handed you a black helmet.

You put it on and straddled yourself along the back of his bike. “Not usually in heels.”

Realisation of the betrayal you were committing was crushing you. Here you were, sat on another man’s bike, about to ride off into nowhere so he could do god knows what to you. The guilt weighed on your chest as you gripped The President's waist from behind. You reminded yourself the reason you were doing this, Protect The Club. Protect Jax.

“First time for everything, sweetheart.”

He kicked the bike alive, it roaring fiercely as he rode out of the parking lot.

The journey was short. He pulled into a motel lot two blocks up the road. It was a quiet and dingy motel, known for its drug hookups and escorts. The exact kind of place you used to work before you had agreed with Jax to run Diosa. Jax didn’t like sharing, you were his and that was vital to him. You’d agreed that you’d both be entirely faithful to one another there on out, and you knew after this, he’d never forgive you.

“Classy.” You muttered as you pulled the helmet off your head.

“Ain’t gonna matter where you are once I’m inside you, sweetheart.”

“Yeah, sure.”

He placed the bike on its kickstand, and you followed as he made his way across the car park, up a flight of stairs and to room numbered 208. The curtains were already closed on the outside. He grabbed a yellow key card out from his back pocket, unlocking the door.

You stalked your way inside the room, hearing the bolt echo behind you as he secured the latch on the door.

The room was a simple, one large crimson bed centered between wooden side tables, home to two outdated lamps and a dusty bible. The President wandered straight to the mattress, sitting along the edge. He placed the manilla envelope on the side table closest to him before he pulled his cutte off. He slapped the mattress, coaxing you to sit beside him. Across from the front door was a bathroom that you immediately streamlined for. “I’m just gonna freshen up.”

He laid back falling flat across the bed, “don’t leave me waitin’.”

You closed the door behind you, sighing of relief for the brief moment alone. You looked at yourself in the mirror above the sink. It was cracked slightly along the edge, distorting the image in front of you. You turned the tap, letting the water run. The sound of the streaming fossett was soothing, and you closed your eyes with your hands clutching the sink, trying to overcome the sickness you felt burning through your stomach. You wanted to vomit. You took your jacket off, thrusting it to the floor, trying to breathe as you struggled for air. You’d never had a panic attack before but you imagined this is what it felt like.

He’s got you right where he wanted, you told yourself. Alone in a motel and not a soul knows you’re here. You searched your jacket for your phone, before remembering you left it in the car at the diner. Calling for help was out of the equation. Your chest was tight, the sound of your heart thudding engulfing your ears as you tried to gasp for air.

You didn’t have a phone, but you did have the gun. You could go out there and shoot him, take the envelope and run for the hills. And potentially start a gang war by killing The President of another crew, one that’s associated with the Mexican cartels. Dumb idea.

Your last option, just give him what he wants, get the photos, and be done. You’d already made it this far. The guy was hardly the worst looking man on the planet. He was monstrous and crass but it would be a sacrifice of a moment compared to the loss of everything Jax knew.

You let the water run through your fingers before you turned it off. You pulled your hair to the side of your neck, the cold water on your hands dripping down your skin. You can do this, you tried to convince yourself. Protect The Club. Protect Jax. You were going to have to break his heart, to save his club.

You heard a knock on the door at the same time it abruptly opened, not giving you any chance to respond.

“I said don’t keep me waitin’, little lady.”

“Just had to pull myself together.”

He crept towards you, and you instinctively turned into him, your back pressing into the sink behind you.

“I can help you out.”

His hands found your hair, clutching at the root as he pulled your head back. Your hands were grasping the edges of the porcelain, as he brought himself against your body, pressing his lower half into you. You were unable to move. He held you there, watching your face, taking in the sight of you completely at his disposal.

Tears welled in your eyes, unable to be forced back this time, and they began to stream from your face. You realised at this moment that you couldn’t do it. You couldn’t force yourself to want this man. He placed a hand on your cheek, wiping away the drops with his thumb.

“You look so pretty when you cry.”

He pressed his face into yours, kissing you viciously. His tongue tangled against your lips as it searched for entry, but failed as you kept your mouth forced shut. He pulled your head back again by your hair, staring into your eyes. His eyebrows raised as he watched you sobbing, furious from your apprehension.

“I’m not gonna fuck a corpse. You better give me something back.”

His hand released from your hair as he brought them down to your waist, pulling you from the sink. You stumbled against him, trying to find your balance. You wanted more time, a chance to think or just pause this from happening, to try and find a way out.

You forced yourself to find his lips, kissing him back. You entwined your fingers through his hair, hoping you could sell the facade that you wanted him too. A smile formed at the corner of his mouth while yours did all the work.

He seemed to relax before you pulled away, “should we go to the bed?”

“Fuck the bed. I want you here.”

He dragged the hem of your dress to expose your underwear, pulling you tight to his body by your ass. You squirmed at the feel of his hands on you this way, but tried to play calm to control the situation.

Your heel tangled into your jacket beneath you, and you could feel your gun was right under your feet. You kissed him again while he palmed at your backside, dragging his fingers under the fabric of your panties. You lowered your hands down his frame, leading them to his jeans, rubbing against his erection. You crouched down to your knees, your eyes never leaving his.

He groaned aloud as he watched you undo his belt buckle, your face parallel with his dick. “I knew you wanted this, little slut.”

You ignored his degradation, and carried on feeling him with your hands. His head fell backwards, and just as his eyes left yours, you began to press your mouth against his cock, gnawing at the hard membrane covered in denim. Your mouth continued to distract him, as you searched the floor with your free hand, desperate to find the gun in your jacket pocket.

Just as your hand reached the metal piece, your fingers twisting along the handle, The President looked down at you.

“The fuck you think you’re doing?”

You pulled the piece from the jacket, aiming it up at his chest. “Back the fuck up. Now.”

He chuckled at your advance, looking at the gun point towards him as he slowly stepped backwards.

“Maybe you ain’t so smart.”

He backed through the doorway as you stood, continuing to aim the gun. He reached the bed, sitting upright on the edge, his jeans draped around his thighs. He smirked at you, looking directly down the barrel. “We had a deal, little lady.”

You gripped the gun tighter, “I’m not your fucking lady.”

A chuckle escaped his teeth, “You really do need my dick in that dirty mouth of yours.” You paced towards the side table, holding your aim on him as you walked. You kept your focus on his face as you reached for the envelope. “You got any idea what you're starting?”

You placed the envelope under your arm, grasping the gun with both hands again, edging yourself further from the bed, until you were backed against the far wall of the room.

“Nothing I’m not prepared to finish.”

He held his arms out wide, taunting you. “I got a long list of enemies who would do anything for the shot you got right now.”

“I don’t want to kill you, asshole.

I want to leave this room, and pretend I never met you. I want you to leave my Club the fuck alone. I want to go back to my life before you existed.”

He closed his arms, and stood up slowly, pulling up his jeans and clasping his belt buckle back together. “Then I guess you better kill me.”

You readjusted the gun in front of you, “sit back down!”

He ignored you, continuing to pace forward, step by step. “I can see why he picked you as his old lady. Got looks and balls.”

“I said I don’t want to kill you, asshole. Not that I won’t.”

He grinned, reaching for you, extending his arms out. “Don’t be like that, baby.”

He was inches from you again, his chest now pressed against the barrel. You pushed it into him further, “I fucking mean it. Back the fuck up!”

He didn’t waiver. “Drop the gun, sweetheart.”

You pulled the trigger.

The sound of the gun jamming rang through your ears, and you stared at him wide eyed. He slammed the gun from your hand, the metal flinging across the room. He grabbed your wrists, pinning them to the wall behind you, the envelope under your arms falling to the ground, images of The Club spreading across the carpet beneath your feet. He pushed you with force against the wall, crushing your wrists in his grasp.

He spoke low into your ear, “No more choices.”

You tried to retreat, but the weight from his body engulfed you, making it impossible for you to move. The stubble of his beard scraped against your skin as his mouth moved against your neck. You screamed for him to stop, but the pleas fell on deaf ears, seeming to entice him further. His body was entrapping you against the wall so harshly that his hands could move freely, creeping their way under your dress as he tore at the seams, ripping it open. You recalled how it felt to be trapped by this man that first night you met at Diosa, and you knew now that had the eyes of the entire lobby not been present, this would’ve been your fate then. You closed your eyes, giving up the fight.

Suddenly he stopped, interrupted by a repeated banging on the door.

“Y/n?”

“Jax! Jax! I’m in-”, his hand slapped against your mouth. You bit the skin as hard as you could, but he didn’t release. Instead he plowed your body into the ground, laying over you as you crumbled to the floor, crushing you into the gap between the wall and bed.

He stared into your eyes as he held your mouth shut, whispering to you through his clenched teeth.

“Shut the fuck up or I’ll kill you with my bare hands.”

Tears streamed as your muffled screams paused. You clutched his hand against your mouth, trying to pry it from your face. You could only listen as Jax repeatedly thrust his entire weight against the wood of the door, the metal latch bulking under the pressure. The bolt gave in, and the door flew open.

“Jesus-” Jax was armed and reeling as he looked around the room. Your jacket, the gun and the images strung out across the motel room.

Your mouth was released from his grip as he pulled you by your hair. You winced at the pain, trying to find your footing as you stood up. He held you there like a prize, showing off your exposed and broken frame, tears pouring down your face. Jax’s core was stiff, glaring at The President with a look you hadn’t ever seen from him before.

His jaw flexed as he put his gun back into his cutte, speaking slowly through his gritted teeth.

“Get your hands off her.”

Your blackmailer smiled, his hands twisting further into your hair. “We were only just getting started.” His hands never left you, taunting Jax further. He looked at you up and down, licking his lips before turning back to Jax. “You got a good one here, Pres.”

“You got one more chance. Then I’m done talking.”

He pulled your hair back further, and you swayed as your balance was rocked.

“Oh, relax. Only wanted to try out the slut for myself.”

That was it, Jax lunged for him. Any restriction of his fury was completely unleashed, as he stormed across the room, grabbing The President by the head, slamming it against the wall. You were finally released from his grasp, and threw yourself across the bed, rolling onto the other side of the room.

You watched as they fought against the motel floor, Jax on top of him, repeatedly smashing his head into the carpet with all his strength. The bangs against the upstairs floor rocked the supports beneath it, thudding as Jax gasped from the repeated exertion. The President heaved his elbow into Jax’s stomach, and he fell backwards sitting upright, his back slamming against the side table. The table lamp crashed to the floor as Jax launched himself back into the President, crumbling him again. Jax was on top of the President, pounding his fists into his face repeatedly. He smiled at Jax, showing his bloody teeth as he took the beating.

But he didn’t let up, he continued to crush into him, his elbow dropping against his flesh, further forcing his face further into the carpet. Jax’s fists rammed into his face, for what felt like eternity, as blood poured from The President’s nose and mouth.

The President reached beneath him, grabbing a knife from the sheath that hung from his jeans. He sliced into Jax’s leg, and he screamed out in agony, making you flinch. Jax dropped his knee onto The President’s hand, crushing the knife out of his grasp.

His leg was bleeding through his jeans, but he didn’t stop. You watched as he endlessly beat the President into nothing, pure rage fueling his hands forward. Blood sprayed from the open wounds of his face onto the wall beside the bed frame, covering the floor and Jax too. Only once The President stopped moving, the groans from his mouth silencing, did Jax stop.

He was on top of him when he glanced at you, hiding in the corner of the room, your dress tore to shreds and tears streaming down your face.

He crawled off of The President’s lifeless body, crouching towards you. He wrapped you in his arms, and the relief of feeling Jax holding you again turned your tears into sobs.

“You okay?”

“I’m so- sorry-”

“Shhh. Darlin’ you got nothing to be sorry for.”

