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viennakarma · 2 months

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My dearest friend and enemy

Part 1 | Fernando Alonso x Reader

Summary: You and Fernando always dreamed of the day you'd get into Formula 1. Unfortunately, the competition, the pride and the stubborness, get in the way of a beautiful friendship.

Word count: 7.8k

Tags: female!reader, driver reader, coming of age, ups and downs of a friendship, brocedes coded, very very angsty, cursing, anger, fights, overuse of flavio briatore as a plot device, lots of low blows, sprinkles of romance, kissing, making out, happy ending, not beta read

Relationship: Fernando Alonso x Reader

Note: Someone requested this, with this very detailed request, and it has consumed my every thought for the past week or two. I had to tweak some things from the request here and there, hope it's ok. It's heavily inspired by brocedes. Obviously we don't have all the facts with whatever happened to Lewis and Nico, but I have my own theories, that I tossed around this story here and there. (There is a lot of info that is wrong or inaccurate, I did this on purpose to fit my narrative, if you catch them, please ignore)

I'm sorry if it feels rushed, this was getting way too long and I just wanted to follow my heart. Feedback and opinions are appreciated xx

[If you have never listened to Tamino, or never heard this song, please do a favor to your brain and heart, and listen!]

Find me on Twitter!

PART 2 (END)

You wouldn’t cry. You wouldn’t cry.

You repeated those words to yourself as you stared at your fucked up kart, it wasn’t even starting. You didn’t have any more money to repair it, and if you didn’t, then you wouldn’t be able to keep going in the competition.

“Hey, are you alright kid?” Someone stopped you, and your tears fell down. You used the sleeve of your overalls to wipe your face.

“I won’t make it to the final round of the competition,” you pointed to your kart.

The boy knelt down beside you, taking a look at your kart. It was the first time you really looked at him. He was a bit older than you, probably two or three years, since you had seen him in the next category, and you knew he was one of the best from what you could see.

He walked away suddenly, but came back a minute later with a tool box. He knelt down and started tinkering with your kart.

“What- what are you doing?” You asked crouching beside him. He only hummed, seemingly concentrating on his work.

After a few minutes of silence, he asked you to test to see if it would work, and you started your kart, and it did work.

“Oh my god!” You smiled, leaving the kart, “how- how much does it cost?”

“Don’t worry, I wanted to help,” he shrugged, putting back his tools.

“Are you sure?” You asked again.

“Yes,” he stood up, and as his eyes found yours, shining under the sunlight, you smiled at each other.

“Thank you so much!” You said, offering a hand for him to shake.

“I’m Fernando,” he said, and as you said your name back, he smiled a little shyly and just said, “I know.”

“You know?” You whispered.

“Yeah. I’ve seen you in your kart. You’re good.”

You bashed under his praise, cheeks warming and stomach full of butterflies.

From then on, you and Fernando became friends, always meeting up in karting competitions, despite being usually in different categories, since he was a bit older than you. But you’d always be seen together on those occasions, or either of you on the stands, cheering for the other. Your parents knew you were close friends, and after a while, your parents would take turns at taking you two for competitions, usually going together.

You met again when you got to the Spanish Junior Championship, it was your first time at that competition and it would be Fernando’s third. Your rivalry was mostly playful in that competition, you were still the best of friends, even when you got close to his score, you still managed to leave the rivalry on the track. When it ended and you stared up at Fernando from the second place podium, you felt proud of him, happy even. You understood that he had more experience than you, winning that competition three times in a row, and you always would have next year to catch up to him.

That day when he took your hand to walk back to his dad, he held your hand tight. And when they dropped you off at home, you winked at him.

“I’ll catch you next year.” You walked to the door hearing him and José Luis laughing back in the car.

You didn’t manage to catch him next year. Fernando reached new heights as he moved up to world championships. Life took you apart, and without your greatest opponent in the championship, you took it home for three years in a row.

The next few years, you and Fernando were mostly apart. The distance was eating you thin, even when you two managed to talk for a couple of hours on the phone, or whenever he sent you letters talking about his biggest achievements. You still saw each other over summer and winter, which was what mostly kept your bond strong. You also managed to kart for fun sometimes, or go for ice cream, or just sit on the porch of your house, talking about life. You two always shared an ice cream on your birthdays, a tradition that was born ever since you were 13, and you and Fernando gathered together every coin you had to be able to buy one ice cream cone that you happily shared sitting on a sidewalk.

“We’ll make it to Formula 1 one day, Nena.”

You laughed. Despite being the greatest dream of them all, by that time, it had been twenty years since the last woman had been in a Formula 1 car, really competing. You wanted to, so bad, but you didn’t want to get any hope for it to be crushed later on.

“You, most likely, Nano. You’re brilliant, I’m sure you’re going to be a world champion one day,” you said, playful, “just don’t forget us peasants when you’re rich and famous.”

“You have too much faith in me, Nena,” he shook his head.

“No, I just know stuff. When you get your world championship, I hope you will hear my voice in your head telling you I told you so.”

He laughed it off.

Fernando extended you a bottle of cheap wine, it was his way of celebrating your 18th birthday, now you were of age. The wine warmed you up, leaving a pretty stain in both of your lips.

“What about that girl you liked? Are you dating her yet?” You asked to break the silence.

“No…” he shrugged then took the bottle from you to take a chug straight from it, “she’s not for me.”

“I’m sorry,” you said, even though he didn’t look particularly unhappy about it.

“Don’t be. It was just a silly crush,” his lips turned down, “The girls don’t find me attractive enough,” he shook his head, feeling shy for having this conversation with you, “and I don’t know, I’ve always been a little shy, I guess. I don’t have much experience in romance. None, if I’m being honest.”

“None?!” You sounded shocked at his lack of romance. He just shook his head.

At eighteen you had your fair share of teen love, having crushes here and there, sometimes even sharing kisses under the bleachers at school. Fernando was your best friend and you knew him like no one, and you could see that he was lonely and feeling embarrassed, up until that point, his life had been school, karting and work to fund his karting.

“Would you like to?” You asked, suddenly turning to him after drinking a sip of courage from the wine bottle.

“Like to what?” He frowned.

“To be kissed?” You whispered, and looked behind you, inside your house, where your parents were inside.

Your heart raced faster than you ever did, his pretty eyes looking for your face, trying to find any sign of joking, like you were just being silly. But you were serious, looking at his face intently. You were about to back pedal when he nodded softly.

“What-” his voice failed, and he gulped nervously, “what should I do?”

“Just follow my lead, and you will feel what to do,” you said, extending a hand and holding his face, “close your eyes.”

He did, and you just closed the distance quietly, but when you had barely touched his lips with yours, he bursted out laughing, leaning back. You also laughed at the strangeness of the situation.

“It’s ok, we don’t have to, Nano” you recovered, but he shook his head, giggling.

“No, sorry, sorry! You’re my favorite person, I trust you,” he sighed, closing his eyes again.

You held his face, trying to get closer again, and this time he let you. With a soft press, you pecked his lips for a couple of seconds. You felt butterflies in your stomach, and they pushed you to push into his lips, mouth opening a little and him following your lead. One of his hands found your face, and you deepened the kiss. He was inexperienced but surprisingly patient, letting you lead and slowly picking your pace and moves. Your kiss turned into an almost make out session, lasting long minutes, with Fernando getting the hang of it with every passing second. When you parted, his cheeks and lips were red, and you two smiled nervously at each other.

“Was that ok?” You asked, suddenly insecure.

“More than ok,” he whispered back, “I think we-”

A loud noise from inside your house made you two jump away from each other, and a second later, your mom’s voice boomed through the door, reminding you of your curfew, and checking your watch, you noticed it was almost eleven.

“Sorry, Nano. I have to go,” you stood up and he followed you.

“See you Saturday to go karting?” He asked just to confirm the plans you had made earlier.

“See you,” you waved awkwardly before sprinting inside your house.

Skipping to your room, you locked the door behind you and pressed a hand to your lips, still warm from kissing your best friend. Going to your window, you pulled on the curtains and watched through the gap as Fernando left, calmly walking down the street.

You never talked about it. And when you met again at the end of the week, none of you mentioned the kiss, things quickly went back to normal as you two pretended it never happened. Over a few months, your heart never let you forget about the kiss you shared with your best friend, and whenever you laid in bed to sleep, your mind would wander back to that specific night. You spent months building up the courage to confess you had feelings for him, and you wanted to be more than friends. Your choice was to tell him on his birthday, when you usually would go for a birthday ice cream.

“I need to tell you something-” You said at the same time he muttered, “Can I tell you something?”

“Go ahead,” he said, gesturing to you, but at that point, your bravery quickly faded.

“No, you first. You’re the birthday boy!”

“Uh, I’m dating a girl. I’m going to introduce her to you and my family at the birthday party tonight.”

That moment, with a smile frozen on your face, a small part of you was ripped forever. The excitement and fear of a young love turned into stone at the pit of your stomach. To this day, you don’t know how you managed to not burst into tears that very moment. Instead, you kept smiling, asking Fernando for more details so he could get distracted and not notice the pain in your eyes.

Managing to bury what you decided to call a silly teen infatuation after a few months, your friendship with Fernando became even stronger everyday that passed.

You made it to the international and European competitions, winning the former twice in a row, and the latter once. You were in the Euro Open when Fernando made it to Formula 1.

He told you personally, when he signed with Minardi, and you were so happy you jumped on his arms, hugging him tight and screaming.

“I told you! I told you!” You shouted, as he carried your feet from the floor, “My best friend is in Formula 1! Oh my god, Nano!” You let go of him, your smile barely fitting your face, “I’m gonna be insufferable! I’m claiming bragging rights right now!”

He only laughed at your happy ramble.

You balanced your competitions with working double shifts for almost two months, so you could afford to go to the Spanish Grand Prix the year of his Formula One debut. He didn’t win anything that year, but he still had your immense support every step of the way. When waves of self doubt came and left him shaken, you’d hug him and whisper softly how he was just a rookie, how he would still have time to prove himself.

“You’re gonna be one of the best there is, Nano.”

“You think so?”

“I know so.”

He also would show you support whenever your schedule at the Euro Open didn’t coincide with his at Formula 1. It was one of the best feelings to get to the podium and see your best friend as you held the trophy. When you finally found him after the podium, he hugged you for a moment, commenting on his favorite moments from your race. As you stood, he gestured to someone, and a beautiful girl came closer.

“Nena, this is my girlfriend, Lucia,” he pointed. Your smile froze for a second. Another one, since the girl from last year couldn’t handle the distance of dating someone who was constantly traveling the world.

“It’s so nice to meet you!” You shook her hand, suddenly self conscious of your frizzy hair and sweat damp overalls. She was so pretty. So much prettier than you.

Lucia was pretty and kind, a little bit clingy, but she treated you very well, and wasn’t jealous of your friendship with Fernando, different from the last one. All your flings never went as far as becoming boyfriend or girlfriend, so you decided to focus more on racing and trying to make a name for yourself.

“Fernando,” you called one of the rare days you two were both free and could laze around, this time, sitting on the ground of the garden, staring at the clear sky and sharing a pint of ice cream.

“Hm?”

“I talked to your dad, and you’re going to be free the day of the last race of the Euro Open, so I was wondering if you will come to see me become the champion?” You turned to him, a smile adorning your face.

“Confident, are you?” He teased your certainty that you would win the competition.

“Not confident, just focused,” you corrected him, and started explaining the date of the race, but as you talked, his smile quickly faded and you stopped.

“I’m sorry, Nena. It’s Lucia’s graduation that day, I can’t miss it.”

You swallowed, thinking it would matter so much to you that he’d be there, but at the same time, you didn’t want to be selfish or make it seem like you’re competing with the girl he loved. You tried to disguise the disappointment in your face, but he noticed. At that point he knew you for half of your lives, he knew very well when you tried to mask your sadness. And unfortunately, he had been on the receiving end of that sad face one too many times.

“Oh,” you nodded, “Don’t worry, I totally understand.”

Fernando pressed his lips thin, your meek voice doing nothing to soothe the squeezing in his heart.

The day you won the Euro Open, you could barely contain your happiness as you stood on the podium, showing your trophy to your parents, who were watching you all emotional. As the podium ceremony finished, you walked back to your parents, your mom wiping her tears and your dad the happiest. Then, you finally noticed Fernando was with them.

“Nano!” You hugged him.

“Congratulations, champion!” He said. Your heart was so full you thought it would explode, so all you managed to say were two words.

“You came.”

“You called.”

Later you found out through your mom, who found out through Fernando’s mom, who found out from Fernando’s dad, that Fernando and Lucia had broken up. They said it was because of the distance and the relationship didn’t last more than seven months. You couldn’t blame her, you as his best friend barely saw him that year either.

You became a reserve driver for Renault in 2003, meeting Flavio Briatore yourself after you won the Formula 3000 two years in a row. You knew that, by that time, Fernando had ties with Flavio, but the man assured you it had nothing to do with Fernando, and everything to do with you being extremely talented.

Still, that same week you found Fernando, to inquire if he had anything to do with Flavio’s invitation, but he assured you that you’d achieved that with your own merit. The unexpected chance to race came when by the end of the following year, Fernando’s teammate was fired by the end of the season. So you had to replace him for the remaining three races of the season, the team fighting for P2 in the constructors championship. The first two races you went alright placing P7 and P5, but still not where you wanted to place.

“Hey, you’re doing great, Nena,” Fernando told you right before the race started. He knew you were upset, frustration practically emanating from your body.

“Not as great as I can do,” you shook your head.

“Just do your best, ignore everything else.”

You nodded, before closing your overalls and gettin ready to get in the car. That race, you and Fernando managed to race just like in your karting days, with a silent partnership never seen before coming from Fernando. You placed a 2-3 podium, him ahead of you.

When you got out of the car, you jumped straight into his arms, screaming and celebrating. Your first ever podium in Formula 1.

During post race interviews you accidentally let out to the media that you and Fernando were childhood best friends, which they took as a personal reason to go digging into your lives.

Next season, Flavio signed you with the team. But before anything, he sat you down for a talk. He explained how Fernando would be top priority this year, you were a rookie, and they would offer you all the support but you had to help Fernando first.

“You will gain experience, work together with your best friend, and we can achieve great things this year. And depending on how good of a performance you show this year, next year you will be able to race for the championship, yes?” Flavio explained.

And you were fine with that, Fernando would be the main priority while you took the year to get used to the car, to being in an entirely new category, while helping your best friend reach his peak. It was the dream, finally. It was the thing both of you had daydreamed together, nothing could get in the way of that.

So you did just that. You kept your head down, fighting fiercely against your rivals, and keeping yourself out of the way whenever you and Fernando were close in a race. Your time would come, as Flavio had promised. That season you managed good results in the points, and even got five podium finishes, which landed you fourth in the drivers’ championship and managed Renault to win the constructors.

That day in Interlagos, during the Brazilian Grand Prix, you woke up knowing Fernando would become world champion. You didn’t tell him to not put any more pressure on him. He only needed a podium to mathematically become the champion of the world.

He finished P3, and you finished P7. Seeing Fernando radiantly happy, dancing, shouting and jumping was etched forever in your brain as one of your happiest memories. The way he eventually found you, holding you firmly against him, the both of you crying happy tears became headlines all around the world.

“I told you, didn’t I?” You broke the hug so you could stare into his red rimmed eyes.

“You did. You’re right more often than not, I’ve come to realize.” He whispered. When someone tried to put a mic in your faces, Fernando pushed it away.

“This is your moment, go.” You gestured to the other side, where he had to go before the podium.

Looking up from the ground to Fernando, you were so happy you thought your heart would burst open. And you couldn’t wait for it to be your turn, to feel this happiness the other way around.

That night, you, Fernando and the entire team got ready to party, to celebrate his championship. You dressed up to the nines, putting makeup and spending a good half an hour styling your hair. When you left the elevator, meeting the whole team at the lobby, they shouted and whistled saying you were pretty. It made you a bit shy but you liked the attention.