He cupped your face in his bloody hands, his rings glistening red from the liquid. His eyes matched yours, water pooling at the lids.

“Did he hurt you?”

You shook your head. “A few minutes later and he-”, you couldn’t continue as the sobs poured from your chest. He didn’t need you to say anymore. He hugged you tight against him as he stroked your hair, soothing your wimpers into submission. You looked up at him as he wiped the tears from your face.

“I had no choice- he was going to rat- he had proof-”

“I know, darlin’. Nero told me everything.”

“He did? But how did you find me?”

“Your car was still at the diner but you weren’t there. I didn’t know what to think-” he flinched at the memory. “I just kept riding, then I saw the bike parked outside the motel. I was checking rooms and then I heard you scream-” You kissed him before he could continue. His hands stroked the back of your head, “I’m here now, darlin. It’s okay.”

“He’s the President of another club.” You wanted to look at the carnage but you couldn’t bring yourself away from Jax’s face.

He took a deep breath, looking up from you to the body laying in a pool of blood across the motel floor. His body tensed as anger filled him again, his tongue pressing against the bottom of his mouth as it straightened into a hard line. “He’s nothing now.”

You sat up from Jax’s arms, watching him as he stared at The President, his eyes shifting from care and sorrow and morphing into pure rage once again. “They’re all done. Nobody is ever gonna hurt you again. You’re mine and anyone who touches you- they’re as dead as that guy and everyone that’s ever associated with him.”

He shifted onto his knee as he stood up, taking off his cutte. He removed the black SAMCRO t-shirt he had on and handed it to you, before putting his hoodie and cutte back on himself again. You placed the t-shirt over your ripped dress, and stood up alongside him. Jax walked over towards The President’s body, collecting the printed photographs that surrounded him on the floor. He flicked through the pictures, scoffing at the evidence.

“This prick’s been trailing us for weeks. These are from a run two months ago.” He carried the stack into the bathroom as he examined the images, before igniting the corners with his lighter, leaving them to burn in the sink. He watched as the flames turned the paper into ash. “Are there more of these?”

You shrugged your shoulders, “he said this was all he had.”

Jax picked your jacket off the bathroom floor. He walked back to you, draping it over your shoulders. “Doesn’t even matter. His crew is good as dust.”

You kneeled to the ground, reaching under the bed for the jammed gun. Jax looked at the weapon in your hands, “Did you try to use it?”

You handed the metal piece to him, “piece of shit jammed.”

He hugged you again, wrapping his arms around you. “That’s my girl. Least I got to pummel the cunt to death myself.” He placed the gun into his holder. “Let’s get you home.” Jax held your waist as you both headed for the door.

“Jax?”

He looked down at you, “you okay darlin’?”

Your eyes peered back at the bloodied mess that had unfolded on the motel room floor.

“Maybe we should call that cleanup guy you know.”

Jax smiled, kissing you reassuringly on the side of your head as you walked together. “I’m on it.”

———

find my masterlist here

#jax teller #jax teller x reader #jax teller fiction #sons of anarchy #jax teller morrow #sons of anarchy fic #reads writes #soa #jax teller smut #sons of anarchy series #jax teller series #jax teller imagine #sons of anarchy imagine #nero padilla #jackson teller

179 notes · View notes

dnsbarbie · 3 months

Text

DEAR READER | C.L 16 (FOUR)

Pairings: Charles Leclerc X Intern!OC

Warnings: Google translated French, degrading headline, people who don’t mind their own business

Note: There’s a reason I’m dragging the fuck out of this story. It’s gonna be worth it, I promise !!!!

❝Dear reader,

If it feels like a trap, you’re

already in one ❞

THE BRILLIANT ILLUMINATED ELEVATOR cradled through the rapidly infectious tension in Natalia’s bloodstream. The gap between her and the equally as anxious Monegasque caused the ongoing brawl in their heads to amplify. She glanced down at the carpeted flooring, casually shifting her gaze to the shuffling feet of her company.

She let her thoughts wonder somewhere else, opting to think about the disastrous path they had to conquer in order to acquire the tranquility they have at the moment. Although, her trembling hands and the intensive battering of her chest generated the thought that perhaps road raging in Charles’ Ferrari to avoid the prying eyes of the general public provided a greater deal of enjoyment than this.

“I was thinking,” Charles spoke, moistening his drought lips. “Since it’s your first time here in Netherlands, I’d like you to try authentic Dutch dishes from the restaurant the team took me to last year.”

Natalia nodded, half of her mind floating into a dreamless space. “That sound great,” She faced him, hoping to defy the rising tide of her anxiety. “I honestly didn’t know anything about Dutch culture until I did a quick research about their food.”

Charles didn’t contain his smile, finally looking at the brunette. His gaze journeyed to her luscious naturally straight chestnut locks, previously tied into a neat ponytail but was now released from the gathered style, falling graciously passed her shoulders.

He snapped back into his regular self as he reached the line of her eyes. Immediately saving himself as he followed up on her statement. “Oh? And what did you find?”

Charles despised the way she’d tuck her bottom lip in her every time she needed a second to gather her thoughts. Couldn’t she just think like a normal person?

“Apparently, there’s this food called Profferjes?” She struggled pronouncing the supposed name given to the delicacy she was referring to.

Charles’ face brightened in amusement at her confused appearance but he nevertheless, nodded, having an idea of what she was talking about.

“The mini pancakes?”

Rhapsody laved across her once perplexed expression, pointing a finger at his direction before confirming his guess.

“Yes! That one— but I think they only serve them in the morning,” She sighed, eyes lingering at Charles. A sudden concept bubbled in her mind, showing in her face as a small simper.

The judgement was also beginning to bloom on Charles’ face as he took note of the naught sparkle in Natalia’s orbs.

“Unless— you know—” She drawled her words, making the smile on the receiver of her antics widen. “Charles Leclerc were to call in—”

He disintegrated into a pile of frenzy at that. Clutching his stomach as his laughter, joined in by Natalia’s own, bounced uncontrollably against the four walls of the enclosed space.

“I’m not sure they’d do their beloved Max Verstappen’s rival a favor.” He acknowledged.

“Oh—right.” Natalia had completely forgotten that Max was Dutch. She knew Charles meant it as a joke but the harsh reality seemed to have overtaken its intended merits.

Then again, she was quick to dispel the impending depressive state. “You know, according to my research, Dutch people are very friendly even if they like speak their mind . . .”

An appreciative hum sounded at the back of Charles’ throat, thankful for her efforts of comfort and the ding of the elevator that indicated their arrival to his floor.

In an unconscious move, he reached for Natalia’s hand, grasping it gently in his. To which the latter responded by gawking at him while they both stalked through the nicely lit corridor.

Charles’ room was two doors away from the very last one, and when they arrived, he tapped in his key card, never seeming to have the intention of releasing the chilling palm that rested in his hold.

As the door opened, along with the grating creak of the door was the heightening of Natalia’s senses. The fresh scent of lavender infiltrated the previous musing scouring at her wits.

She inhaled the saving grace of her sanity, finding the soothing aroma also matched the overall aesthetic of his room.

The fuzzy brown carpet at the center of the room adorned the flooring, to which an oval glass coffee table was placed

“Sit wherever you want,” He said, freeing her hand. “Make yourself feel comfortable.”

As he started to walk away, Natalia bent down balancing her weight with her hand on the doorframe as she untied the laces of her boots.

Charles turned to her, hearing the sudden rustling. “You don’t have to take your shoes off,”

She immediately halted her actions, eyebrows wrinkled at the absurdity of all that. “There’s no way I’m stepping my shoes on a carpet,”

The crease in her eyebrows worsen at that thought of her mother. She could almost see the utter disgust on her face when she finds out Europeans don’t particularly care for what she called “unknown bacteria” spreading through their home.

She set her boots aside, plopping on the pearl colored seating. “My mom would’ve strangled you if she heard you say that,”

Her remark made Charles chuckle, shaking his head on his way to the kitchen. “Would you like something to drink?”

“Depends.” She thought, reaching for a magazine on the coffee table. “What are you having?”

Natalia heard a series of cabinet creaking followed by clinks of what she assumed was glass.

“Well, of you’re craving something sweet, I have orange juice and iced tea,” He replied, peaking his head on the doorframe.

Charles took in the sight of Natalia’s wandering eyes on his apartment, ignoring the sudden pang of nervousness creeping up on him.

The curious girl whipped her head towards his waiting figure, lips pursing with a uncaring shrug. “I’m good with that. But if you want to drink something. . . stronger, I wouldn’t judge.”

She watched the chuckle bloom out of Charles’ relaxed features, before disappearing back into the kitchen.

While he was arranging beverages, Natalia reviewed what he had observed from his apartment.

Firstly, she found it surprising that he owned a living space in this country. Him always hopping on a jet to different countries every week, defeats the purpose of buying one. It didn’t look like he used it often either.

It had one of those minimal modern designs. Like the ones she’d see whenever she was at Summit Furniture, a furniture store she frequented at in Monaco. She currently sat on a white polyester loveseat with tapered rosewood legs that angled outwards. It all seemed like they’ve just been bought yesterday. No scratches on the wooden legs nor flaws in the fabric seating. Same goes for the rest of his furniture that she had seen so far.

The television looked like it had yet to serve its purpose and the tables be marked with any stain or evidences of usage.

Her deep observation caused a barricading and tension within her sense. The unbelievable tidiness and perfection of her surroundings made her more conscious of her actions.

“Here we are!” Charles’ unforeseen appearance rattled her core, prompting her to sit up straighter. He had brought a tray of various drinks.

Natalia eyed the colorful liquids in different types of glasses. Some in one in a high ball, champagne and cocktail glass. Beside those were a bottle of Heineken and Jenever.

She bit the inside of her cheek, trapping the laughter threatening to pull through, settling for a supportive nod.

“I’m guessing this is the orange juice?” She plucked the high ball glass from the tray, a teasing smile adorning her face.

“Yes, it is,” Charles took out his phone, the unwavering nerves still present in his veins. “I know I said I’ll order for you, but here’s the menu, you might see something you like—”

She raised his hands, shaking her head. “Trust me, the only food I’m sure are gonna be are Stroopwafel and those ball shaped snack I ate at the paddock. Besides, I’m not picky with food, I’ll swallow anything you give me.”

Charles’ thumbs stopped their typing, his lips thinning at the intrusive thought in his head.

Anything, huh?

“You’re disgusting—”

“I didn’t say—”

“That’s not what I meant!”

“I didn’t say anything!”

“You didn’t have to! It’s written all over your face!” Natalia growled, motioning to the idiotic smirk hanging of his face across her.

“Think what you want,” Charles chimed, resuming his attention to his device. “That’s what I’m doing anyway hmpf—”

A soft object suddenly collided at his face, laughing as he realized that Natalia had thrown a pillow at him.

He removes it from obstructing his view, glancing up at the glowering figure in front of him, now bringing her lips close to the tall glass of juice.

“Give the phone. . .” She said, extending her arm forwards for Charles to pass her the device.

He hands it to her, inclining his body towards her. “I personally love Hachee, it’s meat with mash potatoes and gravy—”

“Frog legs!”

Charles stopped talking, staring stupidly at her exclamation. A wide smile plastered on her face as she turned the phone towards him and pointed to the certain dish.

“You eat frogs?” Charles didn’t mean for it to sound condescending, but the overpowering shock at this discovery halted all sense of thinking.

“Yeah? And?” At her defensive tone, Charles quickly held his hands up, waving them at her.

“No! That’s not what I mean!” He scratched the back of his head, hoping to ward away the embarrassment of his mistake. “I-I just mean, you’re the first girl I’ve met who’s actually excited to eating frogs,”

Natalia raised an eyebrow at Charles. “That can’t be true, frogs are eaten a lot in Manaco,”

“Doesn’t mean everybody likes them,” Charles remarked, taking the bottle opener from the table before twisting it on a Heineken beer.