You and Fernando danced and drank like crazy that night, going strong all the way into the morning. When the party ended and you two sat on your suite balcony, watching the sun rise, you bought out an ice cream pint you had kept in the room minibar.

“How do you feel, Mr. World Champion?” You sat cross legged in front of him.

“Like a dream come true, sometimes I don’t even believe it’s real,” he said, staring into the horizon.

“Remember when we would talk about this moment?” You took his hand in yours, as he nodded, “Wow. This is great. I’m so happy for you, and happy for fifteen year-old Nano, the bright eyed boy that fixed my kart charge free.”

It’s barely a second after you finished speaking that Fernando leaned into your space and just kissed your lips. It took you a second to understand what was going on, but when his hand found your hair, you reciprocated. His lips, that had been cold from the ice cream quickly became warm under your ministrations. You held his shoulders and let him pull you closer, until you were straddling his lap. The kiss was messy, all over the place, clanking lips, teeth and tongue. You moaned softly as he squeezed your ass, and you pulled his hair at the nape, grinding down on his lap, making him groan too.

“We should not,” he said, breaking the kiss. You nodded, panting.

“Yeah, totally, we-” you tried to speak but he nipped at your neck and you lost all train of thought.

“No, we won’t ruin-” he tried again but you pulled his hair, forcing his head up so you could kiss him.

“You’re right-” you muttered against his lips, right before smashing it when you kissed him again. You stayed there, kissing, making out like you were teenagers again, too scared to reach for each other's clothes and take the next step.

When the sun was fully up in the sky, and whatever was left of the ice cream had melted, your alarm rang, and you and Fernando parted. You were about to invite him to sleep with you for a few hours when he paused, his face worried. Fernando took one of your hands.

“This is a one time- thing, right?” He frowned, and you swallowed before nodding.

“Yes, of course.” You don’t correct him with memories of your eighteenth birthday.

“I just, I don’t want anything to ruin our friendship,” he stared at you, visibly scared for your friendship, and you didn’t have the heart to ask for more.

“It won’t ruin, I promise. If you want, we can forget it ever happened,” you said, hoping and praying he would change his mind. But he looked relieved at your words.

After he left, you sat down on the bed, disheartened, knowing that these scraps of affection would have to be stored in a safe spot inside your heart, and would be nothing more than memories, and what-ifs you’d only dare to look at late in your sleepless nights. You wondered how many times he would have to undervalue your romantic affections for you to understand he didn’t want you and never would. That was the second time you shared a moment, and the second time he had dismissed it. It’s not meant to be, you whispered to yourself.

When the new season started, you had gotten a grip over your feelings for him, focused on moving on. Being in love with your best friend for around a decade was pathetic enough.

Fernando was great during the start of the season, scoring two wins within the first three races. And despite not being the results you wanted, you placed top ten in all of them, even managing one podium finish.

When the fourth race came, though, it was when you and Fernando started to collapse. It was a very carefully plotted race for you and your team, and after managing your tyres with care, you didn’t have to pit twice. And you won, for the first time ever, you stood on the top of the podium. Unfortunately, Fernando didn’t get a podium. Holding your trophy, you looked down from the podium looking to your team, and searching for Fernando.

He wasn’t there, and your heart shattered a bit with his absence.

Maybe he had a problem and couldn’t be there for you. Maybe he was busy.

You went down to speak to the press, happily talking about strategies, how you and your team masterminded it, how you managed to preserve your tyres for longer than expected.

“How do you and Fernando manage to balance your friendship out of the track with the rivalry happening inside the track?” Someone asked. You were caught by surprise, taking a few seconds to actually compute the words he said.

“Well, I haven’t seen Fernando yet, but I believe he’d be happy for my good result as much as I’d be happy for him,” you told him, but immediately regretted it as the reporter had a gotcha expression on his face.

“Well, actually, this is what Fernando said a few minutes ago when he gave an interview-”

The man gave you a tape recorder attached to a pair of headphones, and your stomach filled with dread as he pressed rewind and play.

“Fernando, today’s win puts your best friend as a contender for the championship, what do you say?”

“Well, I believe she is talented, but too young and not yet ready to face me and actually compete for the championship.”

His voice was bitter, like he didn’t see you as nothing but a bug under his shoes. Instead of making you sad, it only left you seething in anger, but as you removed the headphones, you controlled the urge to smash the headphones on the nearest wall and smirked coldly to the camera that was waiting for your reaction.

“What do you think about Fernando saying you’re still not ready to become world champion?” The reporter urged, waiting for a beef that he would successfully get.

“Well, I guess he feels threatened by me, so I’ll take that as a compliment,” you shrugged, not caring about adding more fuel to the fire. If Fernando thought he could go running his mouth and you’d be fine or not jab him back, he was in for a surprise.

After wrapping up the interviews, you finally managed to go to your room and take a shower. You were getting ready to leave when Fernando found you again, walking into your room without bothering to knock. You didn’t even look at him, just kept packing your bag.

“Nena…”

“Don’t fucking talk to me,” you shook your head, holding on to the anger instead of allowing yourself to be sad. How he was able to ruin your first ever win in Formula 1, you couldn’t know.

“Nena, please, just-” He tried again, blocking your path to the door.

“No! Fuck you, Fernando!” You took a step back, letting your bag fall to the floor, an accusatory finger pointing to his face, “How dare you do this to me? You know how many times I cheered for you? How many times I wasn’t even on the podium and still, I was happy for you? Huh? I was there for you every step of the way, and you can’t be there for me once? Now you go out there and disregard my win in front of the whole world? What did I ever do to you for you to say that shit about me?” Your voice trembled, but you refused to cry in front of him, “I’d never do that to you, you selfish asshole.”

“I shouldn’t have said that, but I was pole and didn’t even manage to turn it into a podium? I was upset, the strategy fucked me up! I know I should not have said that! You’re right! I was selfish and an asshole-”

“Damn right you were!” You shouted, then picked up your bag, “I don’t want to see you right now.”

You walked past him, leaving at once.

That night, you went to celebrate with the team and without your teammate, you got pretty wasted, dancing and drinking like you had never done before. You refused to let yourself feel down because of Fernando’s big mouth. Dancing the night away, you didn’t stop even when people on the team asked you to, since you were getting out of hand. You were grinding on a stranger, dancing to reggaeton when you felt a hand on your arm.

“Let’s go,” the voice said and you turned, seeing Fernando in front of you. He looked like he was dressed in pajamas and hair all disheveled.

He was asleep when someone on the team called him because they wanted to leave and you were being difficult, so they hoped that your best friend could come pick you up and convince you to leave.

“Excuse me?!” You pulled your arm from him.

“We’re leaving!” Fernando said, pointing to where your team was, seeing it empty, “you’re not going to stay here alone.”

Begrudgingly, you let him lead you outside, one hand in your arm, and the other one on your back. You stumbled in your heels, and Fernando pressed you against the wall, kneeling to remove your shoes and help you walk better outside. Silently, he drove you back to the hotel, while you were with your arms crossed and sulking.

He walked you to your room, helping you change into pajamas, then tucked you into the bed. He stood there for a second, pushing your hair away from your face as you closed your eyes, letting his knuckles run over your cheek softly.

“I wish-” you mumbled, sleepy, “I wish you were happy for me.”

His eyes filled with tears, seeing just how awful he had been to you. A dream was coming true and all he could think of was himself.

“I am, Nena. I’m so happy for you,” He said, but you didn’t answer, already asleep, due to being tired from the race and heavily drunk.

You woke up with a pounding headache and a stomach churning hangover. Still, you showered, drank tea and got ready to go home. When Fernando knocked on the door of your hotel room later that day to apologize, you were already on a flight to Spain. Your birthday would be later that week and your family wanted to throw you a dinner party.

Your birthday was nice, despite obviously feeling Fernando’s absence.

You were sitting alone on the porch, after the party, when he showed up, late in the night. You didn’t say anything as he walked up to you.

“Peace offering?” Fernando showed you a small ice cream pint “I’m so sorry. I never meant to undermine you. I was a jerk, and you didn’t deserve any of it. I’m so, so sorry.”

You hesitated for a second, but his eyes were so gentle, remorseful, that you couldn’t help but give in. You jumped into his arms so suddenly he almost dropped the ice cream, but he managed to balance it and hug you back with the other arm.

“Happy birthday, Nena,” he whispered,

“Thank you,” you said, without letting him go, “I’m sorry too. I apologize for implying you felt threatened by me.”

“You should have called me worse things,” he whispered.

You ended up sharing the ice cream once again, talking about life.

Deep down, you hoped things would go back to normal, but a part of you knew that things would never be the same. You two were too much alike for anything to work. Too proud. Too stubborn. Too competitive. When you were good, it was great, but when you were mad, your words were daggers.

The both of you tried to stay normal the next couple of races, but it was strained, forced, especially when you were racing each other. You supposed Fernando was used to you backing down for him, since it was all you had done the year before when you were a rookie. But now you were used to the car, to explore all the possibilities while pushing your tyres to their maximum, while trying insane strategies and making it work. You were a risky driver, just like him, often seen as reckless.

All the while, the media started catching up to it. They went digging to find pictures of you and Fernando when you were kids, in karting and junior competitions, finding out people to interview, old classmates, people you two had met over the years, telling everyone about your close friendship, about you growing up together. Despite you both refusing to comment on your past, the journalists would always find a way to learn more and more about you.

Eventually, it got to your nerves, harsh words were often said whenever questions were thrown at you. You were in a press conference, where Fernando was also there along with a few other drivers.

“It is noticeable that you and Alonso’s driving style is very similar, would you say that he taught you everything you know?”

You didn’t like his tone, you hated whatever he was implying, not because of Fernando, but because it meant to reduce your efforts and abilities.

“No, Alonso has no part in my racing,” your tone was firm against the mic, and you could feel Fernando’s eyes on you, two chairs away on your left.

“But you grew up together?” The man insisted, and you loudly sighed, exhausted from everyone trying to make you talk about it all the time.

“And that doesn’t mean anything!” You said with gritted teeth.

There was a moment of silence right after your outburst, and you didn’t dare to look anywhere besides ahead. When the questions moved on to other drivers, you breathed again. Finally sparing a glance to Fernando, he only looked at you for a fleeting moment, but you knew him so well, you could recognize his teary eyes. Only then it dawned on you how badly you fucked up by insinuating he didn’t mean anything to you.

When the conference ended, you watched as Fernando left really quickly, not even looking in your direction. You ran, trying to find him, going to his room that was right beside yours.

“Fernando-” You walked inside, not even bothering to knock.

“So, our friendship means nothing!” He shook his head, looking disappointed.

“I didn’t mean it like that, Nano!”

“Now I’m Nano again?” He scoffed.

You wanted to cry and plead, to explain that you never meant it this way. You were just tired of people trying to attribute your success to others. You were tired of people comparing the two of you, and saying everything you were came from him, just because he joined the category five years before you.

“Fernando, please-”

“Leave.” His eyes were cold, almost detached when he pointed to the door.

“Please, Nano…” You whispered, feeling your own eyes welling up with tears. He just shook his head ‘no’ again.

You walked out quietly, not allowing your tears to fall down as you got into your room, inhaling and puffing your chest. You didn’t let up, trying to talk to him again, because it was just a misunderstanding.

Three days later, you tried to find him again, after the race ended, hoping he would have calmed down after a good result, a P2 in that race. You knocked on his door and entered. He was changing clothes as you walked in, he finished dressing a shirt.

“What?” He said, barely looking at you, as he sat down on the sofa, brushing his hair.

“I wanted to talk about what I said during-” your words were interrupted by a knock on the door.

“Come in!” Fernando said, and soon, two pretty girls walked in, wearing pretty dresses, one blonde and the other brunette, “pretty girls!”

You recognized they were grid girls, and they looked familiar from this weekend.

“Can we talk?” You said, trying to make him at least send the girls away for a moment.

“I’m listening,” he smirked, and you gulped as the blonde ran a hand up and down his chest. The brunette leaned into his ear with a seductive smile, whispering something.

“Fernando, please…” You asked again and he didn’t even look at you, laughing at something the girls whispered to him, “I’m sorry,” you whispered, before turning in your heels and leaving his room.

Shame and jealousy burned inside you.

He started giving you a silent treatment from then on and three races later, your silent strain came to a head, once again.

You were right behind him at the race, you P3 and him right ahead, but you had enough speed to outpace him soon, maybe a couple more laps and you’d equal him enough to try and overtake, you rode turn 2 smoothly, but as you two kept going, Fernando half a second in front of you, he suddenly hit the brakes, making you hit his rear.

“What the fuck? He brake tested me!” You shouted into the radio, reassessing, you gulped, noticing the damage to your front right tyre, “I’ve got damage!”

You called into the box to change your tyre, which fucked up your entire strategy, and made you go from the P3 to P9 in the grid. You managed to recover a little bit, but still ended P5 and out of the podium.

The rage was burning your chest as you went to the garage absolutely fuming. After all the podium proceedings and celebrations, you waited for Fernando, but he just walked past you without a care in the world. That made you even more pissed, and nobody managed to hold you when you tossed your helmet aside and marched up to him.

“That was really fucked up, Fernando!” You cut his path, making him stop short. Suddenly a bunch of people started gathering around you two, everyone ready for a show.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” He shrugged, but you knew him like the palm of your own hand, and you knew that condescending smile he showed you.

“You are a fucking coward if you have to brake test me just to get a podium,” you said, venomous, feeling your dad trying to pull you away and dissipate the commotion. But you weren’t done, “you’re pathetic, Fernando.”

“That’s enough!” Your dad said, pulling you back.

“Or maybe you’re just not good enough, have you thought about that?” Fernando said back, and you jumped on him, trying to get close enough for violence, but your dad held your waist, removing your feet from the ground and pulling you back.

“Man up, Fernando! You fucking asshole!” You shouted as your dad dragged you back into the garage.

Your dad placed you inside your room, grabbing water so you could drink and calm down. When he turned back, a sob broke from your throat, and you covered your mouth with a hand, trying to muffle the sounds of your crying. You shook as you cried again, your dad hugging you close and murmuring to you to let it all out.

You never thought your friendship with Fernando would ever come to this. You weren’t even sure of how the buildup happened that led to this.

“I don’t recognize him anymore, Papá. I don’t recognize my best friend anymore,” you shook your head, your voice breaking in hiccups. You pressed the plant of your hand to your eyes to try and stop the tears falling down, but it was useless.

“It’s ok, bebé. You’re both hotheaded, you need to talk calmly, try and fix it.”

You didn’t try to talk to him. He was wrong when he brake tested you, and if he couldn’t apologize for that, and for the hurtful words he said, then it was better to stay that way.

It only got worse as the season went on, the team tried to force you to give him advantages, but you refused many times, making the competition for the World Drivers Championship be between the two of you.

“We need to talk,” Flavio called you a day after another one of your wins, one that Fernando placed third, one that he didn’t even look at your face when you were up there.

“What happened?” You sat down in front of him by the table.

“You have to follow team orders. When we say you have to switch places with Fernando, you switch. You are deliberately going against orders, what is going on? You and Fernando are now in a cold war, the media caught up, the other drivers caught up too, why-”

“Am I the only one getting lectured?” You crossed your arms, seeing Flavio getting red in the face, angry.

“No. I want answers from both of you, and the way you’re being aggressive with each other, we believe it’s better to talk to you separately,” Flavio sighed, “What is happening? Before it was interesting, a beautiful rivalry, but now you way past that. You’re harming your own races and the team.”

“You talk to Fernando. He thinks because I won’t back down he needs to use every dirty trick in the book to damage my race. If he can’t handle competition like an adult, then he shouldn’t be here.”

Suddenly, the door opened, which made you jump. Fernando walked inside, fuming.

“So that’s what you think of me?” He raised his voice.

“Yes, you have been acting like a fucking kid,” you stood up.

“Me? You told the whole world our friendship means nothing to you! Have you any idea how that made me feel?!” Fernando got closer.

“Do you know how many times people disdain my career to pin it to someone else? To attribute my successes to you, or to Flavio, or even my dad?! You’ve got no idea what it's like being a woman here!”

“Power got to your head! You think you have to walk all over everyone to get what you want!”

“Power?! Literally every man here does that! You do that too, Fernando!”

“Funny you say that since you wouldn’t even be here if it weren’t for me!” He shouted, pointing a finger to the ground.

“Fernando, stop.” Flavio muttered, coming closer to where you were face to face with Fernando.

You frowned, your anger completely dissipated and what was left was dread. And a bad feeling in the pit of your stomach.

“What?” You hated how your voice was nothing more than a vulnerable whisper.

“Fernando, enough!” Flavio commanded out loud, gesturing with a hand.

“What do you mean, Fernando?!” You asked again, ignoring Flavio trying to pacify the fight.

“I was the one to ask Flavio to sponsor you. I asked him to take a shot and invest in your career!” Fernando’s words were poison and in his eyes you couldn’t see anything left of your former best friend.

“Is it true, Flavio?” You asked but your eyes never left Fernando’s.

“Yes, but if we calm down, we can talk like adults.”

You couldn’t even come up with words, speechless not only from what Fernando told you, but from the tone he used. It was like he had punched you straight in the gut. You couldn’t contain your tears anymore, the lump in your throat threatening to suffocate you. You wanted to jump on him, to push him to the ground and punch his face. You wanted to scream in his face and call him all the dirty names you could think of. You tried to hold onto the anger but your limbs were still, and the pain expanded inside you like wildfire. He had lied to you, in the biggest step of your career he had lied to you. Even when you pressed for answers, he lied straight to your face.

You stared into his eyes one last time. It was the first time he had seen you really cry. He had seen you teary eyed or even emotional before, but it was the first time he had seen you truly cry.

“You’re dead to me, Fernando.”

Was all you managed to rasp, fat tears streaming down your cheeks. Flavio called your name as you walked away, but you never looked back and didn’t stop until you were inside your car, wailing like a baby. You sobbed all the way back to the hotel. You cried as you packed your bags, and tried but failed to contain your tears all the way back home, until you were at your parents’ door, sobbing on their sofa.

They didn’t ask anything until a couple of hours later when you managed to stop crying.

“I hate Fernando, so much, Mamá,” you whispered.

“Honey, don’t say that. Don’t do or say something you might regret later on,” She told you. You shook your head.

“I’m done with him. Done.” You bit back a sob, “he was so cruel, you had to see it.”

“He’s your best friend, dear. I’m sure it will be alright later on.”

“You should’ve seen the hate in his eyes, I don’t know him anymore. That’s not my Nano.”

So, your racing career was a lie. You didn’t make it because of your talent or your efforts. You were in Formula 1 because of Fernando. That was the cruelest thing someone ever said to you, not only because he was mean in the way he said it, but because with a few words he diminished your entire career. And what could you come up with to contest? He was right. You would never be there without him.

You wanted to give up so badly at that moment. You wanted to stay home and never come back, but you knew you couldn’t, your sense of duty was loud and you had to make it work. You had to prove that you deserved your spot in Formula 1, that all of Flavio’s forced investment on you was worth it.

You had to prove to Fernando you were more than a friend he pitied, more than a charity case he took so he could throw it at your face later.

It was one of the hardest things to realize and accept, the fact that he wasn’t your friend anymore. Maybe he never was. Despite all the disagreements the past couple of years, and all the beautiful history you had before the pinnacle of motorsport, maybe he never saw you as a friend. You thought you’d never treat a friend the way he treated you.

So you had to prove Fernando wrong.

NOTE: If you want to be tagged on part 2, please let me know in the comments!

#f1 fanfic #f1 x reader #f1 imagine #formula 1 #f1 fic #f1 #formula one #fernando alonso x you #fernando alonso x reader #fernando alonso #brocedes #Spotify

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luffyvace · 2 months

Text

Dating ~ Sanji Vinsmoke ~ headcanons

These are sfw and gender neutral

for Sanji’s big day! (I’m super late ik hush :3)

pt2 here my sillies :3 : Dating ~ Sanji Vinsmoke ~ headcanons pt2

Dating Sanji includes royal treatment. We all know this. It’s so obvious. 😭 It’s in the manga, it’s canon, we all write it in our headcanons. We know this.

Royal treatment meaning sit back and relax dear, Sanji’s got this. Sea beast? He beat it up and is now cooking a delicious and nutritious sea beast stew for you, would you like that with a smoothie? Lemonade? Water? Ok water. Sparkling? Distilled? Iced?

oh your lost? Don’t worry he’s got bread and he’ll leave breadcrumbs where you’ve walked so you don’t go in circles :)

your clothes are wet? Take his. 💋

there’s mud up ahead and you just bought a snazzy new fit? He’ll carry you 🏋️‍♂️

somebody bothering you loveliest? He’s already kicked them to Australia (extra hard if it was Zoro)

Dating Sanji includes good communication.

If you feel anything but a positive emotion Sanji is on the case. And the first victim he’s pointing fingers at is Zoro 😼

”MOSS HEAD BASTARD!! YOU MADE THEM UPSET DIDNT YOU?!”

it’s not a person darling? Well what happened? What can he do to help? Did you loose something? He’ll turn into a mad man causing chaos around town looking for it! Did it drop into the ocean? He swims as deep as he needs to in order to find it.

Honestly he even babies you about little stuff :P you stubbed your toe? Want him to massage it for you? That’s it! He’s breaking out the foot spa! Take off your socks and shoes!

he did something that really upset you?! Tell him what it is right away! He’ll make sure he never steps outta line ever again! He *kiss* never *kiss* meant *kiss* to *kiss* upset *kiss* you *kiss*~

Never feel hesitation to tell him if something’s wrong with you physically “Chopper! Come check them out right now!! They say somethings’ wrong!”

Nor mentally! You’ve been going through some tough times these last few months?! Sit down and tell him everything!! Let’s get to the root of this! Together! Is it someone else?? Did it happen from something??

Even if you aren’t feeling negative emotions right now always feel free to rant to him about what’s making you happy! he’d love to hear it truly! He loves your voice even more~ 🥰 *nose bleed*

Dating Sanji includes 5 star meals.

another thing we all know. And in every headcanon- but seriously what’s all your favorite meals, snacks and desserts? Even if Luffy himself says to make one thing he might make another just because he knows you like it. That guy eats anything anyway so he might as well just make what you like! 🧑‍🍳

Dating Sanji includes overly cheesy confessions despite the fact that your already and only dating.

”My dearest..I would love if you would go out with me and make this evening the loveliest of my days! I’d wholeheartedly accept and put my all into cooking for our first date….My love and affection with herb and spice…the flavor of our intense compatibility will melt on your tongue every bite you take! Guaranteed!”

”Sanji….we’ve been dating for xyz months/years now..”

”ahhh~ Even to the blossoms of this beautiful spring day know we’re simply destined to be..! Getting married tomorrow..it’s been my dream since we’ve first met! I can see it already, smell it even..! The enchanting scene of you walking down the isle, putting your hands in mine…kiss! The happiest day of my life has officially been sealed! Everyone’s clapping! Cheering! Whoop woo’s arise in the air of our love!~ The 6 layer cake I spent every ounce of my time baking since I met you, on the side of us—predicting our perfect wedding kiss! An exact model of the scene~ It brings a tear to my eye! I hope I don’t keep you up tonight, my darling love! Because I certainly won’t be able to sleep when I’m much too busy imagining the scene over and over again until our big day tomorrow, the same one I’ve been replaying in my head since I first laid eyes on you~ 😚”

”what on EARTH Sanji. We’re only dating! Wha- What do I even say to this?!”

”you could say yes! My lovely future spouse!~ 😍😍”

”To what! You haven’t even properly proposed to me yet?! Let alone made it official⁉️“

”ohh my honey! I didn’t know you wanted to get married- the wind! The sea! The birds even know our fate! We-“

”ALRIGHT!”

”SHUT IT SEAWEED HEAD!! DON’T INTERUPT ME WHILE IM CONFESSING MY LOVE to the most wonderful soul to have ever lived~”

⚔️🗡🔥💥💥💥⚔️🗡🔥💥⚔️🗡💥💥🔥

(Sanji and zoro fighting :3)

Dating Sanji includes sure fire protection.

no one will ever lay a hand on you. For a man? Self explanatory. Blast that motha sucka to space.💥 For a woman?? Welll…he’ll take all the hits for you okay?! So run away and go get Nami or Robin!! Hurry darling!

Dating Sanji includes trust.

more than anything he trusts you with his deepest darkest secrets. There’s no front when it’s just you two around, purely him. Not telling you his lineage was because he wanted to put that behind him..it wasn’t supposed to come back up. And man is he the most sorry sucker on earth when he betrays the strawhats. Because that means he’s betraying you. Pleasepleasepleasetakehimbackplease.

Uh guys I ran out of characters I’m gonna do a part two I guess 😭… I didn’t want to thooo

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dreamwritesimagines · 1 year

Text

Garden of Secrets [1] - Thorns

A.N: Let’s start my loves!❤ I hope you’ll like this chapter and please don’t forget to tell me what you think, thank you! ❤ And thanks to @theskytraveler for helping me with the story! ❤

Summary: First impressions can go either way.

Warnings: Mentions of unhappy family life and fighting, Regency era society and social rules.

Word Count: 3400

Series Masterlist

You had never been to a circus before, but as much as you’d heard, you were quite certain it was similar to being introduced to the high society of London.

Extravagant clothes, announcements and performing tricks with a dash of danger.

If endless chatter and gossip and constant criticism fell under the category of danger, at least.

“Oh how I’m glad it’s over,” you murmured as the carriage slowed down, then came to a stop in front of your house. “It’s almost a blessing one only debuts once if you ask me.”

“My dearest, come on now,” your aunt said with a small smile. “It wasn’t that bad, was it?”

“Not for me, no,” you admitted. “If anything it was dull, but I saw multiple ladies with tears in their eyes.”

The door of the carriage opened and you stepped out of it, then looked behind you to see the coachman helping your aunt out of the carriage as well. She linked her arm with yours before you both started walking towards the house down the stone road.

“Tears in their eyes?” she repeated. “Surely not. Who?”

“One of the Featherington sisters.”

“The one who tripped and fell in front of the queen?” she asked. “You could hardly blame her.”

“And um…what’s the name of the girl with those huge earrings?”

“Miss Grant?”

You snapped your fingers, “Yes, her,” you said as you slowly climbed up the stairs with her and entered the house. “You’d think being named the diamond is a matter of life or death, with the way people are acting.”

“I’m glad you brought it up actually,” she said as she gave her coat to the maid by the door. “Because I’ve heard—”

“Oh the glorious warriors are back from the battlefield it seems!” your uncle’s voice boomed through the hallway and you couldn’t help but smile slightly at his theatrics. Your aunt shook her head fondly, and looked up at the mezzanine where your uncle was leaning to the stair rails. He gave you a big smile and you and your aunt went up the marble stairs to reach him.

“My Clover,” he hugged you. “Was it terrible?”

You heaved a dramatic sigh. “More than you could imagine, uncle.”

He hummed, that playful glimmer shining in his eyes. “Was there blood?”

Your aunt gasped. “Howard!”

“What? I know how vicious ladies can be when they want to have more suitors than others dear,” he kissed your aunt’s cheek and she patted his arm.

“There wasn’t any blood but some tears,” you pointed out. “Much to my disappointment. I’d love to see people claw each other’s eyes out.”

“Oh you two…” your aunt said and entered the drawing room with you two following her. You took out the multiple feathers from your hair and tossed them on the coffee table.

“Where’s Teddy?”

“With his tutor,” your uncle said. “So? Am I in the presence of the diamond of the season?”

You scoffed. “Thankfully no.”

“That’s what I was saying though!” your aunt said. “I’ve heard some ladies say they were convinced you would be the diamond when they saw you. And her majesty took her time inspecting you, did she not? Y/N, if only you smiled a little in the ballroom …”

You made a face and shook your head.

“No no,” you said. “It wouldn’t have changed anything, Daphne Bridgerton being the diamond makes sense. She’s more beautiful and talented and educated and all that, she was basically born and raised to be the diamond. I learned how to play the piano about two years ago, and the only time I would do it willingly is if I ever wanted to torment somebody. Besides, I’m not—” you paused for a moment, then cleared your throat.

“I’m really not interested in being the diamond,” you managed to say. “More trouble than it’s worth.”

They exchanged glances and your uncle nodded.

“We’re happy if you’re happy, Clover.”

You offered him a tiny smile and stood up.

“Well I’ll change and go to the garden,” you said. “Send for me if you need anything?”

“Will do!”

You made your way upstairs to quickly change your gown and went downstairs again. Grabbing your gardening apron and tools from the small closet by the door, you stepped out of the house and made your way to the flower gardens. You put on the apron and put down the basket, then got on your knees to inspect a rose, frowning slightly before grabbing the pruning shears and getting to work.

You had always loved tending to gardens. Ever since you were a child, it had given you more joy than anything else, planting flowers and watching them grow, it was in fact the only happy memory you had of your childhood. Perhaps it was because it gave you an excuse to stay out of the house, but whatever the reason was, you had always stayed outside, spending hours in the tiny garden you could call your own back home.

More often than not, your older sister would join you. It wasn’t as if she was interested in gardening, at least not like you were, but perhaps she too sought for some peace and quiet, and it was impossible to find it in the house where your parents were. Almost every moment consisted of a fight, things thrown around, and sooner or later either you or her would get involved in it, and be subjected to the fury of your mother or your father, whoever was the closest.

So, staying outside was safer.

In a way, you and your sister had both found a way to stay safe later on in life. She had eloped three years ago with your help, and only a couple of months later your aunt and uncle had visited your parents’ house and had a long talk with your father about letting you and your little brother Teddy stay with them. They had no kids, and since it would mean that your mother and father would have two less mouths to feed, they had agreed quite fast.

Especially when your uncle had mentioned money.

You were quite certain you would always be in your uncle and aunt’s debt. Even though both of them claimed otherwise, it would have made more sense for them to take Teddy, since he was a boy and could be their heir and easily leave you behind in that hell, but they had done no such a thing and made sure to treat you and Teddy like their own.

They were the only parents Teddy could remember.

And you?

As far as you were concerned, your birth parents were dead.

“Y/N!” A gleeful scream made you turn your head and you dropped the shears before Teddy threw himself at you, wrapping his arms around your neck, and thankfully you’d had enough practice at catching him mid-air in the last couple of years so even though your whole body tilted back for a moment, you quickly regained your balance.

“Hello there!” you said, a big smile warming your face as you hugged him back. “What did we talk about sudden movements and sharp objects little man?”

He pulled back, giving you a huge grin.

“Did you trip in front of the Queen?”

You let out a small laugh. “Who told you that? Uncle?”

“He said someone always trips,” he said, excitement laced in his tone. “Did you?”

You shook your head and dropped your voice as if giving him a secret.

“Not me but someone tripped and fell down.”

He gasped. “Really?”

“Mm hm.”

“Then what happened?” he asked. “Is she in prison now?”

You bit back a smile. “No Teddy, no one goes to prison for that.”

“Even if it happened in front of the Queen?”

“Even then,” you said and wrapped your arms around him as he sat down to look at the flowers better.

“How was your day?”

“Boring,” he pouted. “Mr. Langdon says I must study harder.”

You hummed. “You know the rules,” you told him. “You want to be the smartest boy in Eton, do you not? When it’s time for you to go there—”

“I don’t want to go to Eton,” he cut you off and you pulled back to look at him better.

“Why not?”

“I’d miss you,” he mumbled, reaching you to touch the flowers and you felt your heart drop to your stomach at the idea of him going away all on his own. You heaved a sigh and opened your mouth to disagree, but then a tiny four leaf clover caught your sight, making you tilt your head.

This was also one of the reasons why your sister used to call you her lucky clover. Somehow, you managed to find those more than any other gardener.

You reached out to rip it, then held it up for Teddy to see, making him gasp.