Natalia watched him take a sip, crossing her arms at his statement. “You mean to say— of all the Monegasque girls you’ve dated— not a single one ate frogs?”

Charles felt amusement trickling at his through as he spotted the doubt on her face. “Well, I did let them try it.” He restored. “But they either pretended to like it or just straight up told me, quite frankly that they’d rather eat dirt.”

Natalia lights up at that, bringing her hands together in an mirthful clap. “At least some were honest about it,”

Charles nodded, glancing up at her as he began to wonder wether or not he should consume more alcohol to gain the courage to ask her questions that may be deemed too personal. Threading lightly on the subject, he reached for the Daquiri, giving in to its undeniable seductive calling.

“Is it a common food in the Philippines?” He asked, eyes traveling to the curvature of her expression.

Natalia’s lips disconnected from the cold glass rim, licking away the numbness spreading through her mouth. “Not exactly all over the country, but in my province, we do eat it a lot,” A mirror of nostalgia passes by her eyes, slotting in the depths of her memories.

Charles observed as she spaced out, blankly staring at the wooden coffee table. Instead of snapping her out of her trans, he waited patiently for her to regain her train of thought.

Blinking rapidly, the fog of her brain slowly disappeared, a large intake of breath released from her lungs before she cleared her throat.

As she craned her neck back to the person she was talking to, her heart lurched at her throat at the intensity of his stare. His eyes were drowned in unbelievable intent, as if she’d disappear if he was to look away.

“Let’s play that game again,” He said, softly.

“What?”

“That game in the car. 20 questions,” He clarified, tilting his head at her, “I want to play it again.”

Dread filled her mind, mouth beginning to ache, along with the slight tremble of her voice. “Why?”

“We’re going to spend a lot of time together,” He pointed out. “I’ve know you for quite a while but I don’t know anything about you. . .”

“There’s nothing to know,” She huffed, eyebrows coming together in a pinch. “My life isn’t interesting in the slightest.”

Charles narrowed his eyes at her, careful not to overstep. “I’ll ask basic questions then,”

She scrunched her face up at him. “Like what?”

With his eyes on her, he shrugged. “How did you end up in Monaco?”

“That’s not—” She sighed, pulsing her palms into an alternating clench. Her hands came up to snatch the beer off the table, taking a large gulp of it.

This was not a good idea from the start but then again, she made no complaints about it either.

Setting the bottle down with a loud clank, she tuts at his waiting figure. “I applied for the scholarship grant, almost failed the final interview, found out I didn’t, and— lo and behold, I’m here.”

The vagueness of her answer made Charles roll his eyes. “You almost failed? Why?” He questioned.

Natalia frowned at him, wagging her finger up at his line of vision. “No—no, it’s my turn,”

Charles sighed, defeated, downing a shot of tequila as the former thought of her first question. “Who’s your favorite sibling?”

Taken aback, he smiled at her random choice of words. “I don’t have one,”

His answer was met by a judgmental glance. “Boo! Everybody has one. Come on!”

Hesitation reeled him in with the desire to end thos query immediately. So, with all the shame warped into a giant ball in his heart. Je all but murmured a name.

“Sorry, say that again?” He could practically feel the teasing smirk on her face as she neared her ear on his mouth.

His eyes fluttered close, amusement and annoyance dancing at his veins. “I said, Arthur—”

She laughed, finding his imminent torture to have soothe her pounding heart. “Don’t feel bad, it’s pretty obvious anyway,”

At that, Charles didn’t indulge in her usual provocative style. Instead, thwacking her back with another personal question.

“What do your parents to for a living?”

She coughed, the sharp taste of alcohol pricking at her throat as it violently drew back to her nose.

“Are you okay?” The concern etched visible at the lines of Charles’ face as he stood up to hand her a tissue. He sat next to her, plucking more out of the box as she attempted to stop the liquid pouring out from her nostrils.

She gratefully took the tissue from him, blowing her nose into it. She would’ve found it embarrassing as she heard the disgusting noise it made as she emptied her now stinging nose of the culprit if it weren’t for her spinning mind.

She wiped her jeans, trying to play it cool as she responded. “My parents— My mom was an accountant and my dad— he. . . used to trade oil.”

Charles peaked onto her face, wiping of the remnants of beer on her cheek. “What’s wrong with that?”

Natalia swallowed the painful block of her throat, hand coming up to where he had his on her face. “Nothing. . . I-it’s not their jobs. I just wasn’t expecting you to ask about my parents.”

“We—”

The loud ringing of a phone interrupted their conversation. Natalia felt the vibration in her bag before she realized it was hers.

This dispelled the heavy ambiance of the atmosphere, waking the occupants from their trance.

Oh shit, Natalia thought as she saw the caller’s name flash on her phone.

Nicolas Todt

As soon as she pressed the green button signifying her death, the device was gone, only to be taken by the tutting Monegasque beside her.

She immediate shuffled up, desperately trying to get the phone out of his grip. It was too late, however, as he stood up at the sound of his manager’s voice.

Deflating in defeat, Natalia hopelessly smothered her head on the soft cushion’s of the couch.

“Hello?”

“What are yo— Hello? Charles? Is that you?”

Natalia winced at the pure hostility in Nicolas’ tone. Even after figuring out that the taker of the call was indeed his well-loved client, it didn’t quell the scorching heat of his flaming outrage.

“Oui c'est moi. Quoi de neuf?” Yes, it’s me. What’s up?

In contrast to Charles’ collected attitude, Natalia could feel her insides churning slowly into a blob of mush. Her only wish was for Charles not to ruin this job for her was beggining to whither away with the his careless actions.

“Quoi de neuf?” What’s up? Nicolas echoed, his sharp scoff going through the phone’s speaker and stabbing Natalia directly in the deepest part of her chest.

“Vous n'avez pas vérifié votre téléphone?” He spat, as it were acid poured on his tongue.

At the word phone, Natalia’s head shot up from the condoling compressor of her resting place, panicking as she searched for her phone.

The cumulus fog accumulating her head, clouded the clarity of her thinking, making her forget that someone else had possessed the thing she was looking for.

Charles nodded along to the string of profanities Nicolas kept rambling through his ear, shifting her attention to the frightened girl on his couch. Her heightened vigilance evident as trembling her hands patted wildly along his furniture.

He aided her frantic movements with a soft brush of his hand on her cheek, tapping his thumb on her paled skin.

Natalia whipped her head around to face him, breathing out of sigh of relief as she followed his finger pointing to his phone.

Wasting no time, she snagged it off the table, nearly shoving it on Charles’ face when it demanded a passcode after failing the face recognition system.

Charles careened his head backwards to avoid the object barreling into his face.

Natalia waited, anxiously fiddling with the stitchings of her clothing, as the daunting atmosphere worsened every second that passed by.

She almost tore Charles’ entire arm from his body by the vast amount of force she exerted at him. Quickly tapping on Google app, her hands shook as they hovered over the keys, thoughts failing to conjure words she needed.

“Charles Leclerc girlfriend. . .” A whisper came next to her.

She gritted her teeth at the awful joke. Perhaps as knew it wasn’t an impossible headline. It dawned to her the severity of their offense as she typed his name on the search bar.

It appears that her groan of indignation was loud enough for Nicolas’ ears as Natalia heard his mocked version of it despite being on Charles’ space.

“Did you see it?” Nicolas queried, his tone unreadable.

Natalia turned the screen to Charles’ vision. And the idiot had the audacity to laugh.

Merely hacking into his balled fist, the presence of his teeth behind his lips irritated both Nicolas and Natalia.

In disgustingly big letters, the headline read:

Natalia swiped at the screen, ticking her brow in victory as the smile drained visibly off his face at what she had shown.

“Now, that’s not funny. . .”

You don’t say. . .” She gritted, padding a hand on her chest to feign shock.

Charles offered her an apologetic pat on the head of the sneering girl. The latter slapped his hand away, force firm but not enough to do any harm.

Natalia could hear the faint murmurs of Nicolas before his voice was amplified by Charles’ simple tap of the speaker phone.

“Listen, both of you,” He commended. “Gossip magazines aren’t exactly fond of what ever it is you’re doing.”

“I am so sorry—”

“You are not.” The dripping venom in his tone made Natalia flinch back, leaning away from the source of his voice as if he were to pop out of the screen. “I don’t know what you were both thinking but luckily social media loved your little rendezvous.”

Silence fell between the scolded individuals, eyes creeping up to see the other’s reaction. Like staring directly at a mirror, they alined body language that could only be read as confusion.

“So. . . That means?” Natalia trailed, leveling her vocals in light of steering clear of another possible volcanic eruption from Nicolas.

“It means. . .” Nicolas pressed, annoyance still present. “You have to continue your. . . what you call it?”

Natalia listen intently as Nicolas asked someone for the word he was searching for. “The what? Oh— yes that. . . Your situationship.”

“Ew no!” Natalia’s extreme protest was met with sheer bewilderment on Charles’ part, struggling to process the meaning of the foreign term.

“What is that? What’s a situationship?”

At his question, Natalia stirred back to him, giving him a look of disbelief. Nicolas on the other hand simply clicked his tongue, sighing brfore supplying the answer to his client.

“They’re two people who have no sense of direction regarding their relationship.” He explained, and though he cannot see the expression on Charles’ face, he knew very well what it was.

“Is that a bad thing?”

Natalia’s jaw slackened, palm slapping on his forehead. And although she knew Nicolas’ explanation of situationship was a fairly watered down version of the real deal, she didn’t have the strength to further Charles’ knowledge on the subject.

Nicolas ignored his question. “We’ll talk more about this tomorrow. I advise you to not step out of that building until daylight.”

Natalia’s eyes widened at that. “What? You want me to stay here?”

“Certainly.” He concluded.

Sensation drained completely from her body. The electric feeling of lacking blood, slowly spread in an infectious manner. With it, the chill of reality came to set in.

“I’ve already informed Toto of the situation.”

As if it wasn’t enough, after hearing that, the lavender scent of the atmosphere that was thought to have the a calming effect seemed impotent, in comparison to the vigorous hold this ghastly chain of anxiety had on her.

Of all the things she feared, the idea of disappointing Toto Wolff and Susie Wolff was an absolute nightmare. How could she face the people who gave her the opportunity of a life time if she were to do dim-witted things like this?

In the midst of her internal battle, her head stirred to the cause of her misbehavior. He just so happened to be looking at her as well.

Unlike the pointed glare she blatantly jabbed into his face, Charles offered her a worried glance that could bloom flowers on his pretty little head.

Despite her scornful demeanor, she couldn’t shake away the guilt of being in this position. She was aware that it wasn’t Charles’ fault alone but perhaps putting all the blame in him would ease her desire to simply jump on a boat and abandon everything she ever dreamed in her life.

Natalia recoiled at the sudden warmth on her arm. Look towards the source, she relaxed at the sight of Charles’ hand on her skin.

He had ended the call, sitting back down on his previous place. “How do you want to do this?”

Natalia heaved a heavy sigh, afraid that the force might collapse her lungs. “I honestly can’t think of anything else but being fired. . .”

Charles took her hand in a grip that he could only hope held the comfort he was trying to induce. “You won’t. I’m the reason you’re here. I’ll talk to them.”

“You better. . .” She huffed, shoving a strong palm at his shoulder. “I don’t think I’ll be able to look my classmates in the eye when I have to go back to University, though.”

“When do you have to go back?” He asked.

“In three days. We have to submit a report every two weeks regarding our performance.” She expounded, thinking about the sour look on her headmaster’s face at the sight of his achingly popular student walking in her office.