“It has four leaves!”

“It does,” you said and put the tiny clover into the pocket on the lapel of his jacket. “See? It’ll bring you luck, in here or in Eton.”

He grinned at you and looked down at the clover.

“And,” you said, making him lift his head. “I’ll always be here for you, no matter where you are. Nothing could ever change that, alright?”

He paused for a moment and nodded fervently.

“Wonderful,” you said and reached inside the basket to pull out another pair of gloves. “Now, what do you say you help me with this?”

Of course everything that had happened in the Queen’s presence had found its way to Whistledown’s gossip columns, and the whole ton was buzzing with the expectation of the balls and social gatherings to come. You would be lying if you said you shared the sentiment, you’d much rather stay at home and deal with your garden, but this was the issue with having debuted, considering how your uncle and aunt were prominent members of the ton, you now had to join any and every social outing within the season, formal or not so formal.

Hence where you were now.

Lady Bridgerton had invited some of the new debutantes and their families for tea, probably to celebrate Daphne’s new status but to socialize as well.

In your opinion, this was nothing but an attempt to make horses become familiar with each other before putting them on the race tracks but your aunt was very excited about it, so of course you said you would go but now that you were here, you couldn’t wait to go back home. The Bridgerton house was beautiful, and Lady Bridgerton was quite nice but the rest of the guests?

Dear God, this was almost as much of a torment as listening to your own tune on the piano.

You made your way to the huge table to grab a glass of lemonade, ignoring the whispers coming from the circle of ladies on the other side of table but when one of them giggled, you turned your head to look at them. The girl stopped whispering with her friends and shot you a slight grin.

“So which one of them are you here for?”

You furrowed your brows and looked down at the lemonade in your hand.

“There are different types?”

“No, silly!” she said. “Which of the Bridgerton brothers are you here for?”

Your frown deepened. “What?”

“Oh none of them of course!” the other girl said. “Irene, stop getting her hopes up.”

You tilted your head. “I’m sorry?”

“I’m Kitty,” the girl introduced herself. “You’ve probably heard about me. Anyway, don’t get me wrong of course but I’ve heard some things about you, that you grew up quite poor until your uncle took you and your brother in so it’s better not to get your hopes up.”

You arched a brow, keeping your gaze on her.

“They say the Viscount won’t get married so if you’re hoping to get him, I’d forget about that plan right now.”

The Vis—

Ah.

Right, you had seen him talking to Daphne when you were leaving the court and quite frankly, you weren’t impressed.

Not that you thought you could be impressed by anyone’s looks.

“Not to worry, you can have him,” you said. “I’m not interested.”

Kitty and Irene exchanged glances and Kitty let out a scoff.

“Oh you’re after Benedict Bridgerton?” she asked. “The second son? That’s hopeless as well. Don’t even make any plans for it, the competition is too high and some say his attention has already been claimed.”

“Devastating,” you said with a completely straight face but it seemed to have gone over her head.

“And if you want to get Colin—”

“Are you planning on listing their whole family tree?” you cut her off. “Did you memorize it in your free time?”

Her jaw dropped and you shrugged your shoulders.

“I’m not jesting by the way, everyone needs a past time activity, yours just happens to be a strange one.”

A small chuckle reached your ears and you turned your glances to the two other girls standing close to you, one with red hair and one brunette.

“Eloise,” Kitty said. “And Penelope. How are you on this fine day?”

The brunette grinned.

“I’ve been better,” she said. “So have you, I suppose.”

Kitty gritted her teeth and Irene turned to you.

“Is it true you’re unable to smile?” she asked and you frowned.

“What?”

“Everyone says so,” she said. “That you have an illness of the sort. You can’t smile even if you want to.”

You stared at her for a moment, then took a deep breath and nodded.

“Yes,” you said. “It’s true.”

She pulled back slightly. “Really?”

“I don’t like to talk about it,” you said. “It was so unexpected. The tragedy struck when I was six years old, the doctors haven’t been able to find a cure or a cause since then. I don’t even remember how it feels to be able to smile to be honest with you.”

Her mouth opened agape in shock.

“And the worst part is,” you said. “The doctors fear it might be contagious.”

Irene gasped and grabbed Kitty’s arm, then pulled her to walk away from you to the other side of the room. You rolled your eyes and one of the girls let out a small chuckle.

“That was good,” she commented and the redhead repressed a laugh.

“She will tell everyone you were not nice to her though, just so you know.”

“I’m not interested in being nice,” you muttered and the brunette smiled.

“I respect that,” she said. “I’m Eloise Bridgerton and this is Penelope Featherington.”

“Lovely to meet you,” you said after introducing yourself and out of the corner of your eye you saw Daphne approaching the table.

“Hello,” she smiled at you brightly before turning to Eloise. “Eloise, where is Benedict?”

“With Lottie I’m guessing. They both disappeared.”

“How shocking,” Daphne said. “Mama wants to see you.”

Eloise heaved a sigh and nodded at you, then she and Penelope walked away. Daphne turned to you.

“Welcome to our home.”

“Thank you for inviting me,” you said. “And congratulations by the way, for being the diamond of the season.”

“Thank you!” she said, that bright smile lighting up her face again. “Some people say the Queen also considered you, I hope you do not resent me.”

You waved a hand in the air.

“Ah no I could never be the diamond, there’s nothing to resent,” you said. “Besides that’s just a rumor. The Queen was probably thinking about something else, I just happened to be there. You deserve that title much more than me.”

“I’m sure that’s not true.”

“Oh it is,” you said. “I assure you.”

She tilted her head.

“We’re all going to take turns to play tunes on the piano in a moment,” she said. “Would you like to play as well?”

“Depends,” you deadpanned. “Do you want to make sure everyone leaves in a hurry? Because that’s my musical talent.”

Daphne stared at you, then covered her mouth to hide her laugh.

“It is a talent nonetheless.”

“One that would prove to be useful against unwanted guests if you have any in here.”

“You have no idea,” she whispered but before she could say anything else, you both heard her name being called. She heaved a sigh.

“I must go,” she said. “But thank you for the conversation.”

“Anytime,” you said and watched her leave, then downed your lemonade. You had to leave before somehow your aunt came up with the bright idea of you sitting in front of that piano, and in your humble opinion this was enough socializing to last you for a day. You made your way to your aunt and touched her arm.

“I’m going back home auntie.”

“Oh?” she asked. “Already?”

“I drank too much lemonade I think, my stomach feels strange.”

“Oh I can—”

“You don’t have to come with me, Paula can chaperone me back home,” you cut her off. “She was with the other maids in the garden the last I saw her.”

“Are you sure?”

“Absolutely,” you said, “I will see you home?”

“Yes my dear,” she said and you kissed her cheek, then thanked Lady Bridgerton on your way out of the drawing room and stepped out to the hallway. You let out a relieved breath and stretched out, all your muscles sore from you being so tense since the moment you had arrived. You rubbed at your eyes, wondering whether your maid was still in the garden but before you could lower your hands a door opened and you crashed into a hard body with a gasp and the person grabbed you by the arm, making your head snapped up.

The man in front of you was tall, much taller than you. His waistcoat fit him perfectly, and you had a chance to glimpse at his muscular arms as he pulled you upright to help you regain your balance allowing you to see his face better. He was very handsome, there was no denying that, with bright blue eyes and black hair, along with a faint smile adorning his lips—

Alright.

Perhaps you could be impressed by someone’s looks then.

You paused only for a moment before you snapped out of your haze and your anger at yourself burned through you for even letting such a nonsense thought catch you off guard. He stared at you, his mouth slightly agape as if he was in the same haze as you were but you narrowed your eyes, glaring at him.

“Watch your step,” you nearly growled and a look of confusion crossed his handsome face, making him blink in silence a couple of times.

“…It’s—it’s my house?” he said slowly as if trying to see whether you were jesting. “I live here.”

You shrugged your shoulders, still glaring at him and he took a deep breath as if deciding to clear out any misunderstanding.

“I’m Benedict Bridgerton.”

Ah.

Well, that made sense. No wonder the competition was high—

From an objective stance, that was.

“Congratulations,” you deadpanned and a small giggle reached your ears, making Benedict turn to glare at the closed door behind him.

And that was probably the girl who had ‘claimed his attention’ as they put it. Not that you would be troubling yourself with it.

“Um— what about you?” he asked as he turned to you again. “What’s your name?”

You raised your brows. “Why?”

“To repeat, because you are in my house.”

“So are a lot of other ladies,” you said and pointed back with your thumb. “They are waiting for you in the drawing room.”

He grimaced as if the mere thought caused him pain. “Are they really?”

“My heartfelt sorrows for the hardships waiting for you, may you find a solace of some sort.”

“You don’t sound to be in sorrow.”

“This is how I sound in sorrow,” you pointed out drily and he seemed almost amused as he tilted his head.

“Will you really refuse to tell me your name?”

“That’s not important information,” you said and walked past him, the faint scent of his cologne mixing into your breath and you bit down on your lip, then started making your way downstairs.

“Why not?” he called out and you scoffed.

“I doubt we will ever talk to each other again Mr. Bridgerton,” you called back, your heels echoing on the marble of the foyer before you walked out of the house, not even looking back.

Chapter 2

#benedict bridgerton #benedict bridgerton x reader #bridgerton #bridgerton x reader #regency fic

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impossiblesongs · 2 months

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nobody loves me, it's true (dhawan!master x reader)

Summary: You don’t know why this kind of does it for you. What awful implications can be drawn from the outside, the probable one being that your husband hasn’t touched you in months. You are twin beings of woe, holed up in a frigid Russia.

Disclaimer: Not my characters. This is a disclaimer.

WARNING: this chapter may be pure filth. NC17. MINORS DNI AN: i've been trying to get better at smut and technically this is my third try at writing this kind of thing, but this is the first time i'm actually posting it, so....... jealous idiots = shameless rasputin smash. apologies to the late russian royals, you were but ploys in this virtually non-existent plot and i used the basest of my knowledge including you, so i beg of you: LOOK AWAY AN2: but is there plot here, you’d ask? to which, it’s a weekend before resurrection, i’d say. we all get a free pass?? AN3: fic title from 'sour times' by portishead

✍️✍️✍️fic masterlist

nobody loves me, it’s true dhawan!master x reader dhawan!master timeline: pre-power of the doctor

He’s virtually got an entire army at his beck and call, and yet you both find yourselves in St. Petersburg in 1916. Even with the survival of his beloved Cyber Masters, he spends more time committing himself to holiness and to Russia. You are virtually his shadow, garbed in black, his companion. A healer nun, or whatever he deigns to call you lately that has you able to slink around the palace virtually unbothered.

“She doesn’t speak, you see,” he once relayed to Alexandra, a tear in his eye, “attends to me, with astounding servitude.”

At first, it rankles, how he baits you with the softness he treats Alexandra, but he’s mostly sulking. He was plainly jealous after you met with the Doctor. Which is ridiculous, but as you are standing now, with seemingly no rhyme or reason other than sowing chaos, at least he was getting back to some kind of his usual business. Or so you tell yourself.

You hear him return to the cottage before you see him. You’d made it back before he had, tasked with monitoring the child royal while he played at politics.

“How fares our little blood clot today?”

“You have care of Alexei now, do you? Oh, I forgot, I’ve taken a vow of silence.”

“Snark does not become you, dearest,” he says, dropping onto the chair in front of the desk.

“Nor holiness you,” you say, “and yet.”

“Alexandra was a vision in white today,” the Master adds with a sigh. “She just about ravaged me with her gaze, you should have seen it. To be honest, I just don’t know how much longer she’ll be able to help herself.”

“Oh, you think you are so funny,” you tear your headdress from your head and run a hand through your hair, massaging the area. You don’t fail to note that he’s trailing your every move with hooded eyes. “Please, do leave your delusions to your alluded God. He’s just as baseless.”

“You know, dear, I think perhaps you’ve just convinced me to make the first move. I’ll seek her out in the dead of night, passing off terrible proclamations and offering heady absolutions,” he snaps his fingers, “all in one fell swoop. It seemed to work on you.”

Your lips spread in a wide smirk, your heart never used to the careless way he chips away at it these days, but you’ll be damned to show it. His lips want to pull up at the sight of your smile, you know the tells of it, but he fights to maintain his image of absolute indifference.

You find yourself walking forward slowly, nearing the table and him. His eyes remain rooted upon your approach, you see his body shift subtly towards you in attention. You wonder if he’s aware of it, what he’s telling himself about his outward reactions being so transparent, even in the face of his dastard cruelty.

His hair is longer than he’s ever had it with this face, beard frankly horrendous, eyes tinted a metallic blue. He looks enough the part of a madman, some cruel creature conjured up, comes to prey upon you and the unfathomable limitless existence you allow him.

You don’t know why this kind of does it for you. What awful implications can be drawn from the outside, the probable one being that your husband hasn’t touched you in months. You are twin beings of woe, holed up in a frigid Russia.

You skirt the side of his desk with a finger before moving to sit right at the center of it.

The Master splays his knees in answer but makes no further outward acquiesce to your nearness, his eyes remain speculative.

It stirs something in you, something so glaringly furious that it makes you frighteningly calm.

You toe off the stupid shoes that accompany this ridiculous get-up and prop one bare foot on his knee, whilst the other swings idly near his calf.

“I think if you made a move on Alexandra,” you say, “the Doctor would immediately know of it.”

The Master scoots his chair forward, effectively bridging the gap and prompting your foot to slide further up.

“Do you?” He queries conversationally, eyes peering off as in deep thought while his hand cups your other foot near his calf and brings it to sit on his thigh.

“Quite hard to gloss over an Empress with an icepick run through her eyeball, even if History bores you to death,” you say. "You wouldn't miss that new detail."

The Master laughs mildly, “You’d do that to me? Expose my plots? For jealousy?”

Without thinking further about it, you slip from the desk onto his lap easily and your fingers curl around the hair at the back of his head, pulling sharply. He hisses, body going taut beneath you. You bring your lips to his ear, “I think you know by now that I’d do more for less when it comes to you.”

His laughter comes in jagged huffs now, “Oh, I’d love to see you try, pet. You startle me, truly. Quaking in my gear.”

“You’re something,” you relent the hold on his hair and pull back to look at him, “I don’t know if you even notice it anymore, it’s been so long. But look at your hands.”

You watch him swallow and feel him flex his fingers. They’re clutching at the flesh at the back of your thighs under your dress. They’ve clearly wandered without his intent.

“Dear me,” he utters, eyes wide and watching you like you’re the only thing that exists in the world. His fingers start stroking nearer to where you want him most, watching as he trails the flush breaking across your skin. “Whatever will you do to answer to this offense?”

“Well,” you take care to speak gently against his lips, but you don’t press, you don’t give, “Father Grigori, I’d suppose, you’d have to beg for it.”

The Master’s eyes narrow and his face hardens, “I don’t beg, not for anyone.”

“Shame,” you lean back and press your legs together, retreating from the warmth of his touch and climbing off his lap with steel in your veins. You settle back on the desk, skin scalding from where he’s touched you, knickers already soaked through. “You’ve a good idea, though. Perchance I’ll go find myself an Emperor,” you say, voice husky, “I hear he’s a worshiping sort.”

The Master jolts upright and grasps your throat roughly in both hands, leaning closer to tower over you, almost swallowing you with the length of his body. You squirm with anticipation, delighting in the slow pressure of his hand, the dizzying and delicious effect when he squeezes.

This threat is so double-edged and precarious, that it will cost both of you. It’s reckless and dangerous, but he’s painfully livid at the mere idea. The insinuation of you sleeping with someone else all the while playing ignorant to the fact that he’d just threatened to do the same. Normally you’d loathe to stoke that fire, but if he’s going to bait you, it’s only fair to bully him in return.

“He’d have no idea,” you push even further, “the things I could show this Emperor. Imagine that, modern woman like me, effectively tainting the hand of Russia towards degeneracy. I’d do it again and again, and again. Poor Alexandra, there’d be no denying because I’d have his scent all over me. But, of course, you’d know. I even managed to show you a few things, didn’t I?”

He startles still when you grasp him through his clothes, face twisting in a way that’s akin to agony.

“Beg,” you coo, moving your hand in firm, even strokes.

Even with his robe giving him what you amount to the barest of sensations, he strains towards your touch, seeking the friction desperately.

“Or perhaps you should go find Alexandra,” you hiss, tearing your hand away and moving to stand, intending to push yourself away and leave him in his wanting.

The string snaps as it’s pulled, just like you estimated.

The Master’s fingers curl over said wrist with a swiftness you’d not expected, bending it backward painfully. You cry out just as his mouth crashes onto yours. He crowds your body up onto the desk further, bending your legs and hefting your wool skirt to your waist, manhandling you so roughly it makes your breath stutter from your lungs, has you spreading your legs wantonly.

He makes quick, uninventive work of it, but your blood and lust are already up, and you cry out gratefully when he pushes himself inside of you.

You must both make such grotesque misshapen figures, both virtually fully clothed and rutting against each other, chasing climax in the heart of Russia of all places. This isn’t initially where you’d considered he would finally crack, but then again, you thought he would give in months back. You’d never believed that either of you could keep your hands off one another once you’d both finally given into it.

“Beg,” you cry out, holding onto him fiercely as he bucks up into you, as you push back to meet him, “Master, beg me to fuck no one else but you.”

He digs deeply frustrated fingers into your hips and covers your mouth with his own, the kiss deep and mellowing. He’s hoping you’ll lose your play at power if he stows you away in the bewitching shade of his avidity. Of course, he forgets he’s so easily susceptible, too, and you have a point to prove.

“He’s just as tall as you,” you babble on nonsensically, your release just at the edge of your grasp it has you curling your toes in anticipation, “have you noticed? He’s just your height. Maybe he’d wear his uniform. I’d like that.”

The Master growls furiously, his hips already stuttering, dragging you closer, teetering you both right along that familiar edge.

“Beg, or I swear I’ll dare it. Oh, god, I’ll let him do whatever he likes,” your nip at the soft end of the Master’s ear, “but it’s your name I’ll call out, it’ll always be your name.”

Your orgasm hits you fiercely, robbing the breath right from you and prompting the Master to sob out his release almost in tandem. It whites out your vision, taking you plummeting up high to the heavens only to come smack right down into your body, slouched up against your husband, both of you breathing hard and indulging in quiet after.

It only fully registers as your senses return to you, that a torrent of soft pleas are coming from him as he holds you close and kisses your cheeks, your eyelids, the shell of your ear, your neck. His touch is reverent and doting, he’s gone putty in your hands. You open your eyes and what you see is so ridiculously beautiful. Cosplaying Rasputin aside, he’s the most adorable bastard you’ve ever met, truly.

“Please, don’t, don’t ever love anyone else,” he says. “Not like this, don’t ever do that to me.”

You kiss him quiet. Your physical affection assure him more than your words would, but you say it anyway. “As if I ever could.”

#the master x reader #dhawan!master x reader #wyrwtd

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thatsmzbitchtoyou · 16 days

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My Queen Chapter 1

Steve Rogers is the newly inherited Duke of Brooklyn, struggling to fix the mistakes of his parents while enduring an overbearing, matchmaking mother. He has no intention of anything romantic in his future, but will a forced love connection with the Queen change his mind?

Warnings: smut, slight domestic violence, minor character death

Steve sighed heavily as his mother, Sarah, blabbered on about court gossip. He poured over his father’s books, trying to budget and fix all the mistakes and figure out what damage had been done. His father, Joseph, had died a few weeks prior from alcohol poisoning while gambling away whatever money he had left, leaving Steve as the man of the house and the newly appointed Duke of Brooklyn. The debts were enormous, and after selling much of the valuables from their home as well as the summer home that his parents had bought years ago, he’d been able to finally break even. His mother had been beside herself as he’d sold her favorite things right out from underneath her, more worried about how it would make her look to her noble friends.

“Oh! And great news!” Sarah took the pen from his fingers and twirled away from him to get his attention.

“Ma, please,” Steve grunted, reaching for the pen back. “I don’t have time for this.”

“I’ve been speaking to the Queen’s privy counselor, Mr. Sam Wilson, you remember him,” she continued like she didn’t hear him.

“Yes, I know Sam,” Steve rolled his eyes. “We’ve been friends for many years.”

“He’s been looking for suitors for the Queen!” Sarah quipped excitedly. “She’s getting older and needs to marry and have an heir. And I reminded him of you and your lack of a wife–”

“Ma please tell me you didn’t,” Steve glared at her as he stood.

Sarah withered a little at his tone, her eyes widening as she finally stopped moving. “I…but it’s the Queen, dearest. She’d make you a great wife. And you a great husband!” Steve rubbed his face with his hands and started pacing around the room, Sarah following him. “She could help us get back into a better place, your connection to her could be incredibly advantageous–”

“What makes you think I want to marry?” Steve turned on her, his eyes blazing. “After watching you with Father all these years and how much you hated each other and brought out the worst in each other, pitting me against each of you, having affairs,” Sarah gasped. “Yes, I know all about them. You expect me to still want to chain myself to someone cut from the same cloth as you and all the other ridiculous nobility? That's not love. That’s not anything that I want to be a part of.”

Sarah’s eyes filled with tears at her son’s accusations. “How dare you,” she whimpered. “I’m your mother.”

“Unfortunately,” Steve hissed at her. “I want no part of your matchmaking games.”

Sarah straightened herself up. “Well that’s too bad, because you have an audience with her next Friday.”

Steve’s eyes widened, his brow furrowed, causing a deep crease between his eyes. “You…what?”

“A lunch date,” Sarah sniffed as she wiped her eyes hastily. “I’m trying to secure your future, and mine. You can hate me all you want, but I didn’t endure your father for 37 years just to throw it all away. You will meet her for lunch, be the gentleman I know you can be, flirt with her, and win her affections.”

Steve hung his head, sighing again. He clenched his fists and walked closer to Sarah, making her back up into the wall behind her. His eyes bored into her as he gritted his teeth. “I will go to this lunch. But after that, don’t you ever speak for me again.”

Sarah’s lips tightened to a thin line, defiance in her eyes, but she solemnly nodded.

***

“A lunch with Steve Rogers?” Y/N asked incredulously as she reviewed the itinerary for the week. “You can’t be serious.”

“Is there a problem, your Majesty?” Sam asked, looking bewildered.

“Well, he’s not exactly friendly,” Y/N said, looking at his name on the paper again. “I haven’t seen him at any events for…God, 15 years?”

“True,” Sam agreed. “He’s not one for the spotlight. And with his father’s gambling problems and recent death, he’s had a lot to deal with.”

“Of course,” Y/N agreed politely. She had sent his family a condolences card upon hearing of Joseph Rogers’ death, although he was not necessarily someone that would be missed in the community. She could understand how anyone would be embarrassed of their parents who acted in such a way so publicly and mishandled their family money. Her own parents caused a number of controversies during their reign. She had received multiple letters from Joseph and Sarah over the past few years asking her to increase their yearly nobility stipend money. “I know he’s your friend, Sam. I’m just surprised he would call on me.”

“Well…” Sam grimaced.

Y/N eyes narrowed at him. “Oh I see. Sarah is meddling again.”

Sam pursed his lips, looking to the ground and nodding. “Yes, she’s quite…enthusiastic.”

“Opportunistic,” Y/N corrected him. She sighed. “Well, this should be interesting.”

#marvel #smut #steve rogers #steve rogers x reader #duke!steve rogers x queen!reader #queen!reader #steve rogers fanfiction #royal au #modern royalty au #chapter 1 #series fanfic

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honney-pies · 6 months

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Ma Cherie ❤︎₊ ⊹

Chapter vi: Absence

Pairing: Inuokku/ F! Reader

Summary: the loss of someone in your life can be hard to navigate around, even more so when a relationship had only recently blossomed.

Length: 3.09k

A/N: hey y’all, i know it’s been a long time since i posted and that partially because things kept on popping up and i kinda forgot this fic even existed lol. I’m really sorry guys, I know it’s a short chapter, but i’ve had a lot of stuff going on this week and was unable to really sit down and write. Luckily my finals are now officially over, so i’ll have more time to write. I’m currently writing the next chapter, so that’ll be out sooner rather than later—if I remember to post lol. also the start is kinda weird and repetitive, i didn’t really know how to start it and i felt bad for making y’all wait this long

Ma Cherie Masterlist

While it’s only been three months out of the eight scheduled months of Yuta’s time abroad, Toge is going insane. He misses Yuta’s warmth, his reassurance, love, and his ability to understand (Y/n) in ways that he is unable to — even after all these years. The two still text and FaceTime regularly, but it’s not the same. (Y/n) helps to ease the pain, but their relationship had been so new when he left, it pains them both. In the days before Yuta left, (Y/n) scheduled them full of random date ideas, but this did nothing to slow the flow of tears at the airport as Yuta left for Africa with Miguel.

(Y/n), like her beloved, is losing her sanity. Don’t get her wrong, she loves Toge — she would’ve figured a way around the marriage if this wasn’t the case — but Yuta’s a breath of fresh air. A breath the young couple both desired and consumed to the fullest.

The dynamic between the two hadn’t necessarily been awkward once Yuta left, but after spending nearly every waking moment with someone, the relationship molds itself to have the other in it all the time. Yuta leaving made them reform their relationship for the fifth time. At first it had been (Y/n)andtoge and yuta, then it became (Y/n)andtogeandyuta. It was still the three of them, but with newfound distance they had been unprepared for.

One of the ways the trio compromised with the thousands of miles of useless space was many calls, texts, photos, and videos. This led to (Y/n) ‘asking’ her adoptive dad to upgrade her phone plan to accommodate the plethora of content growing in her phone.

“Toru-nii, I changed my storage plan. I got 2TB.”

“What?”

“It’s an extra forty dollars, so just a warning.”

“… Okay?”

“You’re paying for it.”

“When am I not paying for something?”

“ ‘Kay, thanks!”

With the accompanying spare time of one less person to be with, (Y/n) has been filling her days evolving her cursed technique, working on her friendship with her older brother, preparing Megumi for the dorms-

“I’m an empty nester!”

“You’re literally my teacher.”

“(Y/n)-Chan and Megumi-Chan are abandoning me!”

“We’re still seeing you everyday, Toru-nii.”

“Oh, I can still hear their voices haunting me. Dear Fates, what have I done to have been handed such a cruel deal in life?” (This can be applied to many situations in JJK, and frankly, it hurts).

Megumi grumbled before shuffling towards his warden, who’s on his knees in fake hysterics, and placed a gentle hand on Gojo’s head. No infinity stopping him. (Y/n) smiled softly and walked over to her small family. She wrapped her arms around her boys tightly.

-which has been fun. He got a room the hall over from his adoring, darling, dearest sister. However, this does little to thwart (Y/n) appearing at random. She felt it was her sisterly duty to materialize from thin air and either claim a spot in his room and play with his shikigami or would request his assistance.

Toge and (Y/n) had more time together than they’ve had in a while, but that did little to squash the ache in their chest for the absence of Yuta. Their beds were bigger and colder. Their rooms were more barren, and their days more boring. There wasn’t anyone else besides the two of them for a long time then they found another, only for them to leave and it hurt far more than they anticipated.

Toge and (Y/n) had been togeand(Y/n) for as long as they could remember; promised to each other at the ripe ages of three and four. Even though they never considered an addition to their love, Yuta wormed his way into their hearts and lives before leaving soon after. They didn’t know what to do, they didn’t know how to function.

Yuta wasn’t there to hang out with Megumi and make (Y/n)’s heart soar beyond belief. Yuta wasn’t there to get the things that the two of them couldn’t reach because they were both fairly short. Yuta wasn’t there to help ease the pain of Toge’s sore throat. Yuta wasn’t there to help on the days where (Y/n) could hardly get out of bed, so wracked with guilt and despair that the very thought of leaving the world hidden away beneath her covers was impossible.

Some times (Y/n)’s glad that he isn’t there, to be honest. She already feels bad enough that everyone has to see her on the days where everything is too much and she just wants to fade from this life and wait for the next one. After Yuta left, it got too much to handle. One less person to distract herself by giving every possible ounce of affection and adoration she could. (Y/n) tried to keep it to herself and deal with it in the early hours of the morning and the late hours of the night, but this did little to stop her melt down.

She became erratic during training, sloppy running drills, and has less self preservation. (Y/n) didn’t mean for any of this to happen, at least she doesn’t think so. She doesn’t want to die. She wants to grow all gross and wrinkly with her friends, family and lovers. She really does. However, in the hours where everything is still, in the hours where she has time to feel and remember, she can’t help but hurt.

—————

One day on a job with Noritoshi, everything came to a head. She lost control for the first time in a very long time. Her older brother, who had never seen this happen, did the only thing he could and called his teacher. Utahime arrived to see the siblings covered in blood, all the curses had been slaughtered and laid dismembered around them. Noritoshi held his little sister as tightly as he could as she sat quietly. Utahime, who also had never seen the girl like this, did the only thing she could and called Gojo.

“Ah Utahime, to what do I owe the pleasure-“

“Kamo-san, she’s… she’s…” The rustling of fabric and small voices in protests could be heard on the other end.

“What about my daughter? Did she get hurt under your watch? Where are you?” Gojo’s voice becoming that of a stern one laced with desperation gave Utahime whiplash.

“She’s not hurt, in fact I don’t think anything even touched her-”

“Spit it out.”

“She’s dripping in blood and there’s carcasses scattered everywhere, Gojo. Is there something I need to know?”

“I will be there soon. Call me again if there are any spikes in cursed energy.” Before Utahime could respond, the line clicked and an annoying jingle could be heard. The teacher and student watched as (Y/n) slowly blinked and reached into her skirt pocket, pulling out her phone.

Obviously it’s the one that came out just a few days ago, only the best for Gojo’s little girl.

“Dad.” The two strained their ears to hear the other end of the conversation, the girl rarely refers to Gojo as her dad around others.

“No, I’m not hurt.”

“No, it’s not my blood.”

“Yes, I’m with Nori-nii now.”

“I’ll see you soon.” Utahime wondered just how often this child has seen tragedy befall others for her to still be able to converse while being so clearly not okay. It’s a thought that made her uncomfortable, so she removed it from her mind to contemplate at a later date.

Like so many others.

Gojo arrived soon after and strode straight towards (Y/n). Noritoshi hesitantly handed her to him. Gojo pulls her taught to his chest and cradles her as he used to when they were younger. A time that felt so long ago. (Y/n) curled her hand into his clothes and cried. This made even more weight fall heavily on Satoru’s heart.

((Y/n) is a girl who cries often, this is true. She cries when: she watches a sad movie or show, when she reads a sad book, when she sees something adorable, when she’s angry, when she laughs hard enough, when she’s on her period, and occasionally when she shits. Despite this, she doesn’t typically cry when others think she should. (Y/n) has days where most can predict her tears, and most of the time they’re correct, but those are only a handful of days. Her family and friends have familiarized themselves with these dates and plan everything they can around it. She cries on her birthday, Christmas Eve, mid November, and her fallen loved one’s death days. Unfortunately, (Y/n) will soon not know life without tear stained cheeks and red eyes. She will survive, for better or for worse we do not know, but not without a trail of immense pain that will try to drown her at every turn).

“My sweet, baby girl. You’re safe. I’m here,” he murmurs softly for (Y/n)’s ears only. However, the silence that surrounds them allows the others to hear. Noritoshi feels slightly envious that (Y/n)’s father is so warm. He quickly banishes the thought, remembering some of the things she has had to endure to get the loving family she so rightfully deserves.

Satoru slowly turned and began to walk, not before turning back into his ‘strongest’ facade and looking at the other two.

“I don’t need to worry about a report on this.” This is not a question, nor is it a request. He stated it as an absolute, an indisputable fact such as the sky being blue or him being able to kill them without so much as lifting an arm. Utahime nodded quickly, so Noritoshi followed suit.