“Well, in that case, you can say that you helped me increase my fanbase by 2% in just three weeks.” Charles tried to provide a consolation.

Natalia hummed, lips curling as she was reminded of that information. “You make it sound like I’m a one-man team. . .” She shook her head.

She was sure that Charles’ PR team wouldn’t appreciate her taking all the credit for the improvements in the Ferrari driver’s personal accounts.

“Probably not. But most of it was your idea.”

It was intended to aid the boisterous voices crowding the little space left in her brain that wasn’t consumed by the nauseating noise of failure but alas proved to be ineffective as she abruptly stood up and took her phone from Charles’ lap.

Tapping the number she knew would cover the gaping hole of fear continuously scraping at her brain.

She watched as her phone started ringing, the name of her partner in crime flashing on the screen.

Lissie

#charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc #charles leclerc fanfic #f1 x reader #f1 #charlos #ferrari #charles leclerc x female reader #charles leclerc x oc #charles leclerc x y/n #landoscar #charles leclerc smut

101 notes · View notes

starchaserwrites · 3 months

Text

@jegulus-microfic / february 11: map / word count: 755 cw:implied sexual content

The situation is this, in two days it's the wedding of his two best friends IN THE WORLD, which is wonderful and James is so excited for them after all they had to go through to get to this moment. He honestly loves them from the bottom of his heart, but maybe he would love them more if they hadn't decided to have the wedding IN THE MIDDLE OF FUCKING NOTHING. When they decided to have it in France since Sirius and his brother lived there with their uncle from the moment they ran away from their parents' house, the idea sounded sensational, but upon discovering the great little detail that it would be in a small rural village with zero signs in English, James slowly began to panic a little.

And here he is now, without a map since his phone lost all signal and internet access and subsequently ran out of battery, stuck in an old unheated rental car on a dirt road waiting for an endless flock of sheep to cross and not knowing a lick of French apart from "Bonjour" which won't help in this situation. Oh, and it's now pouring. Fantastic.

And you see, of course James has already considered going out and shooing the sheep out of the way, but contemplating he doesn't know where he's going, that wouldn't be good for the sheep who are probably just trying to get back to their pen, or anyone else. That's the only reason, of course it's not because he's afraid of the sheep. Definitely it isn't.

When the daylight was almost completely gone and James was resigned to die waiting there (why do they need so many sheep in such a small town), a tapping on his window made him jump out of surprise at the thought that the sheep had finally agreed to hasten his death. A horse and its rider were standing by his window, but in order to see his face James had to roll down the pane and poke his head slightly out of the window.

"Vous avez besoin d'aide?"

James had never regretted not speaking French as much as he did at this moment. The man on the horse looked like something straight out of a "Horse and Rider" magazine, but hotter. With his shiny black boots, wet shirt clinging to his body highlighting his strong arms and abs, and black curls accompanied by the most stunning pair of silver eyes James had ever seen in his life. So what if he wants this god to fold him in half? Sue him.

"Sorry, I don't speak French," James said sadly, putting an end to his fantasy.

"No problem, I just asked if you needed any help." replied the man on horseback in such a fluent way catching him off guard, but with a divinely thick accent. Fantasy resumed.

Oh, a deity had definitely decided to come down from Olympus to personally help James.

Later, inside the castle that Reg called home, and insisted on taking him because, and quoting him, "it's dangerous to drive around here so late at night, lots of wild animals", James emerged from the shower with only a towel wrapped around his hips, not expecting the silver-eyed man to be waiting for him with clean, dry clothes in the room.

Nothing could have prepared him for the heat he felt as he was scanned up and down by that hungry gaze. So in a moment of enlightenment he remembered the only French phrase he knew.

"Voulez-vous coucher avec moi, ce soir?"

"God, if you weren't so hot I'd be feeling so much cringe right now."

James's prayers of being folded in half were answered that night.

The next morning, he awoke to feel the warmth on his right side move and Sirius's horrified screams.

Hold on. Rewind.

Sirius? So he was able to find the address in the end?

"Really James? My baby brother? And this is why you weren't answering your phone? We thought you were dead!"

Oh, so it is “Reg” as in Regulus. Wow.

“I died and went to heaven.”

And in the blink of an eye Sirius was on top of him trying to throttle him.

In the end, all the necessary explanations were given. Sirius wasn't happy at first to learn that Regulus and James could become more than a one-night stand, but he eventually accepted it and the wedding went off without a hitch.

James had never been so grateful for a flock of sheep before.

#i got carried away #jegulus #james potter #regulus black #james x regulus #starchaser #sunseeker #marauders #jegulus microfic #len writes

92 notes · View notes

nightswatchdisbandmentera · 2 months

Text

Question for Jon stans: so I think a lot of us expect Jon to leave the watch at some point in his story, whether in Winds or sometime in Dream. I tend to think he’s going to straight up desert the Watch, like going ‘fuck it I’m done here’ much like Bloodraven and Mance, instead of leaving on a technicality (i.e., a ‘he’s dead so he’s technically done his service’ type of thing).

BUT the question is, does he go north or does he go south? I think it’s reasonable to assume either direction works narratively.

We have this:

Lannister studied his face. “Yes,” he said. “I can see it. You have more of the north in you than your brothers.”

Plus he’s been set up to parallel Bloodraven and Mance both of whom go north, and there’s this quote from AGOT that could be foreshadowing:

Far off to the north, a wolf began to howl. Another voice picked up the call, then another. Ghost cocked his head and listened. “If he doesn’t come back,” Jon Snow promised, “Ghost and I will go find him.” He put his hand on the direwolf’s head.

“I believe you,” Tyrion said, but what he thought was, And who will go find you? He shivered.

(Tyrion III)

There’s also symbolism in him embracing the name “Snow” and living in the snowy north….

But then we these quotes from AGOT as well that’s essentially about him finding the Wall to be stifling and equating freedom with the south:

“Yes. Cold and hard and mean, that’s the Wall, and the men who walk it. Not like the stories your wet nurse told you. Well, piss on the stories and piss on your wet nurse. This is the way it is, and you’re here for life, same as the rest of us.”

“Life,” Jon repeated bitterly. The armorer could talk about life. He’d had one. He’d only taken the black after he’d lost an arm at the siege of Storm’s End. Before that he’d smithed for Stannis Baratheon, the king’s brother. He’d seen the Seven Kingdoms from one end to the other; he’d feasted and wenched and fought in a hundred battles. They said it was Donal Noye who’d forged King Robert’s warhammer, the one that crushed the life from Rhaegar Targaryen on the Trident. He’d done all the things that Jon would never do, and then when he was old, well past thirty, he’d taken a glancing blow from an axe and the wound had festered until the whole arm had to come off. Only then, crippled, had Donal Noye come to the Wall, when his life was all but over.

(Jon III)

He had no destination in mind. He wanted only to ride. He followed the creek for a time, listening to the icy trickle of water over rock, then cut across the fields to the kingsroad. It stretched out before him, narrow and stony and pocked with weeds, a road of no particular promise, yet the sight of it filled Jon Snow with a vast longing. Winterfell was down that road, and beyond it Riverrun and King’s Landing and the Eyrie and so many other places; Casterly Rock, the Isles of Faces, the red mountains of Dorne, the hundred islands of Braavos in the sea, the smoking ruins of old Valyria. All the places that Jon would never see. The world was down that road … and he was here.

(Jon V)

And if Jon is to live his best wildling/crow-deserter life, it’ll be about finding freedom - just like Mance.

Plus there’s the whole thing with him seeing three different trees which could serve as representing his arc in the series, and the final tree faces south…

Just north of Mole’s Town they came upon the third watcher, carved into the huge oak that marked the village perimeter, its deep eyes fixed upon the kingsroad. That is not a friendly face, Jon Snow reflected. The faces that the First Men and the children of the forest had carved into the weirwoods in eons past had stern or savage visages more oft than not, but the great oak looked especially angry, as if it were about to tear its roots from the earth and come roaring after them. Its wounds are as fresh as the wounds of the men who carved it.

(Jon V, ADWD)

So which one is it?

Also if you think he goes south, where does he end up? 👀

#I’ve always been a jon deserts and goes north truther - but that’s also because I’m a jon will be king of winter truther #not in a ruling sense but more of a mythical combination of wildling king (mance) and god (bloodraven)#but I just saw a really interesting meta about how going south is more thematically resonant soooo 👀#yes this is assuming jon lives at the end which I think he absolutely does #asoiaf #valyrianscrolls #jon snow

57 notes · View notes

chelseeebe · 5 months

Text

wherever you stray (i follow)

more apocalypse au! yayyy

i actually really am enjoying writing this bc it’s so different.. i haven’t really decided if it’s zombies or UD related but i guess it’s not explicitly mentioned yet.. anyway, there may or may not be an appearance from someone from steve’s past.. we’ll have to see

i’m sorry everything is taking so long.. it’s the festive period and i am working like crazy while also trying to see my friends and acc enjoy the time so my writing time is limited

as always, 18+.

₊ ⊹

steve had never expected life on the road to be so.. fun?

he feels weird even thinking about it because in all honesty, the shit you’d both endured while on this journey had been anything but fun. he thinks, or rather knows, that if it were anyone else but you, he’d have turned back a long time ago.

you’re not easy on him by any means, coaxing him into walking to the next town over after he’d already proclaimed he was done for the night and making him open the scary doors while you stood poised. nevertheless, he enjoyed it.

that was until now, when everything was flipped on its head and you were the one begging to call it a night.

‘steve,’ you warn from somewhere behind him. he barely glances back, keeping on hobbling forward. his leg was throbbing, the pain searing up to his thigh, but he’d never tell you that.

steve had got caught up in some barbed wire a few days ago, the sharp metal had torn his leg to shreds. it was an almighty wound that had set you back a couple of days in the schedule. you’d been petrified of tetanus, asking him hourly if he was sure that he’d had his vaccinations, tenderly prodding the painful area as you muttered a plethora of symptoms of infection.

there wasn’t really much he could do except bandage it up and hope he didn’t die. maybe a few years ago he would’ve freaked the hell out over it but now he’d realised that that never helped anybody. it especially would not help you.

‘i’m fine,’ he grits, stopping to turn and look at you. your face painted with the deepest frown, arms crossed over your chest. it was reminiscent of his mother, how she’d stand a the kitchen table when he’d come home with yet another black eye. except he felt you actually cared, she had just wanted an explanation.

‘no you’re not,’ you assert, as if you knew him better than himself. hey, after this maybe you did. ‘there’s a perfectly good house here.. we can rest for a while and i can check your leg,’ you bargain with him, trying the puppy dog eye technique that very often won him over.

steve holds his hands up, he wasn’t going to let you win this one, not after he had been the sole reason you guys were so behind. ‘i’m okay.. i don’t need to rest, i’ve got at least another two miles in me,’ toothy grin on full display.

‘i’m not going back and forth with you, we’re stopping here for the night.’

he sighs as you stomp angrily up to him, ‘i am fine.. no we’re not. why don’t you just believe me?’

steve thinks he sees hell in your eyes, the scorn of the devil written all over your face, ‘because i love you and i don’t want you to lose your fucking leg for the sake of two extra miles,’ your brows knotted together in pure rage.

he doesn’t respond, decides it’s better for his health not to. rather just nodding, letting you guide him towards the, hopefully, derelict house. your words ring around his head, echoing loudly as you do all of the heavy lifting, checking the house and ensuring there were no nasty surprises.

love.

you said you love him.

he wouldn’t ever admit to it, but he’d been toying with the same thought for at least two weeks now. deciding over and over again that it couldn’t possibly be love, it was too soon. he was just.. infatuated, or something.

but hearing the words straight from your mouth solidified his feelings.

the moment you clear one of the upstairs bedrooms and bundle him inside, his grin is unstoppable. reaching his eyes as he just stands staring, waiting for you to finish barricading the damn door before he speaks.