The father and daughter make their exit, letting Utahime finally ask questions.

“(Y/n) is in so much pain and I don’t think I will ever know just how deeply she has been hurting.”

This was the only information Noritoshi was willing to divulge to his elder. Utahime pats her student on the back, sighing, before getting back up.

“We will not breathe a word of this to anyone, not even your classmates or your father. Do you understand?” Noritoshi nodded his head.

“Yes, sensei.”

(Y/n) had spent the remainder of the day at home, in the luxurious penthouse Gojo had bought for their growing family. Her room, like the one at school, is covered with many different things. The only difference is that these things are far more personal and bittersweet than the ones at her dorm. Mementos of special occasions and intimate reminders of those she lost. It even smells of the past, of a time where all she knew was her mothers death, Suguru’s downfall, and the warmth of those close to her.

Rumor has it that Miguel spent hours either restraining or pleading Yuta to stay with him in Africa rather than be at his girlfriend's side. Toge is the person who ultimately convinced him to not come home. As much as he wanted him to, it would have only led to an extension of his time abroad.

———————

It’s not a very apparent thing, her pain. Only to those who know her well enough. So when she, and the rest of her classmates, gets summoned away for a mission and leaves her brother on his own, she’s fine. However, when she gets a call where all she can hear is her little brother wracked with sobs, she is far from okay. Her first thought is that Satoru is dead, which is quickly proven wrong when Ijichi pulls up with a message from him. She rushes to pile her necessities from the hotel which they were staying at and hurriedly gives her friends a goodbye and Toge a kiss on the cheek. Maki wouldn’t let her leave until she promised to give her a text when she got back to school and another text later that night.

Megumi, to put it gently, is a complete and utter wreck. He has snot dripping down his nose onto, and most likely into, his mouth. His eyes are puffy and his soft, porcelain skin has become red. (Y/n) desperately wants to whip out her phone and take a picture in order to blackmail him at a later date, but her first priority is to make sure her brother is okay, which he clearly isn’t.

“ ‘Gumi-” He practically launches himself through the air and into his big sister’s arms, seeking any comfort he can.

“He-he’s gone, nee-san! He’s gone!” (Y/n)’s brows furrow. “Who’s gone, ‘gumi?”

“Itadori!” (Y/n)’s eyes widen slightly, she has heard of the boy and how remarkable he is from her dad and brother. She didn’t think that Sukuna would have let his vessel die so soon, but she pushes the logic away from her mind for the moment. Megumi comes first, all else comes second.

“Oh, ‘gumi.” Megumi’s voice cracks repeatedly as his cries become louder. They might have only known each other for a small period of time, but Itadori clearly made a long lasting impression on her brother.

“He left me, (Y/n)!” (Y/n)'s heart aches with the remnants of her brother’s. She cradles him in her arms through the tears, even when he tires himself out from crying. Satoru arrives later in the night, noticeably distraught. He watches silently from the entrance of the room as (Y/n) and Megumi curl tightly around each other in his room. Satoru gently closes the door behind him and slips off his shoes, moving quietly towards the bed, wiggling his way behind his kids. He moves them closer to him and holds them tightly to his body.

The next day, after a little bit more crying, (Y/n) is introduced to Kugisaki Nobara, a sweet, headstrong girl. The two get along splendidly and the older of the two listens dutifully as Nobara speaks of Itadori. Even though she calls him an idiot, moron, and dumbass, (Y/n) knows that his death has rocked her deeply.

Later she questions Satoru about the incident, and his answers are vague at best.

“You’ll be very upset with me when you find out the truth.” (Y/n) sighs before placing a hand on his arm.

“You’re our dad, so I trust you blindly, but please think of Megumi in your choices.” Satoru has a solemn look on his face when she says this.

“I’m doing the smartest thing I can, I’m trying to keep everyone safe.” (Y/n) hums softly.

“So he is alive?” Satoru looks at his daughter, a slight twitch in his expression is all it takes for (Y/n) to know she’s correct. Sometimes Satoru can forget just how brilliant his daughter is.

“If you think it’s best to keep it quiet, I’ll follow your lead, but if I find out otherwise I’m telling them.” He nods. “I’d expect nothing less.”

Two days later, The other second years make the journey home while (Y/n) is in a meeting with the higher ups. An awful, boring, useless meeting. They desire to make her feel small and worthless, and above all else try to make her feel weak and (Y/n) hates feeling weak. She knows full well she can kill them. She knows her place above them, Satoru and Suguru had made sure of it, but that does little to help her when all they do is berate her and piss her off.

“For the last time, I don’t know anything about the circumstances of Itadori Yuji’s death, I can only assume it was during a mission. No, I have never met him. All second years have been on a mission for the past couple of weeks. Yes, I arrived home earlier than my peers to comfort Fushiguro after receiving news of his state. Should I find out that you had a hand in the death of an innocent child and our only way of stopping Sukuna, I will gladly let you know of my stance on the matter. However, I can save you the time and remind you who raised me. Now, I excuse myself from this unnecessary meeting.” Gojo is, of course, right outside the door when she steps out.

“That’s my girl.” (Y/n) smiles at him and walks with him to the car. The two play hand games in the back seat and make their way towards the school. When (Y/n) steps out of the car, she looks at Gojo to follow, but he doesn’t exit.

“I have a job, but I’ll come see you when I’m done. Keep an eye on Megumi?” (Y/n) frowns, but nods nonetheless. “Of course.”

She closes the car door with a slightly harder than necessary shove and walks up the stairs towards the entrance of the school.

“Wait… someone did die?” (Y/n) immediately recognizes her best friend's voice and hurriedly walks over.

“I told you in my text, or did you not read it?” Maki looks over her shoulder and rests her arm on (Y/n). “I skimmed it.” (Y/n) scoffs, “Rude.” Maki shoves her playfully.

“Kam-“

“(Y/n)”

“(Y/n)-san, are you friends with this girl?” (Y/n) looks at Nobara and nods.

“They’re my classmates. Don’t mind Maki, she didn’t mean to appear insensitive. Well at least, I don’t think she meant to.” Maki swats at the girl. She feels her fiancé’s hand intertwining itself with her own and she can’t help but smile. Nobara clearly sees this exchange due to the now grossed out expression on her face. (Y/n) just smiles sweetly at her and can hear Megumi gag faintly. She subtly sticks her tongue at the demon spawn.

In the future, (Y/n) will look back on this memory with fondness. In the future she will weep at the thought of how her brother once was and the fading remnants of Megumi in her mind. She will mourn her short lived friends, the impact they had on her with the small amount of time she had with them. She will think of the plethora of ‘what ifs’ that continuously plague her mind. (Y/n) will remember the final moments of her childhood and innocence with that lingering bitterness that follows nostalgia.

In the future (Y/n) will have one single wish of having that Time Turner from Harry Potter her Suguru would read to her as a small child.

______

Tysm for reading and i hoped you liked it! The next chapter, phosphenes, will be posted eventually. As always, this is crossposted on ao3 and nothing else. Please let me know if y’all find this somewhere else!

#honney-pies #jjk #jujutsu kaisen #inumaki toge #ma cherie #inumaki x okkotsu #inumaki x reader #inuokko #okkotsu yuuta #inuokko x reader #yuta x reader

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star-girl69 · 2 years

Note

hiii i love your daemyra series!!! i was wondering if u could write smth with daemyra x reader where the reader often has doubts and insecurities about her relationship with them (if its alright with u i would love if u could write her being plus sized too!!) and she has a breakdown and tries to hide that she cried but they are worried and tell her to tlak and then they just take care of her and reassure her and if u want to maybe some fluffy sex too tysm <33

a/n: hi anon! thank you so much for requesting i’ve been waiting for a daemyra x reader request for like, ever lmao. i’m also so glad you’re enjoying my daemyra series! i absolutely adore writing it and i’m glad i can provide a little bit of content for us!! i loved this request, but i unfortunately don’t write smut so i had to leave that part out. i hope you all enjoy!!

warnings: swearing, mentions of sex, getting drunk, possessiveness, mentions of alcohol, tell me if i misses anything!!

Perfect Thing

—-

“I think it’s time for us to leave, hm?” You turned towards you husband with a frown, staring at the amused smile on your lips.

“I wanna dance!”

“You’re drunk.” Rhaenyra rationalized, pulling your chair closer to her to brush hair out of your face, feeling the heat in your cheeks.

“Stop…” You groaned with a smile, blushing like you always did when they touched you. Even after years of being married to them.

“Oh, you dare to tell the heir to the throne what to do?”

“Please, just one dance with Lady Serena? She’s my dearest friend and I haven’t seen her in so long…” You looked at them pleadingly, knowing how to play your husband and wife like a violin.

Everyone knew that Daemon and Rhaenyra were wrapped around their wife’s little finger, but what wrong could their perfect wife do? You deserved anything and everything, and they took it upon themselves it give it to you.

“Go,” Daemon groaned. “But only one. I’m scared you’re going to fall over. Don’t spin too fast!”

But you were already running off into the crowd, finding Lady Serena who let out a squeal when she say you.

Serena was truly your closest friend, being the husband of a Crownlands lord very near to Dragonstone. She often visited the castle you resided in, and a fast friendship formed.

Serena let out a hiccup as she grabbed your hand, tugging you further into the crowd.

You danced with her clumsily, which mostly meant laughing and twirling each other around.

You two didn’t even notice that you had danced out of the crowd until you slammed into a pillar, falling into a fit of laughter.

“Uh-oh. Your- your things are staring at you.”

“What things?”

“Your things! The people that you- your husband and wife!”

“How did you forget the words?”

“I don’t know. Wine?”

“Probably,” you mused with a smile before bidding her goodbye, shuffling just around the edge of the crowd to get back to your Daemon and your Rhaenyra.

The crowd seemed to be swallowing you whole, and some sober part of yourself realized how drunk you were.

“I’m sorry!” You steadied yourself after bumping into someone, a Lannister lord by the lion on his collar.

He glared at you, taking notice of your Targaryen red dress and lack of white hair. But must have recognized you. “Fucking whore,” he sneered and walked away, and you felt the wine in your veins disappear.

You knew your marriage was unconventional, and you tried not to care about the opinions of others. You really did.

As Daemon told you, you were a princess and their wife. Don’t dirty your lips with talk of lies.

But you couldn’t help your mind be planted with dirt, with seeds of doubt flowering in you.

You had been plagued with nightmares of Daemon and Rhaenyra leaving you, of the court shaming you more than they already did.

You felt a hot tear slip down your face.

But your feet had carried you to your husband and wife, so you did your best to wipe the tears away.

“Ready to go? You must be exhausted-” Rhaenyra voice trailed off as she looked up at you, seeing something on your face. “Have you been crying? Did you get hurt? What happened?”

Daemon’s head whipped around from a conversation with a nearby lord, walking toward you hastily.

Rhaenyra stood next to you, looping your arm with yours while Daemon placed a hand under your chin to tilt your face up.

“You’re crying.” His voice was blunt, and that only served to further your shame and embarrassment.

“I’m not.” But the two did not believe you.

—-

You were silent during the walk back to your chambers, Rhaenyra keeping a tight hold on you and looked at you expectantly. You weren’t sure if she thought you were going to fall over crying or what, but her burning stare only made your shame grow.

They cared about you so much, and you couldn’t even believe them.

Rhaenyra let go of you with a hesitant arm, eyes following you and you settled onto the bed. You didn’t bother to take off you dress, simply slipping off your shoes.

The bed dipped a few minutes later, Daemon’s rough hand encompassing your shoulder. He tugged you closer, and you were powerless to resist him.

You laid on your back while he was on his side, looking at you in a way you couldn’t decipher.

“Nothings wrong.”

“You’re lying.”

“I’m not.”

“Just tell us, Y/N.” Most of the time Daemon enjoyed a game, but when you were hurt, all of that fell away. Leaving only the serious man you had been fascinated with, never believing that he could be yours and you could be his.

“I’m fine,” you hissed and he let out a dry laugh.

“Don’t be a brat.”

“I’m telling the truth.”

“You’re not-”

“Daemon.” Rhaenyra settled into bed on the other side of you, hair unpinned and flowing around her like a while halo. She looked beautiful, but you were too embarrassed to say anything. “Y/N, my love, please…”

“Nothings wrong!”

She pressed a hand to your cheek, turning your face toward her.

“You can tell us anything. We’ll never get mad at you. Never leave you. Anything, Y/N. Anything.”

And your resolve broke.

Because it was just Rhaenyra, just your Rhaenyra, and how could she ever lie to you?

“T-this- this man, I-I bumped into him and he- he called me a w-whore.”

Rhaenyra’s lips parted in shock, and you could feel Daemon tense behind you.

“He’s a lying cunt and I’ll kill him myself.” Daemon’s low voice in your ear did nothing to calm you, only causing the tears that had not left your eyes to start falling.

“Don’t cry. Don’t cry. It’s not true. Not true. I promise, sweetness, I promise.” Rhaenyra peppered kisses on your temple, hand still on your cheek in an effort to ground you, bring you back to your body.

Daemon hummed in your ear, a silent prayer to send you back but you were already gone. Untethered. You floated through the sky like a falling ash from a fire, like a leaf blowing in the wind.

“I try so hard not to believe it. I promise I do. But our marriage is… unconventional. I try not to believe it but it’s so hard when everyone else does. It’s so hard.” Sobs filled your voice, and you were surprised you were coherent enough to even have a conversation.

“You’re a princess,” Daemon murmured. “you’re-”

“I’m your wife, yes, I know. I shouldn’t dirty my mouth with lies. But they’re not lies, Daemon. They’re not. They’re not.”

“No, no. Don’t say that, Y/N. Who cares what they think, my love? We love you, and that’s all that matters. Forget about the rest of the world. Fade into us.”

“But I- I don’t even know if I-”

Rhaenyra’s hand curled around your chin, and Daemon wrapped a tight arm around your waist.

“Don’t ever question our love for you. We love you. We love you with all of us. We love you, and we will love you until the fucking sun disappears from the sky. We won’t stop loving you, even in death. If you were to call me from over my grave, I would rise from the dead. I would hear you in death, I would hear you a thousand miles away.”

“I would do anything for you. I will kill anyone for you. I will kill everyone who put these thoughts into your head. I will kill the man who called you such a hateful thing. Viserys may be the king, but he does not rule over my heart. Only you and Rhaenyra have the power over that.”

You let out a deep breath at their words.

“Thank you, you didn’t have too-”

“Don’t.” Rhaenyra murmured with a smile, placing a finger over your lip. “We will always comfort you. Always remind you that we love you. Now let’s get you out of that uncomfortable dress, our sweet little wife.”

“Perfect girl,” Daemon agreed, head dipping to press a hard kiss to the side of your neck.

“Best girl,” Rhaenyra placed a kiss onto your temple.

“Our girl,” Daemon murmured, teeth softly grazing your skin.

—-

Rhaenyra and Daemon slowly helped you out of your dress and corset, occasionally telling you how much they loved a random part of your body.

“I like your stomach best of all, though. Comfortable to lay on when you read to me.”

“The way your hand fits into mine is my favorite.”

“I like your cunt, too.”

“Daemon!”

After you changed into a soft silken nightgown, Daemon and Rhaenyra each shared a long, hard kiss with you. But with their soft touches and sweet words you didn’t need anymore convincing, wouod never need anymore convincing. Your Daemon and your Rhaenyra loved you, and that might be the most perfect thing, not you.

—-

#daemon x rhaenyra #daemon targaryen #daemon targaryen x reader #rhaenyra targaryen #rhaenyra targaryen x reader

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dujour13 · 10 months

Text

During my little holiday I wanted to get back in touch with my main muses and wrote some Act I stuff, just messing around with a different kind of pacing. I might insert it into L&C but it would take some retrofitting so just throwing it out here while I decide.

Warning - it's long, 2000 words under the cut. No one is under any obligation to read this 😂

Cross-legged on his narrow bed in the Defender’s Heart, using his flipped-over guitar as a writing desk, Siavash sat staring into the distance. The last few dozen letters he’d written to Kristov had ended up in the fireplace instead of the post, tearstained and torn up for shame. He didn’t even know how to open this one. “Dear Kristov” was too cold, “My dearest” worse, and no diplomatic training could prepare him for how to break terrible news to an ex he was supposed to be over. Tears of grief, frustration and no small measure of self-pity burned his eyes as he restarted for the third time.

He pressed his thumbs to his eyes and asked himself once again whether he really needed to write personally, knowing even as he did that there was no getting out of it. The Ambassador’s attaché had been a good friend to both of them; surely letting Kristov find out about her death without a word from him would be cruel. Yet every time he set pen to parchment he caught himself wanting to spill his whole heart.

I don’t understand why everyone’s dead and I’m not. I’m wounded and it won’t heal. Demons have besieged the city. It’s cold in Mendev and all they drink is terrible beer. I’m alone. I’m scared.

I miss you.

Maybe what he really missed was someone intimate enough to complain to. It had been two years since they separated and it wouldn’t be fair to put all this on Kristov. He needed to fight the urge to write things that would hurt or upset him, just as he had when writing to his own family about his wonderful adventures in Mendev.

For someone with no shortage of friends and even less difficulty making them, it was surprising how empty he could feel at times, especially haunted by the faces of his friends and colleagues who had died in the demon attack. What a merry band of Andorens they would all have made, leading the city defense like itinerant heroes, bonding over the bad beer and the glaring example Daeran made of the dangers of nepotism. And oh, how he would be fawned over with his strange (and still quite painful) wound.

Instead, the awful task fell to him to write letters to their friends and families bearing tidings that would destroy them. And here he was, still alive for no good reason.

Hovering, his pen let a black drop spill onto “My dearest.”

Stupid. He was over Kristov, as much as could be expected. It was just a childish need to be felt sorry for. He gave himself a wan, condescending smile. Just write the damn letter, play a sad song, cry a little and buck up. There are things to do.

Just when he had it under control, the Count walked right into his room and tossed his coat on the other bed like it was his own. “Weeping again?”

“Lamenting what’s become of the last of Mendev’s great families,” he returned with a brittle smile, shoving the parchment aside. “That bed’s occupied. You’re just helping yourself to it?”

“I am indeed moving in. Don’t take it personally; I’ve rather had my fill of sappy Desnans.” He patted his stomach and grimaced as if he’d overdone it on the sweet rolls. “In fact, what would it take to get you to push the beds together and clear out? Your former roommate went for six months’ salary. He’s sleeping on the floor in the common room for that and the dignity of the realm, so that my precious person should not suffer calumny.”

“I thought heaping calumny on your family name was your favorite pastime,” said Siavash. “Anyway no luck, Daeran. I’m wounded. I’m keeping my bed.”

The Count gave an annoyed sigh. “Fine. Well, I suppose one learns to make do in a siege. Go ahead and push the beds together, if you’re so keen.”

“You’ll have to find someone else in need of a couple months’ salary I’m afraid. You know, the more you open your mouth the more you reinforce my opinions on hereditary wealth.” Siavash grabbed his guitar and headed for the stairs in search of more agreeable company.

“Opinions we happen to share,” laughed Daeran behind him.

As he padded down to the common room in his stocking feet he was only half aware that he was seeking a certain charcoal-blue face in the crowd, someone he was sure could cheer him up.

There he was—the tiefling Woljif, chatting animatedly with Father Rathimus in the corner. Selling the priest something at a siege mark-up, no doubt. But just as Siavash headed that direction, Seelah beckoned loudly from the bar. “Hey, if it isn’t the best bard in the house.”

“And the worst,” he winked. He glanced again at the tiefling across the room, who quickly shifted his gaze away when their eyes met, but not without a spontaneous brightening of the smile he was putting to work on the priest.

“Need something to grease the wheels before you get started?” Seelah signaled the bartender.

He hesitated. Not only did he balk at the beer, he would rather trade tall tales with Woljif than play a set, although the tiefling seemed occupied anyway. Still, Seelah’s grin was hard to resist. “Sure, thanks.”

She passed him a mug. “Boy am I glad some god or other tossed a bard into the mix. Gotta keep morale up for another couple days until we can mop up the Gray Garrison.”

“I’m not sure I feel so lucky,” he chuckled, forcing down a mouthful. “Glad I can do my humble part though.”

“Ha, you mean besides brandishing an angelic sword at the head of the heroic city defense?”

“Come on, all I’ve been doing is aiming everybody else in the right direction and shouting encouragement from behind you.”

Seelah winked. “Got news for you. That’s what leaders do.”

“Hey chief, you gonna play a tune?” He hadn’t even seen the tiefling make his way over to the bar but there he was, wearing a surprisingly unguarded expression, tail flicking eagerly.

“I was thinking about it,” Siavash said, suddenly much more interested in playing than he’d been a few minutes ago. “Looks like this crowd could use some cheering up.”

“You oughtta charge,” Woljif said. The shifty, calculating look was suddenly back. “Or at least pass the hat around afterwards.”

Siavash laughed. The man was a paradox. At times undisguised innocence, like looking forward to a little music or demanding an apology from Sister Kerismei, and at other times three steps ahead of everyone devising a scheme to lighten someone’s purse. “With a captive audience that’s likely to damage my popularity,” he said. “Unless I pledge the coin to a charity reconstruction fund or something.”

The tiefling’s eyes lit up. “Hells, you’re good at this, chief. Sit tight, I’ll find you a hat.”

He settled on an empty mug instead of a hat. After the first set Siavash saw him making the rounds and decided not to say anything about it, just to see where it was headed. Thus as he sat with Seelah choking down another beer he was surprised when Woljif came back and threw a leg over the bench next to him, carefully pouring the jingling contents of the mug onto the table and sweeping the coins together with both hands, eyes glittering.

“Whaddaya say, chief? Good catch. So I was thinkin’, I’ll set aside fifty percent for the charity and cut you in ten.”

“And the other forty?” he asked out of curiosity, just to see what the tiefling would say.

“Overhead.” Woljif waved a dismissive hand.

“Where are you planning on setting aside the charity money? Under the floorboards?”

“Nah, I’ll invest it. Great opportunities with the city in this condition.” And Woljif proceeded to explain how fresh food transport was currently at a standstill except for a few more intrepid ox-drivers—by which he meant smugglers—who could be prevailed upon to make the risky journey given a sufficient injection of capital.

Siavash listened rapt. Woljif seemed to “know a guy who knew a guy” for just about anything and could turn a profit on a minimum of risk all while getting desperately needed food into the city center.

Not to mention the way the corner of his mouth curled appealingly in a conspiratorial smile, and the way his eyes shone excitedly in the lamplight as he talked. Although some might see in his yellow irises the touch of the Abyss, Siavash saw only a golden gleam of intelligence and that occasional surprising softness. Hope. An eagerness he kept forgetting to hide.

Which in turn brought out Siavash’s most reassuring manner, his gentle yet soul-penetrating smile that said What is good in you is safe with me. And what isn’t strictly good too. He watched him count out the coins, sorting them into small stacks, and wondered if he’d already pocketed a handful or two of “overhead,” but also, interestingly, whether this “investment” could actually help keep the halted economy of the city alive until the demons could be chased out.

Just one detail. “Sounds good. Except I think ten is a little low for doing all the heavy lifting.”

Woljif looked up from his stacks of coins and searched his gaze, eyes narrowing slightly.

“All right, chief. Twenty-five, that suit you?”

“That’ll do. In fact, I’ll tell you what—keep it and invest it for me.”

There was that look again: clear-eyed and hopeful. “You can count on me, chief. I’ll double it for you.”

“You’re trying to pull a profit in a city under siege?” Seelah huffed, knocking her mug on the table with a frown.

Something in Woljif’s gaze shut down. He leaned back and sighed.

“We need food, Woljif needs money,” shrugged Siavash. “Sounds like a win-win to me.”

Woljif blinked at him.

“Are you serious?” Seelah echoed the look but for a different reason.

“Yes, and I think you should invest too.”

She glanced back and forth at the two of them. “You know what? Fine. I’m gonna trust you on this one. Don’t make me regret it.” And she placed a handful of coins on the table, which Woljif quickly swept into his stack.

This time when his and Siavash’s eyes met they were both on the verge of bursting out laughing.

Siavash helped himself to a couple coppers. “Let me get you a drink, Woljif.”

“Uh—sure.” Woljif watched the coin disappear and this time he really did laugh. “Tea, lots a’ honey.”

As he headed for the bar, Woljif caught himself eyeing the chief—not for the first time—and wondering if he could actually have found the real deal, the business partner of his dreams.

Yet even if so, Desnans didn’t tend to linger in one place for long. The chief had hinted to Seelah he might stay on a bit and see through whatever mission the Andoren government had sent him on here, but he’d be off to Andoran again soon enough and that would be the end of it. Or would it? Maybe that was even better! An excuse to head south to warmer climes. His ticket out of here on a whole other level.

But of course, it was only a matter of time before the partnership went south, and not in the geographical sense. On the other hand by then maybe Woljif would be set up—a tidy investment fund and a few connections around Inner Sea ports from Augustana to Merab, some new business partners on the horizon.

Or… maybe… maybe it wouldn’t go sour. That was supposed to be possible, like in the ballads or the storybooks. Sure would be nice. He could get used to that smile, that music, the nice way the chief listened and didn’t interrupt.

Hells. Last time he thought he had himself an actual, well, business partner, reality had punched him in the mouth. Literally. Repeatedly.

He decided he’d have to keep a close eye on the chief, figure out his angle. See how the pieces fit together: the bardic charm, the angelic sword, the Desnan visions, the sensible approach to morality. And not get his hopes up.

The moment the chief turned his way with the tea Woljif realized he was staring, and whatever expression he was wearing it earned him the most dazzling smile he thought he’d ever seen in his whole life.

#pathfinder: wrath of the righteous #pwotr pals #siavash #siavash x woljif #woljif jefto #fanfic #my writing #kind of clinging protectively to my boys rn #keeping bg3 and work away from them

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askcannibalsaltbaker · 2 years

Text

oh yeah i forgot about this

ANOTHER PRIEST SALTBAKER FIC AYOOO it's kinda lazy

The church was as dark as always, you had become a frequent visitor, frequent enough that the pastor and you were on a first name basis, and had been for a while already. As you came in through the front door, the priest was picking up the bible he had left at the altar, his last sermon of the day had finished a couple of minutes ago. It was late in the night after all, he didn’t expect company, and he definitely didn’t expect you of all people. Still, he welcomed you with open arms.

–“Oh, hello Y/N. What brings you here at these hours of the night? Please do not tell me you came here all by yourself…”

You didn’t know full well why you were there in the first place. You have been feeling quite down lately, having some thoughts, some ideas, not very good ones. That led you to think you were being possessed by a demon or something along those lines. Because you had never felt this bad before. Besides, he was comforting, you just wanted to be near someone you could trust.

–“Hi Gent… Look, I’m sorry for coming in this late, I really don’t mean to interrupt anything but… I think i need an exorcism”

The father’s eyes widened in surprise. Looking at you in confusion. –”May I ask what prompted this?”

You sighed before speaking –”I.. I’ve been dealing with certain feelings lately, father. I think.. Maybe a demon could be the reason why I've been feeling this bad. It’s… It’s never been like this before” You didn’t mean to tear up right there in front of the priest, you didn’t want him to see you like this but you couldn’t help it any longer

He walked closer to you, wiping a tear off your face, accidentally cupping your cheek in the process. God, how you missed this kind of touch. It almost made you cry harder, you really, really needed something like this. And you were especially happy it was coming from him. You leaned into his hand, your face trying to twist itself into a poor attempt of a smile. Said smile backfired on you as you just shed a couple more tears.

He didn’t say a word, he just pulled you in for a hug. He held you tight, so tight, as if he were trying to protect you from the supposed demon who was tormenting you. You reached for his blessume and lightly pulled on it in despair, bringing yourself closer to him, sobbing into his chest. He started humming to calm you down, in that low velvety tone his voice was always in. The vibrations from his chest shot directly into your ears, it was quite soothing, honestly. You could fall asleep right then and there if you weren’t crying so much. Eventually he stopped holding on so tight, his worried grasp turning into a softer one, with his arms just barely squeezing you anymore. He moved one of his hands from your back to your head, it now playing with your hair.

–“You should have come earlier, dear. I had no idea you felt this way.”

–“Is it really that bad…?” –You said, scared to hear the answer. He chuckled in response.

–“Dearest, you are not possessed. Believe me. You just seem stressed. I’m sorry I couldn't help you earlier.”

You were relieved to say the least –”It’s not just stress, I can handle that. It’s just- I guess… I miss love? I know it sounds silly-”

His eyes shot open, he pulled back from you. Honestly, he couldn’t believe someone like you felt this way. He had liked you for so long he just assumed you were already in a relationship. He laughed to himself, which confused you.

–”Hey I’m serious over here!” you also giggled, that smile of his was contagious.

–”Ah- I’m sorry dear! I just find it funny… I could have done something about this before if I had known!”

You stopped to think for a bit, wait does he- –”Now, what’s that supposed to mean?”

–”... I know one must not tempt, especially not me but.. I couldn’t help it, not with you around. I feel about the same way you do, honestly… I also miss love, touch. All that.”

Your heart sank. You couldn’t bear to think someone else was going through this, you knew exactly how much it hurts. You stood on the tips of your toes as you grabbed his face with both your hands.

–”Well, you don’t have to worry about that either now! because- I love you.”

That look on his face. It was one of relief, astonishment, but over all, pure bliss. He leaned his head on your hands, immediately getting warmer. Now he was the one on brink of crying.

–”Oh, oh good.” He held your hand with both of his, kissing it –”I love you too.”

#chef saltbaker x reader #chef saltbaker #priest!saltbaker #cuphead dlc #cuphead

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franklyshipping · 1 year

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Dinner Is Served ~ A Markiplier and Jacksepticeye Ego Fanfic

HERE WE HAVE A FIC WRITTEN FROM A GORGEOUS ANONYMOUS PROMPT, SO PREPARE FOR SOME SNACKS AND GIGGLES! ALSO! This fic can technically be seen as a subtle sequel to ‘Definitely Not Hayfever’, so if you want a little context then give that one a read here! OKAY, NOW LET’S DO THIS!

TAGGING: @marvin-lee-magician-blog @marvinleemagician-blog @darkipli-ler and @silvlee-shepherd

‘Oh my GOD look! Everything’s so pretty!’

Dark and Jackie shared a fond look at Silver’s excited squeal, but as they too entered the lavish dining room they had to admit it was beyond gorgeous. The long oak table was dressed with a crimson tablecloth, silver place settings, black lace serviettes, and an ornate centrepiece of tall black candles, blooms of lilac hydrangeas, and painted taxidermy skulls. It was everything gothic and romantic and fancy, and the trio smiled in awe. Then their smiles widened when they spotted the man stood at the head of the table, the man who happened to be their host for the evening. Marvin was beaming at the three of them and dressed up to the nines, and clapped his hands together happily.

‘My dearest guests, welcome! Please do take your seats, the plaques on your plates will tell you where.’

Silver giggled at Marvin’s dramatics and shared a grin with Dark, who exhibited a little eyeroll. Nevertheless they took their seats, with Dark to Marvin’s left and Silver to Dark’s left. Meanwhile, Jackie strode to his boyfriend and pecked his cheek, grinning fondly.

‘This looks beautiful sweetheart.’

Marvin grinned, a little bashful flush appearing on his face as Jackie sat down to his right. But then he cleared his throat, and the showman returned as he looked around at them all.

‘Now then, I’m sure you’re all curious as to why you’ve been invited to this dinner. Well…’

Marvin paused a little for effect… and then his expression softened as he smiled at Dark, who straightened up at the attention.