‘what?’ you question, startled by his stillness, ‘what are you looking at?’

‘what d’you say outside?’ he doesn’t take his eyes off of you even as you rush around, checking the windows and then slinging the heavy bag into the floor.

you blink back at him until it clicks, ‘wha- oh,’ your cheeks burn, suddenly much more interested in the room than him, ‘please don’t.’

‘you said you love me,’ steve beams, ignoring your warning though he’d probably regret it.

‘steve, i didn’t-,’

he cuts you off before you can even finish, not allowing you to play the bashful game, ‘you didn’t mean it? i don’t believe you,’ his unfaltering smile still occupying his entire face, right up to his eyes.

you punch his arm, now stood directly in front of him, ‘i didn’t mean to say it like that,’ your own smile inches onto your lips, he’s almost begging you to let it out, ‘i thought it’d be a little more romantic than this,’ gesturing towards the rundown house you stood in.

‘i don’t think romance exists anymore,’ his arms snake around your waist, pulling you closer as you use his shoulders for leverage, ‘say it again.’

you groan, hands coming to connect around his grubby neck, ‘do i have to?’

‘yes.’

steve adores how diffident you become, ducking your head down before the words form and the very quietly squeaking out a tiny, ‘i love you.’

it’s enough for him, his grin growing tenfold, ‘i love you too,’ bumping his nose against yours, drawing your attention back to his face rather than the splintered floorboards.

what’s left of the pale sunlight reflects off of your eye, practically glimmering at him, ‘i know,’ you giggle quietly, ‘you said it in your sleep the other night..’

his smile drops, ‘what? you weren’t supposed to find out like that,’ sighing softly, his stupid, drugged up brain had let it slip before he even had the chance to.

you respond by pressing your sweet lips to his, god he wishes he had some chapstick. you deserve more than his cracked lips.

far more than this world could offer you.

though he would certainly try his hardest.

steve normally took first watch because he knew if he didn’t, you’d never wake him up for his shift, rather letting him sleep all night but tonight he doesn’t argue. his leg hurts too much to waste time going back and forth with you.

it’s only when he wakes up to a room full of sunlight that he starts to question how long he’d been out. there’s an echo of his name coming from somewhere, still too encompassed by sleep to figure out what the hell was going on.

‘look who’s finally awake,’ the voice starts but it’s not you.

you’re not next to him either, his arms cradle the pillow where your body should’ve been. that’s when he turns, the bedroom door flung open and a familiar figure looms in the doorway.

‘tommy?’ he croaks out, sitting up against the headboard.

what the hell was happening?

you’re nowhere to be seen, the makeshift barricade pushed back against the wall rather than where it should’ve been. his mind instantly flashes to the worst case scenario, you’ve been taken or tommy has done something to you.

holy shit.

‘stevie! i didn’t know if you’d recognise me,’ tommy leers, still lingering in the doorway, hand poised on his gun.

steve hadn’t seen the boy in years at this point, not properly. they passed each other in the halls but after the whole ordeal with jonathan in the alley, they hadn’t spoke since. which steve was eternally grateful for, the red head was in simple terms, an asshole. there was no part of him that wanted to be involved with people like that.

‘what the hell are you doing here?’ steve questions, voice still heavy with sleep.

god he hopes this is just a bad dream and any second now, he’ll wake up and you’ll be by his side.

tommy’s face drops in faux-offence, ‘c’mon man, is that any way to treat an old friend?’ the side of his lips curling up. he always was a horrible person, provoking people til they had no choice but to respond.

‘how’d you know i was here?’ he asks, deciding not to mention you on the off chance you had just run off and tommy had no idea of your existence.

‘i was searchin’ houses.. thought you’d be smarter than this man, sleepin’ with no protection,’ his eyes fall to steve’s leg, eyebrows raised with opportunity, ‘and you’re hurt,’ the boy tuts, ‘this should be easy then.’

steve stiffens up, his bag was on the floor next to the bed, there’s no chance he’s faster than tommy.. he’d never get it in time.

it’s then that steve’s eyes flit to you, appearing silently behind tommy in the doorway. his heart drops. you were alive. tommy clocks on immediately, eyes following steve’s gaze to your looking figure behind. but before he can turn around fully, the baseball bat connects with his cranium, his body falling to the floor with a mighty thump.

you stand staring at the lifeless body for a moment, chest heaving as you step over him and over to the bed. wide-eyed and trembling, god knows how much of that you heard.

‘oh my god you’re okay,’ steve starts, reaching up to hold onto your cheeks, ‘i thought something had happened.. jesus christ where were you?’ he’s trying not to sound like such an overbearing mother but it’s not exactly working.

‘your leg was hot.. i went to go find medicine, i barricaded it from the other side but i didn’t think that asshole would show up,’ your hand caresses his atop of your cheek, ‘i got the medicine though,’ you look somewhat hopeful, pulling the bottle from your pocket and presenting it to him.

once steve has calmed down a little, he takes two of whatever it is, looking nervously at his ex-friend still on the floor, ‘i can’t believe you killed him..’ he trails off, even if he didn’t particularly like tommy, he didn’t want him dead.

your face screws up, pausing as you shove your belongings into your rucksack, ‘he’s not dead steve,’ you state, features contorted as you glare at him.

‘oh,’ he chuckles awkwardly, relief washing over him. ‘well shit,’ a smile twitches at the corner of his lips, taking over when you shake your head in disappointment. look, he wasn’t the brightest, never had been.

‘he’s probably gonna wake up soon so we need to get the hell outta’ here,’ you frown, glancing at the lifeless body.

you trundle over, taking the man’s gun from his hand, patting his pockets for anymore concealed weapons he may have. pulling a small switchblade from his back pocket, steve recognises it immediately. he’d been there when tommy had carved his and carol’s initials into some old tree in the woods by school. he wonders if it’s still there now.

‘how d’you know this guy anyway?’ you ask, slipping the knife into your own pocket. he watches dubiously, he’d never been a thief.

‘we were best friends..’ he swallows, maybe he had left some things out about his life before the end of the world. there’s no way to explain why they drifted apart other than to admit to how cruel he once was. ‘just drifted, you know?’ it wasn’t exactly a lie and he’s not sure you’d even care but now didn’t feel like the appropriate time to admit to all of his wrongdoings.

you nod, slinging your bag over your shoulder, ‘sucks.. but i’m not gonna lie, he didn’t seem like a great person,’ shrugging as steve finds his feet, getting off of the bed for the first time in hours.

‘he wasn’t,’ again, not a lie.

you hum in response and steve looks to the floor. he wasn’t keen on discussing the ins and outs of his friendship with tommy hagan right now. or ever really.

the rest of the journey up here had been pretty non-eventful. his leg was healing nicely and he was able to walk for at least another hour without complaining out loud. most people had obviously found communities, not daring to go out in the road anymore.

without mention of the run in with tommy, it had just been just the two of you. well you and the grotesque, rotting monsters that roamed around the forest. he thinks the cold must slow them down as your gun goes, mostly, unused.

steve has never seen you look quite so excited. the moment you’d crossed the boundary into your town, you’d been babbling nonstop about where you grew up. pointing out important locations and silly details about things he couldn’t even picture. his eyes instinctively roll when you mention the now decrepit diner you had your first date. he can’t help it.

it’s only when you near what he assumes is your neighbourhood that you quiet down, holding onto his hand with an iron clad grip. your nails dig into the grime covered skin when you spot the gargantuan make-shift wall up in front. he doesn’t squirm or pull away, instead he whispers a small it’s okay as you near the cul-de-sac.

‘what if they’re not there?’ you ask, shrinking into yourself.

he doesn’t have the right words to assure you but he’ll try his hardest, ‘then.. then we’ll find them.’ he hasn’t a clue what lies on the other side of that wall, perhaps the people behind it weren’t friendly and you’d never find out or maybe there weren’t even any people left.

but you’ll find out together and that’s all that matters.

someone’s head pokes over the top of the wall, gun poised at steve’s head. they must be stupid if they think he’s the one they should be scared of.

‘stop right there, don’t come any closer,’ the heavily armed woman shouts down, ‘what do you want?’

steve looks to you, unsure if he should even attempt to speak right now. his fingers squeeze yours for silent reassurance, there’s a voice above but he can’t see who it’s coming from, tucked behind the wall as they inevitably discuss your fate.

‘i used to live here,’ you speak, just loud enough for the first woman to peer down at you. she looks back towards the other mystery voice and then another face appears, eyes like saucers when they spot you.

‘open the gate,’ she orders, ‘open the gate now!’ barking at the other lady who jumps to it.

steve stands in quiet wonderment, glancing back at you with your mouth hung open. so you must know each other. or is that your mom? now he truly understands how you must’ve felt coming out of that nurses office to a bunch of strangers.

but you don’t let go of his hand when the gate creaks open just enough to let the two of you through. the houses are all more or less how he imagined they’d looked before everything started.

‘oh my god,’ you sputter out, dropping his hand to jog over to the faceless woman, throwing your arms around her neck as she pulls you in.

you don’t look particularly similar but steve has no idea what your parents look like. he wasn’t quite so prepared to meet the parents though he’d had weeks and weeks to think about what to say.

who even is he? not your boyfriend. yet. maybe it just wouldn’t be brought up in the midst of all the reunions.

he knows you love each other, you’d said that much, that he’d hobbled across state lines for you and would do just about anything to make sure you were safe so, did labels even matter in the apocalypse?

‘i can’t believe you’re here,’ the lady cries, still wrapped up in your arms. the locals are looking on with a mixture of confused and joyous looks on their faces.

‘neither can i,’ you sniff, pulling back and looking at her, hands still firmly on her arms. ‘are they here?’ you rush out excitedly, full of hope.

the woman’s, who is still yet to be introduced to, face falls, her voice dropping an octave as she speaks, ‘baby..’ she tremors through the sentence. ‘they left to go and find you.. i don’t- they haven’t come back..’

your smile drops immediately, steve’s heart sinks. he couldn’t begin to imagine how you felt. the pair of you had made it across multiple states, lived through steve’s injury and evil past friends for nothing.

he supposes that it wasn’t for nothing exactly. despite the bickering and rumbling stomachs, it had brought the two of you closer.

now his heart breaks the way yours does when you bury your face into his chest, shoulders shaking as you wet his already ruined shirt.

the next few hours are a blur of introductions, meeting people you called neighbour not so long ago. the now-identified woman was called janet, who had told him all about how they fortified the neighbourhood and their efforts to keep everyone alive. they’d done something similar to the school, kept the water system running so they could clean and drink and hoarded supplies the second they realised the army weren’t coming for them.

this was followed by a tour of the place and then your house. it had been left untouched in the hopes that your parents would come back eventually. dusty pictures of you in school, at college and one he particularly likes of you at christmas, nose scrunched up as you grin into the distance.

maybe he’d snag that one for himself.

it’s only when you bundle him into your room that you really let go. sobbing in his arms on your bed. surrounded by a time capsule of the past. if it felt weird for him, it must be utterly awful for you.

‘i thought they’d be here,’ you choke through tears, ‘they were supposed to be here,’ fingers grabbing at his biceps.

steve’s not known for his quick thinking but he realises there’s not much else he can say. the situation would seem hopeless to most but he wasn’t letting you give up now. not after you’d dragged him thousands of miles to get here.

‘you were at college in indiana, right?’

it’s enough for you to stop crying and look up at him through your wet lashes, ‘yeah.. why?’

you had never really spoken about college. he knew you went to college in indianapolis, that was obvious from the ratty letterman jacket you’d been wearing when he stumbled upon your camp, but that was about it.

‘so we go back to indiana,’ his fingers tangle in your hair, unsure if a smile would be completely inappropriate.

‘steve.. we-,’ you go to object but he can see the cogs turning in your brain, it’s the only sensible suggestion either of you had. ‘you would do that?’

this is where he smiles, the corners of his mouth twitching upward, ‘of course,’ he’s not even sure why it’s even a question.

he’d do anything, traipse after you to the ends of the earth if you asked. hell, he’d do it even if you didn’t.

he continues on, ‘we’re in this together now.. like, forever,’ pressing his forehead to yours, thumb coming to swipe over your sodden cheek.

there’s hope, or at least a tinge of optimism back in your eye, ‘forever?’

steve nods, caressing your dirtied face as if it were precious porcelain, ‘is that alright with you?’

maybe, in a roundabout way, that was him asking you if you’d be his girlfriend. he knows he probably should ask properly but he’s sure you know.

it’s contagious, his smile, your lips curving as you blink slowly, ‘sounds good to me.’

that night, you’re fully relaxed, a kind of placid state that steve hadn’t seen since the school. normally, you’re on high alert even in bed. your muscles stiff as you let him sleep. but this time, he lets you drift off first.

his fingers glide through your now clean hair, eyelids fluttering shut on his chest. he thinks you might even start purring.

instead, your breaths get deeper, and slower until you no longer even murmur in response to whatever he was saying. and eventually, steve drifts off too. relieved that you can both sleep tonight, both feeling a sense of security that hadn’t been there for weeks.

steve awakens suddenly at what he determines the middle of the night, your palms clammy as they grab hurriedly onto his chest. you’re panting, desperately trying to steady your breath when his arms tighten around your shoulders.

‘what’s wrong?’ he asks, still in that confusing transition between sleep and awake, his eyes struggle to adjust to the dark room.

you exhale, the outline of your face suddenly begins to form, ‘i had a bad dream, i’m sorry,’ chin pointed upwards. your face is wet, eyes glossy with tears.

‘it’s okay.. it’s okay,’ he soothes, heart still pounding rapidly even after he knows no creatures have mattered down the door and had a chomp on your leg.

you swallow loudly, still gazing up at him when his head rests back on the pillow. ‘i love you,’ you squeak into the quiet night, the third time he’d ever heard it tumble out of your lips.

it mostly went unspoken. coming through in little gestures, feeding him his medicine or scratching your nails into his scalp the nights the pain was too much to sleep. he liked it that way. as if your love was only for the two of you.

this world didn’t deserve to witness that.

#steve harrington #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve stranger things #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington angst #stranger things x you #steve harrington fic #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington au

98 notes · View notes

ellaandtheocean · 1 month

Text

STOP THE NZ GOVERNMENT'S WAR ON NATURE

Just when you thought they'd hit rock bottom, the National/Act/NZ First coalition government keeps digging. The fast-track approvals bill was released last month and forms the latest part of the government's war on nature. This would allow major infrastructure and industry projects such as mining, road construction and large-scale aquaculture to be fast-tracked if they are considered to be regionally or nationally significant. While I completely agree that the current Resource Management Act consenting process is not fit for purpose, its regulations are stringent for a reason - to protect our climate, our indigenous biodiversity and our whenua. We need development in New Zealand to be sustainable, and to focus more on nature-based solutions. This legislation is taking our country in the wrong direction. It's not the fast-track it's the wrong track!

Lack of consideration for environmental damage: This project requires the economic benefits of a project to be considered above all else. In the midst of intersecting climate and biodiversity crises, we should prioritize protecting the habitats we have left and supporting efforts to restore ecosystems.

Lack of regulation against negative human health impacts: Even if you're not a nature lover like me, we can probably all agree that exposure to carcinogenic chemicals and other toxins, dangerous pollution in outdoor recreation areas such as rivers and beaches, and air pollution are things that no New Zealander wants. This bill does not exclude projects and activities that will have a negative impact on human health.

Lack of transparency: There are already many projects earmarked for fast tracking under Schedule 2A of this bill, but this list has not been published, meaning a fast-tracked project could be coming to a place near you soon, and you'd have no idea until after the bill has passed. Details about the process for project selection and review are scarce.

Undemocratic: Rather than going through the full submission process, projects are sent straight to a panel to be reviewed. This means that local people and conservation groups won't get to have their say on projects that will directly affect them and the work they do. This is a blatant overreach of central government into local affairs, from a government who criticized Three Waters because they thought it took too much decision-making ability away from the regions.

Risks of corruption and conflict of interest: The expert panels do not get the final say of which projects are approved; they can be overridden by any of these three ministers: Simeon Brown (Minister for Energy and Transport), Chris Bishop (Minister for Infrastructure) and Shane Jones (Minister for Oceans & Fisheries, Resources and Regional Development). Having one person make these calls presents a much greater risk of conflicts of interest occurring (and let's be honest, this is quite a risk).

Submissions on this bill are open until April 19th, and there are templates online you can use to make a submission if you're pressed for time. My favourites are from the Forest & Bird (the organization I volunteer with) and the Environmental Defence Society (linked below). You can also write to your local MP and let them know you DO NOT support this bill.

More information and submission templates:

STOP the War on Nature | Forest and Bird

Make a submission on the Fast-track Approvals Bill using EDS’s template | EDS

#nzpol #new zealand #aotearoa #nz politics #conservation #wildlife #nz wildlife #conservation nz

51 notes · View notes

aranciafiamma · 5 months

Text

One day, the Tenth Boss of the illustrous Vongola family decides to go for a walk. The weather was good that morning - promised to be good all week. It was perfect for a restorative constitutional.

So the Tenth put on a pair of sturdy shoes and he walked out the front door. He walked through the front lawn, passed the main gates, and down the very long, gravel driveway that lead to the estate. In a half an hour, he reached the edge of the Vongola's property, then he kept on walking.

Now, this was not so strange. The Boss had been stuck behind the desk for the better part of a fortnight. He was trying to iron out a deal with the Insolenza, fiesty famiglia in Monopoli. They had tripled their numbers in under a decade, making good money off "waste management". Their wealth of success went straight to their heads (the ones in their pants), because it takes a pair of brass balls to challenge the Vongola family. They figured if anyone was gonna make a stand - they would have to do it now, in the Tenth's first year as boss, before he got too comfy with his power.

They weren't the only ones thinking so because a bunch of smaller famiglias allied with them. Up and down the coast of Apulia, from Barletta to Bari, capos began congregating. They were easy pickings alone but spite - oh spite could be a powerful, powerful motivator. Who does this foreigner think he is? Huh? Waltzing in like he owns the place? Well, he was about to get a taste of Italy's heel.

All eyes were on the Tenth. At 24 years old, he looked half his age, without any Roman machismo to call his own. He was as hairless as a babe, not even a stray whisker on his lip. And he kept sending foot soldiers, then capos, then finally an underboss to try and reason with the Insolenza and their associates. Each and every one was run out of town in a rain of bullets - but not blood. Not yet. Soon, they promise as each shot gets closer and closer to finding its mark.

The Tenth had to do something.

So he goes for a walk, straight off his property, and into the picturesque town of Rieti. Now, the Vongola have their proper headquarters in Sicily like any self-respecting, old blood famiglia. But a few days ago, the Tenth moved from the Iron Fort into this quaint, little place just east of Rome. People began to speculate that this was the first move - that the Tenth was beginning to shift his forces and launch an all out attack from the mainland. But Monday passed into Wednesday, and as far as anyone could tell, the Tenth was just in his office, doing paperwork same as usual. Sometimes, he goes out to town and buys himself a pastry.

As such, when the Tenth leaves the property, no one bats an eye. He's probably gonna grab himself an expresso and a biscotti before hiking back to the house. Except, he walks right past his favored cafe, and crosses the city lines.

That... That gets everyone's attention.

Of course, the first to react is the Tenth's inner circle. Gokudera Hayato hops on a bike and blazes down the road. He catches up with his boss in no time. From afar, a curious staff watches as the Tenth never once stops walking, cheerfully taking step after step as he talks to his Right Hand. Whatever he says to the Storm Guardian, they will never know, but it's enough for him to clench his jaw, nod, and then back away. No other Guardians reach out after that.

For hours and hours, the Tenth walks, heading down south. By then, all the other famiglias have sat up and tuned in, sending spies to watch his progress. When the sun sets and he reaches Bussi Officine, they all witness as he begins to shift his trajectory, heading east, towards the coast. It doesn't take a genius to figure out where he was going from there. But surely, they think, that can't be right. He can't seriously be going to the Apulia Coast, on foot, not even flying as people say he could. Yet, as the sun fully sinks and the moon rises high and this guy continues to walk eastwards, everyone had no choice but to believe it.

The Insolenza were at a loss. Half of them were laughing their asses off. The other half were plotting, scheming, trying to figure out the hidden plan that the Tenth must surely have. The Vongola Alliance was equally at a loss. Don Cavallone and Don Cozarto reached out to the Tenth's inner circle but his Right Hand offers no explanation.

"Trust in the Tenth," he tells them.

When dawn arrives, the young boss meets another of his men on the road. Xanxus di Vongola has both guns out, incandescent with rage. The Tenth doesn’t even twitch and stares straight at him. Keeping his brow in the line of fire, he continues forward, one foot in front of another until his skull nearly kisses the gun barrels. But by then, Xanxus must have found whatever answer he was searching for because he sheathes his guns, walking alongside his boss. They walk together for two - three hours in complete silence.

On the fourth hour, Xanxus speaks up, but far too quietly for any of the mics to catch. In response, the Tenth laughs - a heavy, throaty chuckle.

“Let them come,” he says.

At that, Xanxus stops walking. For a full thirty seconds, he watches his boss pass him by, going ever onward. Then he spins on his heels and flies away. The drones were able to capture his expression right before he left. It was a sight that prompted many to panic. Xanxus di Vongola rarely has any cause to smile but when he does, people rarely seek the cause.

Observers tracked Xanxus flying back to the Iron Fort. This destroys any claims of the Vongola launching a ground assault or really, any kind of assault. If they were going to wage a war, they would have summoned their prized warhounds.

By now, it’s been forty hours since the Tenth started walking. He has neither eaten or slept. And, as day becomes night, the assassins attack. To the surprise of most, they were not sent by the Insolenza. The Vongola has earned plenty of grudges in their long and disastrous history. There’s plenty of enemies willing and eager to take potshots at an unprotected boss.

Some send a few freelancers seeking glory. Others spend a small fortune hiring Named hitmen. And the rest are known to the Tenth, throwing hands just to keep him company. Those seem to find this whole endeavor hilarious.

The fights are short and sweet but numerous, enough to continue into the morning and through the afternoon. Not a single one, neither friend nor foe, could break the Tenth’s stride. As a result, he leaves a long trail of bodies behind him, all alive if not awake.

This attracts the attention of civilians. Now despite the notorious corruption of local law enforcement, a pair of polizia pull up to the Tenth. They frown and they yell and they light up their sirens. He smiles at them, speaking softly. Before the last words leave his mouth, they rush back to their car, without a bribe in their pockets and with a hefty shit in their pants. The Tenth never once misses a step.

He reaches the coast around the witching hour of the third night. After all that walking, his hair is wilder than a bird’s nest and his skin is several shades darker. A thick layer of grime and dirt cover his bespoke Armani suit and his polished, leather loafers. Yet the Tenth himself remains fair of face and strong of limb. The Insolenza are no longer laughing.

Taking a deep breath of that salty sea air, the Tenth turns south. He walks at a leisurely pace, even taking the time to wave at a few bystanders. The clueless ones wrinkle their noses, possibly mistaking him for some homeless vagabond. This brings a smile to his face and a spike of adrenaline to everyone else. At this time, no more assassins come for the Tenth as everyone shifts their focus onto the Insolenza.

They have set up a blockade. Concrete barriers sit on the road, in front of armored tanks and enough artillery to pulverize a mountain. The fourth day begins with a firestorm. They aim, and they fire, and they keep firing - bullet after bullet, shell after shell, missile after missile. The Italian countryside is transformed into a warzone within the span of five minutes, as deep craters pockmark the earth and dust blankets the air.

It was by the grace of powerful, powerful Mists that such a ruckus was largely ignored. Of course, a couple stray eyes bore witness but they knew better than to speak of it. Aside from the shroud of secrecy, no one else intervenes on behalf of either party. This was now a battle between the Insolenza and the Tenth. Enemies and allies watch on the edge of their seats as the dust swirls and twists.

The Insolenza run out of ammo and a hush falls over everyone. They don’t blink. They don’t breathe. From the lowest footsoldier to the high-handed capos, they could only watch, with ears ringing and pulse racing, as the dust settles.

The idiots are ready to rejoice, and they could be excused for they just unleashed a payload that could shame the United States. But the smarter ones expected retribution - for a wave of that infamous Vongola fire to sweep through the ranks. They get neither.

Schrnk. Schrnk. Schrnk.

At first, they barely hear it. But steadily, the sound grows louder as the footsteps come closer. Striding forward, as if on a relaxing stroll, is young Sawada Tsunayoshi, Tenth boss of the Vongola famiglia. Except unlike before, his bloodline is now proudly on display. On his thin shoulders rests a heavy mantle - blacker than the purest ash, as a crown of Flame sits thick and hot on his brow. He looks at the gathered men before him with eyes the color of a molten metal. The Insolenza reel back as if burned.

The Tenth does not stop walking.

To their credit, the Insolenza do not back down. The first to gather his wits throws a grenade at the Tenth. He bats it away with an easy backhand, flashing the engine-red of his gauntlet-covered fists. The others are not deterred, grinding down and summoning either stupidity or bravery to face the young boss. The day proceeds accordingly.

They throw everything they had left. There is a mountain of over the top violence, swearing, and unnecessary shouting. They flash him the goods, the greats, and the even betters. The Tenth keeps going, never straying from his chosen path, never changing his placid pace. When he reaches the tanks on the road, he lays his burning hands on the chromium armor and without even hesitating, melts his through.

The tank operators had the wisdom to evacuate before he could reach them but that’s the lone wisdom they had. One runs at the Tenth with a steel knife! Steel! They just watched him disrespect the strongest alloy known to man! The Tenth immediately drops that guy without a thought, his ass making a satisfying crunch.

When the Tenth makes it through the blockade, battalions of footsoldiers await him on the other side. There’s an echoing cry as they all charge in a single, furious mass. Their guns lay on the ground, completely empty clips scattered all over. They only had their fists to rely on. By then, pure desperation fuels them. There’s a primal need to mark the Tenth, to reach him in any way. Or else… Or else…

They don’t know. They don’t know! They don’t want to know! The reality they understood would be forfeited entirely. They would have to live with the knowledge that beings far greater - that power they cannot comprehend - that giants walk the earth. Death would be preferred - an act of mercy - in the face of that.

The Tenth has no mercy.

As the footsoldiers charge, the Tenth takes a step. Where his foot touches the ground, ice sweeps out - encasing everything for acres around him. Men are frozen where they stand, locked in mid-step with fists cocked and mouths half open. They don’t get anywhere near the Tenth. The fourth night passes peacefully.

He crosses into Barletta some time after daybreak, with only a spare hundred kilometers separating him from Monopoli, where the Insolenza are located. His clothes sit beneath a gritty, bitter layer of dirt, soot, and oil. But there’s not a single tear to be found in the fabric. Now his shoes have given up, which makes sense given all the walking. Only strips of barely stitched together leather are left on his feet. The civilian citizens of the city scuttle away from him, as if he was diseased and not like he was a Capo di tutti Capi. Their Flame blind eyes fail to notice the burning glow radiating from him.

It’s nearing 120 hours, a grand total of five days, and the Tenth still has not slept or eaten. Even more incredibly, he has maintained a state of Hyper Dying Will for thirty hours and counting. Any average Joe would have collapsed long before now, and even the above average Moe would have looked tired at least. Not this guy. He’s just going and going, breathing evenly, and moving fluidly.

When he leaves the more urban areas into proper enemy controlled territory, he encounters a couple more Insolenza men. But these were the assholes that ran from the battle once they realized the futility of the fight. They weren’t about to grow a spine now that the enemy was literally at their doorstep. So… They just follow him. They shadow his steps for the last stretch of the road as the unyielding and unstoppable boss heads for their headquarters. By the time Monopoli is in their sights, there’s a good three dozen of them just ambling behind him. He pays them little mind, taking it all in stride.

As the Tenth hits the city limits, an obscenely slick Porsche rolls up at his side. His new groupies back all the way up as a tall man steps out, pristine and sinful in his tailored suit. He doesn’t interrupt the Tenth’s walk, but keeps up as he circles around him. Without even zooming in, those watching know the newcomer as none other than the famed Reborn, former Sun Arcobaleno but still the world’s greatest hitman. He doesn’t say a word to his once student but his hands move quickly over him.

Taking a total of ten seconds, he completely redresses the Tenth in a new suit - white and clean as freshly fallen snow. He manages to tame the Tenth’s hair, removing all the twigs and leaves and trash that got trapped in there. With a wet towel, he wipes off the accumulated filth on the Tenth’s face, snapping his teeth when the Tenth lets out an annoyed whine. Finally, he sets down a pair of steel toed, wing tipped shoes for the Tenth to step into. All this was done as the Tenth continued his walk. It would have put any quick change Vegas act to shame.

The Tenth arrives at the gates of the Insolenza compound, perfectly coiffed and properly looking like a Mafia Boss. For the past five days, the head family’s bodyguards were inundated with news of the Tenth’s easy progress towards them. So when they finally laid their eyes on him… There was little they could do beyond standing aside, parting before him like the Red Sea did for Moses. The Tenth nods agreeably and invites himself right in.

Vittorio Alessandro Romano di Insolenza stood waiting at the steps to his front door. He sees the Tenth coming and he meets him halfway, holding out a sheaf of papers in his trembling hand. It’s the treaty that the Tenth sent to him awhile back, the first Vongola men visited. Of course, the Insolenza had torn up every single one. It was just this morning, when Romano sent a screaming call to his underbosses and demanded they find him a copy, that they got one in tact. (The truth is that a wiser underling sent a sheepish email requesting a copy from a bemused Hana Kurokawa, the head of the Vongola legal department.)

“Here, just take it. Take it already. And leave. Leave, damn you!” The Insolenza boss spits out, pulling in short, shallow breaths.

“Of course, but I should sign the treaty first, right?” The Tenth smiles, smooth and gentle as silk.

His former enemy jerks his head forward in an attempt to nod. It looks more like he’s having a seizure. Not that anything he does really matters at this point. It’s all just formalities. That doesn’t keep the Tenth from relishing every second. He takes his time patting his pockets, looking for a pen, before a bodyguard shyly offers one. Then, he spends even more time reading through the document as if the Insolenza boss had any audacity left to change something on the sly. But once five excruciating minutes pass, the Tenth signs the treaty with fancy flourish added to his name.

“There. That should do it,” he announces.

A veritable tsunami of relief washes over the gathered crowd.

“Please leave,” the Insolenza boss murmurs, just a heartbeat away from collapsing on the ground.

The Tenth gives him an arch look. “You know… Your men are impressive, I’ll grant you that. I look forward to working with you.”

The Insolenza boss straight up stares - jaw hanging loose - at the young boss who single handedly terrorized and demoralized his men. Tsunayoshi Sawada di Vongola had just won a war without shedding a single drop of blood, yet at the same time bleeding his enemies of all resources and any will to fight. He won a war by barely striking back, only lifting his hands to move something physically out of his way. He won a war by letting everyone take a good, long, hard look at what exactly he’s capable of.

To hear a compliment - earnest and sincere - from someone like that, well… Romano thinks it wouldn’t be so hard to work with him.

“But you gotta stop dumping radioactive waste in the water.”

“Right, sure.”

The Tenth chuckles - a raspy, rattling sound. “You should come to dinner. We’ll iron out the details. And you’re welcome to take a car or even fly over. Not everyone loves a good hike like me.”

Romano chokes on his spit as something warm trickles down his legs. It’s piss. He just pissed himself. Merda.

Without waiting for a response, the Tenth spins on his heel, tucking the treaty into his suit jacket, and walks out the front gates. The newly allied Insolenza family can only watch as he makes his way down the path at an even, unhurried pace.

Half an hour later finds Tsuna far from the Insolenza manor, strolling into downtown Monopoli. He swings by a nearby cafe, where a plate of biscotti and a fresh cup of espresso sit on the counter in a takeout bag.

“Oh good, you got my order!” He says brightly.

The barista gives him a funny look. “Zio, the app says that you ordered this from Rieti?”

“Yep, I just came down here to pick it up. Thanks!” With that, Tsuna grabs his food and walks away.

He takes maybe ten steps from the cafe before that same black Porsche parks itself in front of him. The door opens automatically and Tsuna climbs right in, careful not to spill his drink.

Reborn looks him over, lifting a slim, single brow. “Dame-Tsuna, we have espresso at home.”

“Sure. But I heard good things about this place.” Tsuna grins, sharp and cheeky and boundless with joy.

They laugh the whole way home.

#katekyo hitman reborn #khr #sawada tsunayoshi #I HAD TO REWRITE THIS STUPID THING #the app GAVE UP on me

85 notes · View notes

riality-check · 1 year

Text

platonic hellcheer coparenting part 6! part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5

Chrissy flattens out her skirt and tries to breathe. She shouldn’t be so nervous, standing on the front steps of a home she’s never been to. She can’t even blame her shaking on the cold; it may be the time in March when it’s still blustery and threatening snow, but her thermal tights and sweater do their job well.

(Soon, neither of those will fit. Chrissy tries not to think about that. She knows what happens once she starts down that road, and it’s never good.)

No, her shaking is exclusively due to nerves, and she’s perfectly justified in feeling this way.

“There’s nothing to be nervous about,” Eddie says, snapping her out of her thoughts.

“That’s crap, and you know it.”

“No, I know that there’s nothing to be nervous about. So long as you still want to do this.”

He fishes his keys out of his pocket. How he manages to find anything on that cluttered mess of keychains and cards and multiple lanyards, for some reason, Chrissy will never know, but it’s another quirk that makes Eddie, Eddie.

It hasn’t been very long at all, but she’s finding, so far, that she really likes him. Not that she’s ever pictured it before it happened, but she can’t imagine being in this situation with anyone else at her side.

He doesn’t put his keys in the door. He just looks at her, eyes a little wide.

“You do still want to do this, right?” he asks.

“Yeah,” she says.

“I don’t want you to feel like you have to do anything you don’t-”

“Eddie,” she says. “Just because I don’t want to tell my parents-”

Just because I haven’t talked to them in years, she doesn’t say.

“-doesn’t mean we can’t tell your uncle.”

“Yeah, but-”

“Eddie,” she says again. “You’re allowed to want things out of this, too. Okay?”

He smiles. It’s different from the broad, mocking grins she remembers him having in high school. It’s small and almost secret, like he didn’t even realize it made its way onto his face.

She wishes, not for the first time and certainly not for the last, that she could love him like that. It sure would make life a lot easier.

But, Chrissy supposes, I don’t think easy is in the cards.

“Okay,” Eddie says, and he turns the key into the lock. The door creaks open, swinging inside and Chrissy can feel the heat of the house bleed out, just a little bit.

“Wayne!” he calls. “I’m home!”

He takes a step in, motioning for Chrissy to follow.

She does because what else is she supposed to do?

“Living room,” Mr. Munson calls back.

Eddie takes her inside to a cozy home. Straight ahead is a small kitchen with a little table and two chairs. To her left, a coat rack and a hallway. To her right, the living room.

Mr. Munson sits on a recliner. There’s a still-smoking cigarette in the ashtray to his right, and there’s a basketball game on the TV. Chrissy notes idly that the Pacers are losing.

Minus the ashtray, and if the TV were in HD, it could be Chrissy’s living room. The one at her parents’ house. Almost. It’s a little smaller, and the hats on the walls - that’s a lot of hats - make it feel… different.

Better.

Chrissy has been in this house for thirty seconds and already likes it better than the one she grew up in.

She wonders what her mother would say about her being in the trailer park. She finds that she really couldn’t care less, and she’s ecstatic about that fact.

Eddie grabs her hand. Squeezes once. Leads her into the living room.

They sit side by side on the little loveseat parked against the wall. Chrissy almost knocks her knee into Eddie’s, just for a little reassurance, but keeps herself from doing that.

She’s not really sure why.

She gets a good look at Eddie’s uncle this way, though. He’s an average-sized guy, bald, probably in his fifties. He has hard features and keys dangling from his hand and, most startlingly, really blue eyes.

Like, really blue.

She expected them to be more like Eddie’s. It shouldn’t be so much of a surprise - Eddie hasn’t told her too much about his uncle, nothing beyond the fact that he raised him and that he’s living with him again since he came back to Hawkins - but it is.

“How was your day?” Eddie asks.

Mr. Munson turns to the two of them. If he’s surprised to see Chrissy, he doesn’t show it. His face stays perfectly neutral, and his eyes give away nothing.

“Slow,” he says after a minute. “Got some good sleep. Little pissed that my team’s losing. About to head in to work in about an hour. Who’s she?”

He asks the question with the same inflection that he uses to report on his day, so it takes Chrissy a moment to realize that he asked a question.

“Chrissy Cunningham, sir,” she says. She stands up and holds out her hand to shake.

Mr. Munson stares up at her, and his eyes widen just a little bit. Chrissy thinks, though she doesn’t know what it could possibly be, that she’s done something wrong.

But then the corner of his mouth turns up, just a bit, and he stands slowly, taking her hand and giving it a good, firm shake.

“You don’t need to call me sir,” he says, and yeah, there’s definitely an accent of some kind. Southern, but not quite. Chrissy wonders why Eddie doesn’t have it.

“Sorry, Mr. Munson,” she says.

He wrinkles his nose and huffs out a little laugh. “Wayne is just fine. Mr. Munson makes me feel old.”

“You are old,” Eddie says from the couch.

“And you’re a brat,” Mr. Mun - no, Wayne - says, finally letting go of Chrissy’s hand. He says it lightly, like it doesn’t mean anything.

In what used to be Chrissy’s house, that would have meant a lot.

But Eddie laughs, and Wayne smiles, and Chrissy thinks, again, that this house is very different from the one she grew up in.

She sits back down next to Eddie. He knocks his knee into hers, and she knocks it back.

Wayne looks at them, amused. “You his girlfriend, Chrissy?”

“No,” the two of them say in perfect synchronization.

“You sure?” Wayne asks, eyebrows raised, clearly not believing them at all.

“I’m gay, Wayne,” Eddie says. Which. While that’s true, that’s definitely a route to take this conversation.

If Chrissy said that… well. She doesn’t know how that would have gone, specifically. Definitely not well. Maybe to church. Definitely to a therapist, but only one that would have agreed with her mother.

“Okay,” Wayne says with a shrug.

Eddie doesn’t even sigh with relief or do anything of the sort. Chrissy is getting more confused by the second.

“Did you know that?” Wayne asks Chrissy, and it takes her a moment to realize that he’s cracking a joke.

She takes a breath, then says, “Yeah, and I’m a lesbian.”

It feels good to say it out loud. Maybe even better saying it the second time.

Eddie knocks his knee into hers again. She knocks his back.

Wayne snorts. “Okay. Got all of Hawkins’s gay population in this trailer, with us three queers.”

That definitely explains his reactions, then.

Eddie chuckles and rolls his eyes.

“I got a feelin’ that’s not what you wanted to tell me, though,” Wayne says.

Chrissy does the slightly cowardly thing and turns to Eddie, who looks like he’s thinking really hard.

Whatever he comes up with has to be better than what she has, which is nothing.

“Wayne, remember how you’ve always wanted grandkids?” Eddie says.

Chrissy stands corrected.

“Somethin’ tells me that’s a lot less likely now,” Wayne says.

“Yeah, well. Less likely doesn’t mean it’s not happening.”

Chrissy wants to sink into the couch and never be seen again.

“What?” Wayne asks.

“Surprise,” Eddie says weakly. “One grandkid, due in November.”

Wayne turns to Chrissy. “Is he bullshitting me?”

“No, sir,” she says.

“You can drop the sir,” Wayne corrects, almost like it’s habit.

He turns back to both of them. “Do I want to know how-”

“No,” they say in unison.

Wayne nods like he was expecting that.

“You better get used to being called Grampa, because it’ll happen before you know it,” Eddie says.

Wayne smiles, for real this time. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

“Like you don’t already know,” Eddie says, but he gets up and hugs Wayne bone-crushingly tight. Wayne hugs back just as tight.

Chrissy stays on the couch, watching. The ache she thought she’d feel isn’t that bad. It’s bearable. It’s there, a low thrum deep in her chest, but it doesn’t hurt all that much.

“Chrissy, get over here,” Wayne says.

“What?” she says.

“Get over here,” he says. “You’re family.”

“But we’re not-”

“You’re family,” Wayne says seriously.

“Chrissy, get in before he comes over there,” Eddie warns, but that’s lighthearted, too.

Chrissy stands up and lets herself be hugged by the two of them. She could get used to family being light.

And, she realizes, I’m gonna make sure mine will be light, too.

#ria writes #phc au #eddie munson #chrissy cunningham #wayne munson #platonic hellcheer #stranger things #stranger things ficlet #st #st ficlet

335 notes · View notes

fleuntet · 11 months

Text

amor eterno

pairing: miguel o’hara x fem!reader

summary: father’s day is an unbearable day for miguel. his daughter isn’t here, and no one knows how much he misses her.

warnings: angst cause it’s father’s day for pookie miguel

you barely knew miguel. throughly, you mean. you knew who he was, obviously. it was the basic things, the things he chose to show. you knew that he was sarcastic, angry, and secretive.

the day started as a normal one. missions, chatter, miguel staring off into his screens and nothing more. not much nonsense today as other days may be filled with it.

lyla had popped up near you, presenting herself with a cheery smile. saying your name, she said, “don’t get so worked up with miguel today. he’s in a mood.”

“isn’t he always?” you chuckled lightly, grabbing your breakfast.

she shrugged, debating whether she should tell you the truth. “eh, well…” her hesitation grabbed your attention. she was usually enthusiastic about sharing details of him or anyone really. but she was reluctant towards telling you this one thing.

picking up your plate, you walked around the lobby, making it to miguel’s “hideout” to what lyla calls it. while walking, you looked straight into lyla’s eyes, squinting them in almost a threatening looking way.

“what aren’t you telling me?”

“i’m not telling you anything.”

“so you chose to not be a chismosa today?”

rolling your eyes, you made it through all the junk through the hallway, stopping at the end of the road where all you can do is look up. you thought his attention would be at you, but it wasn’t. his eyes, looking straight forward into the middle monitor.

you expected it to be a video recording of one of the recent missions from jessica to stop an anomaly…but it wasn’t. it was of a little girl, small, brown haired, brown eyes, wearing a shirt of…was that soccer?

the little girl was smiling, giggling, the camera only focusing on her before it moved down. that’s when you could feel your heart rate rise. miguel. above him was his daughter, smiling just as he did — a rare sight you saw now. you don’t think you have ever seen miguel laugh, or smile even.

your brows furrowed, and without even realizing it, your hands slipped from your breakfast, causing a loud crash.

“oh, shit!” you muttered under your breath, but with all the space that surrounded you, it was loud as clear to miguel whose eyes turned immediately toward you.

filled with embarrassment, he quickly turned off the recording of him and his daughter, stopping midway in a laugh that the little girl let out. the last of her laugh echoed midway throughout the large space, making a small hint of guilt build up inside you. you never heard miguel talk of a little girl, ever.

maybe this was the very reason he was reluctant towards anyone, towards anything really. it never really occurred to you and you felt stupid. “canon events”, events that shape spider-man. and as you know, as he told you — being spider-man is a sacrifice.

“what are you doing here?” he asked, a demanding tone hidden inside his voice.

you tried to come up with a good reason as to why you decided to come find him, knowing that he told lyla to tell you, and everyone else, to leave him alone for the rest of the day today.

“just wanted to see if you needed any help today,” you added a fake smile as your voice faked a genuine tone. he knew that it was a lie. he knew that you cared about him. he didn’t want that. he didn’t need it. for everything he has done, why would he need-

“miguel, are you okay?” your eyes now showed its true emotion — worry. you knew this was the last thing he needed, he knew that too but honestly, you just couldn’t help yourself.

that’s one of the things he knew about you — you would always manage to see the good in people. no matter how sarcastic, angry, or secretive they can be. he knew that you would put time into actually figuring out what is going on to make him like this.

biting the inside of his cheek, he turned away from you. despite his reaction of obvious rejection, you rose your arm and swung towards his space. at the corner, you hesitated for a second whether you should go this far.

but if it meant that you could actually break his shell then it was worth it. you didn’t want to know the fake miguel, you wanted… needed to know the real him even if he is worse than what you think he is.

“miguel, was that your daughter?” your voice was as soft as a whisper. and even with that small voice, miguel couldn’t help but frown at it, at the question itself.

“yes,” he answered. “she isn’t alive if that’s what your wondering.”

you felt your heart break for him. nothing could be unbearable as losing a child. you may not know that feeling yourself, but seeing as children everywhere around you back home gather themselves around you as you swing around the city, you can’t imagine losing any of them.

a daughter — a connection with them is like no other. it’s not just a child, it was his. someone who steal hearts and takes it as their own. a child that you teach, that you adore and love. it’s like no other love.

“oh,” was the first thing that came out of your mouth. “miguel i am so so-“

“don’t.” he warned, holding out a hand against you, still not being able to look at you in the eyes.

with that, you knew you had crossed the line. pursing your lips together, you looked down at the floor, then at the frozen frame of the recording. she looked just like him. it was a beautiful sight.

grief is a hard thing. and sometimes space is all you can do to have someone at peace. and that’s what you did. as much as you wanted to comfort him, as much as miguel himself wanted it — it wasn’t the time.

so, without a word, you swang back, out of his courtiers and back into your own. the entire time you felt as if you needed to have his back, in some way, one way or another. if that can’t be in words, you thought of another way.

(x)

before the day ended miguel decided to quickly head through the lobby, checking in everything physically. that was a lie, really. he just didn’t want to be losing himself in more photos of him and his daughter. he loved gabriella with everything in his heart.

the last thing he wanted to realize was that the thing that makes him soft is the reason why he is so cold now.

after his quick check up he headed back into his usual spot, wanting to turn off all the monitors for the night. that was until he caught the attention of a white piece of paper that held itself with a piece of tape on his keyboard.

clenching his fists, he swiftly picked it up and looked down to read it. he has never read such words written to him in a comforting intention for so long:

“amor eterno e inolvidable. tarde or temprano estaré contigo para seguir amándonos.” happy father’s day miguel. i’m sure she wishes you one from where she is.

#across the spiderverse #miguel o'hara #miguel o’ hara x reader #spiderman 2099 #miguel o’ hara angst #Spotify

196 notes · View notes