‘Dark. Ever since I first came into being, you were there. You’ve been there for each and every one of us, and you always make all of us feel loved and special. You’ve made me feel special, and helped me understand who I am and what I’m capable of. For that, I will forever be grateful.’

Dark was shocked into silence, because he never would have predicted Marvin saying such things to him. He felt a rare warmth unfurl in his chest as he smiled at the magician, because as hard and cold his exterior might look, there is nothing he would not do for the happiness of the egos under his roof. Marvin now looked to Silver, tilting his head at him affectionately.

‘Silver… I swear you are the sweetest person on the face of the earth. You are constantly selfless, affectionate, perceptive, and you are one of the best friends I’ve ever had. I don’t know who I’d be if I didn’t have you in my life.’

Silver gasped softly, his eyes immediately welling up with tears as he beamed at Marvin. Silver always tried his best to be everything for his loved ones, so to hear this loveliness from Marvin just made his heart swell beyond measure. Then, Marvin’s heart fluttered with love as he gazed at Jackie.

‘My darling… love of my life. Your every glance, smile and laugh bring me joy. You are more beautiful than the infinite horizon, and you’ve made me realise that I deserve to be loved. I adore you, with all my heart.’

Jackie’s breath got caught in his throat. It didn’t matter how much time passed. The love he felt for Marvin was as fresh and fiery as the day it first sparked inside him, and he melted when Marvin bent down and kissed him. He held Marvin’s hand, watching his boyfriend look around at everyone again.

‘I guess this dinner is a thank you, to all of you, for being the most excellent loved ones a warlock could ever dream of having.’

With his free hand Marvin snapped his fingers, and he giggled when everyone gasped as their favourite dishes materialised in front of them. For Silver there was a hero-sized bowl of beautifully seasoned chicken noodle soup, and for Dark a rare fillet of steak with dauphinoise potatoes and Diane sauce. Then Jackie started giggling when he saw the soft-shell chicken tacos and nacho fries, specifically from Taco bell, in front of him. He grinned and pulled Marvin down for another kiss.

‘You’re a dork, and I adore you too.’

Marvin grinned happily, before taking his own seat and encouraging everyone to dig in. He himself summoned a salmon fillet on a bed of pesto, garlic and chilli tagliatelle to his plate, and thus the dinner commenced. Everyone ate happily, the food of course perfect in every way for everybody’s tastes and appetites. Dark rolled his eyes as Silver slurped eagerly at his soup.

‘Silver that soup will go up your nose if you’re not careful.’

‘I don’t care, it tastes so friggin good!’

Dark sighed at him, and then sent a playful glare when Silver stuck his tongue out at him. Marvin grinned at them, and then smirked when Jackie groaned happily into his third taco.

‘Do you two need a few minutes alone?’

Marvin glanced between Jackie and the taco before sending him a wink, making his hero blush and softly kick him under the table.

‘Shush.’

Of course, shortly after the kick Jackie sent him a little wink in return. The rest of the dinner went with plenty more banter and teasing, until everyone was wiping their mouths as their cleared dishes dematerialised into the air. As everyone slumped a little in their seats, Silver sent Marvin an eager smile.

‘Is there pudding?’

Everyone beamed affectionately at him, and Dark smirked as he gave Silver’s tummy a playful poke.

‘Someone has a hungry tummy today.’

Silver squeaked and batted his hand away with a flustered smile, and Marvin chuckled.

‘There’s plenty of pudding awaiting you, but let’s make sure you process your main first okay?’

Silver nodded with an adorable pout in place, his addiction to sweets as ever warming the hearts of everyone in the room. Now the group took a little time to relax in their seats, enjoy their varying beverages, and just let their main courses go down in a leisurely fashion. This was going well… but after a little time, our three guests started feeling things. Marvin was relaxed in his seat, but the others started becoming somewhat restless. Dark had these odd prickles sparking up the back of his neck, and Jackie felt the same prickles teasing his feet. He thought it was just pins and needles, not thinking much of it. Meanwhile, Silver was getting the same sensations at his tummy, and interestingly close to his outie navel. Marvin glanced between them all, and developed quite an interesting smirk.

‘You all seem a little restless, is there something wrong?’

Marvin’s confused guests squirmed even more as the prickles became more noticeable… and their eyes widened simultaneously as the feelings suddenly became familiar. They were tickly. They all looked at the smirking magician, realising that perhaps this dinner hadn’t been entirely innocent after all. Jackie was flushed, Silver was starting to giddily smile, and Dark was gritting his teeth and getting goose-bumps as he growled.

‘Marvin… what have you done?’

Marvin smirked, raising an innocent eyebrow at him.

‘Whatever do you mean Dark?’

‘Marvin yohou–’

Marvin grinned as he watched Dark succumb to his giggles, scrunching up and letting out a series of spluttery snickers, despite all his best efforts.

‘Whahatever spehell this ihis, Ihi demand yohou cehehease!’

Dark exclaimed, trying to glare at the magician, but it was impossible for him to look the least bit intimidating now. He was rubbing frantically at his neck and ears, trying to quell the streams of fluttery sparks that seemed to have invaded his very skin with unavoidable tickling. Meanwhile Jackie and Silver were also suffering with their own giggle fits, both of them curling up in their chairs as they watched Marvin saunter over to Dark, smiling down at him smugly.

‘There are no spells at work here, just a little special ingredient. Can you guess what it is?’

Dark spluttered incoherently, any reply being hindered by his ticklish chuckles and gasps as he desperately scrunched his neck – alas, it was useless. Marvin chuckled amusedly, but then turned when he heard an adorable squeal.

‘Th-The pohohohollen!’

It was Silver, who was tightly hugging his tummy as he giggled his flustered heart out. Marvin beamed at him, wandering over with a delighted smile on his face at Silver’s memory. Silver blushed as he recalled when he’d helped Marvin transport his tickle-pollen plant through the manor, along with Marvin telling him how he planned to harness the pollen to create tickly surprises for everyone. The hero really should have seen this coming.

‘Well remembered! Tell me Silver, does it tickle more inside your adorable tumtum, or was it worse last time?’

Marvin cooed down at Silver, who blushed even more and kicked his feet as he babbled.

‘Ihihihi dohon’t knohohow!’

‘Aww, poor little thing. I guess you’ll just have to keep giggling and hope for the best.’

Silver whined as Marvin chuckled at him, loving how it was affecting Silver so perfectly. Then though the magician’s heart jumped when he heard the utterly adorable cries of his boyfriend.

‘Thihihihis ihihis ehehevil!’

Marvin beamed, and took a few moments just to gaze at Jackie… and fall in love with him all over again. Jackie was frantically trying to rub his feet against the carpeted floor to banish the tickly sensations, but it was all for nought.

‘Evil? I thought you liked it when I came up with new tickly surprises?’

Marvin crooned and winked, bringing a handsome redness to Jackie’s face as he retorted.

‘Y-Yohohou shuhuhut ihit!’

‘Or what? You’ll kick your ticklish feet at me?’

Marvin teased back with a raised eyebrow, before he leant over him and cupped his jaw intimately. He trailed his thumb over one of Jackie’s heated cheeks, softening his voice to a playful purr.

‘I must say, I had a lot of fun tailoring each pollen concoction to you all. You, my love, should be getting lovely tingles up and down your arches… and they’ll be at your toes too before long.’

He pecked Jackie’s cheek chastely, before sauntering back around the table towards Dark. The suited ego’s hands were practically clamped to his neck now, but his deep, jumpy fits of giggles were unstoppable. Marvin’s eyes glimmered as he took in how much of a giggly mess he was, for it was oh so satisfying to see.

‘Now with you, I’m sure you’ve felt all that lovely fluttering up and down your neck. Don’t worry though, those hidden little nerves behind your ears will get their fair share of attention too.’

‘Yohohohou bahahahastahard!’

Dark exclaimed, his eyes widening not just at Marvin’s knowledge, but at the fact that he announced it for the whole damn room to hear! Marvin giggled, and then moved over to Silver who at this point was curled up adorably on the floor, squeaking and yipping from his tickly treatment.

‘And for you my sweet Silver… I think all those tummy tickles are creeping towards your giggle button right about now, aren’t they?’

Silver giggled even harder because yes, that was precisely what was happening to him. The wriggling hero pouted endearingly up at Marvin, babbling sweetly.

‘P-Plehehease, behehehe nihihihice! Mahahake ihit stahahap!’

‘Ohh I’m sorry, but no can do. You’ll just have to wait for your special spells to run their course.’

Marvin winked, and with the beautiful orchestra of pleading, threats, and wild mirth in his ears, got himself comfortable in his seat. He sneered, picked up his glass, and raised it to his dear guests.

‘Cheers.’

Marvin observed them all happily as the trio each descended into their own ticklish hells. Dark had his head pressed against the dinner table as his deep laughter started turning wheezy. The swirling, feather-like tickling behind his ears was driving him crazy as he spluttered streams of swear words under his breath. Meanwhile Jackie was snorting and yelping at the pinchy tickles he could feel under and in-between his toes; he had his fingers tangled in his messy hair as his adorable, dashing grin took over his face. Then there was Silver. The hero was a mess of near-incoherent squeals and babbles as teasing scratches invaded his outie… and all he could do was beg.

‘PLEHEHEASE! NAHAT THEHERE MAHAHARVYYY!’

Of course, at every little outburst from his guests Marvin would take the opportunity to tease them. Every single time.

‘Not your adorable belly button? But Silver, everyone knows that’s your favourite tickle spot! What kind of friend would I be if I neglected it, hm?’

Silver wailed adorably, arching his back from the newest swarm of tickling as Dark yelled out with an attempt at a glare in Marvin’s direction.

‘YOHOHOU’LL PAHAY FOR THIHIS!’

Marvin laughed warmly, resting his chin on his hand happily as he mused.

‘Ohh we’re doing more threats now? The tickles must be getting you good, huh Dark? Right at those hidden nooks behind your earlobes if I’m right.’

‘SHUHUT UHUHUP!’

Dark’s face bloomed with crimson, his head resolutely bumping the dinner table as Marvin giggled smugly.

‘Knew it.’

Then, a familiar cackle drew Marvin’s attention, and he sighed fondly at the sight of his boyfriend. In his humble opinion, Jackie’s ticklish hysteria was one of the most beautiful things in the entire world.

‘BAHAHABY PLEHEHEASE! NOHOHO MOHOHORE!’

Jackie, like Silver, had found himself curled up on the ground amidst his tickle torment. He was kicking wildly as Marvin came over and crouched by him, deciding to stroke through the hero’s tousled hair as he whispered flirtatiously.

‘God honey, you’re so handsome when you beg like that.’

Jackie was torn between melting into Marvin’s affection, or just biting at his hand like a feral cat – all he could really do though was just continue to laugh, his mirth bouncing about adorably alongside Silver’s hiccups and Dark’s snorts.

‘DOHOHON’T TEHEHEHEASE!!’

He cried out, making Marvin laugh fondly. Then the hero let out a soft squeak when Marvin planted a warm kiss on his forehead.

‘Oh come now, can you really expect me not to tease the man that I love?’

Jackie’s face looked like it was about to combust with redness as Marvin beamed at him, but then they both laughed when a high-pitched voice (belonging to Silver) called out.

‘GEHET A ROHOOM!’

Marvin rolled his eyes fondly, and then noticed how the collective mirth in the room was now starting to simmer down. The effects of his special ingredient were wearing off. He happily sighed, and sat with Jackie as the magical pollen left their systems gradually and carefully, allowing them to come down from the tickling in a way that was safe and soothing. Now the room was filled with quiet pants and giggles, and Marvin stroked Jackie’s cheek as he whispered lovingly.

‘You okay sweetie?’

Jackie nodded, the look in his eyes dreamy as Marvin gently kissed him. Then the magician grinned and called out playfully across the room.

‘You two alive over there?’

‘Barely.’

Dark retorted dryly, whilst Silver merely let out an adorable whine from the floor. Marvin and Jackie giggled as they stood up together, whilst Dark smiled fondly and helped Silver carefully get to his feet. They all stood together, and Dark sent Marvin a playful glare.

‘That was unnecessarily evil… I’m impressed.’

Marvin grinned with pride, and then giggled when Jackie hugged him sneakily from behind and purred.

‘I thought I’d gotten you out of your villainous tendencies?’

‘I guess you’ll have to try harder.’

Jackie rolled his eyes with a fond sigh, kissing the back of Marvin’s neck to make him titter. Then the magician snorted when Silver pouted at him pointedly.

‘That was mean. If my pudding isn’t the same size as me then I’m leaving.’

Everyone laughed, since Silver couldn’t help but let out his adorable smile.

‘There’s blankets and entirely pollen-free puddings in the movie room. Figured people might wanna snuggle.’

Marvin replied, and watched happily as Silver gasped and started yanking Dark to said room by his jacket sleeve.

‘YAY! Love you Marvy!’

Marvin giggled and prepared to follow, but Jackie turned him around. Marvin’s breath got caught in his throat as Jackie coaxed him close for a moment, before he kissed him deeply, holding the back of his neck in that special way that made Marvin melt. When they parted for air, Jackie kept his lips ghosting over Marvin’s as he whispered.

‘You really are magnificent, you know that?’

Marvin beamed and blushed brightly, and kissed Jackie softly before he replied with his own whisper.

‘And as ever, you are my wondrous hero.’

Jackie grinned, and then arm in arm the couple joined their dear friends, ate their bodyweight in wonderfully luxurious desserts, and binge-watched as many heart-warming cartoon films that they could get their hands on. Needless to say, this was a dinner that was fulfilling in many more ways than one.

WOOOO HOPE YOU GUYS LIKED THIS FIC LEMME KNOW IF YA DIIIID, WOOO LUV YOUS!!

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mosylufanfic · 2 years

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Of Spirits Ethereal and Alcoholic

I'm basing Jyn on the real-life person, Rose Mackenberg, who worked for Harry Houdini investigating scammy mediums so he could expose their fraud.

I listened to an episode of Stuff You Missed in History Class about her and it tickled me so much I envisioned Jyn and Cassian pulling the same scam on the scammers.

Of Spirits Ethereal and Alcoholic

New York City, 1923

The circle of people around the dining room table, holding hands, listened raptly to the woman at the head, who had her eyes shut and her head thrown back. In a peculiarly deep voice, she groaned, "My dearest child, my little stardust! Be happy, my dear! That is all your loving papa wants for you. Be happy!"

"Oh, Papa!" said the young lady at the other end of the table. "How can I be happy without you?"

"You must, my love! For I am gone to the great beyond and you must stay here in the land of the living."

"Papa," she wailed, but Madame Krennic had slumped, her head dropping forward like a marionette with the strings cut.

After a long moment, she breathed out, in a more womanly voice, "The spirits are gone."

As if on cue, the gas lamps turned back up, flooding the parlor with light and leaving the people crowded around the table blinking. The girl on the end sniffed into her handkerchief, tears coursing from her eyes.

"I must - yes, I must rest," Madame said mistily, pushing herself up from the table as if it took all her strength. "My dear Orson, you don't mind seeing to our guests?"

"No, of course not," he murmured. "Please, my love, allow me to help you out of the room." He took her arm and gently guided her to the door, and was back in a startlingly short amount of time for someone tending to his ailing love.

"I am so sorry we weren't able to contact all of your loved ones," he said to the most disgruntled-looking of the guests. "But we are at the mercy of her spirit familiar, you know, and there is only so much her constitution can stand. Perhaps if you come back tomorrow night?"

At the broad hint, they all began to get to their feet. Orson picked up a silver-ish plate and said pointedly. "Of course, Madame would never think of charging money to contact the spirits. But if your heart moves you to generosity, the merest pittance will allow her to continue her important work."

With a meaningful look, he passed the plate around, and if there was a certain greedy glint in his eyes as he heard the clink and rustle of money being set into it, nobody noticed.

He bowed to the gentlemen, pressed the delicate hands of the ladies, and saw them out.

Still dabbing her eyes, the girl who'd spoken to her Papa walked slowly down the street. She turned the corner and her gait became swifter, more purposeful. She stuffed the handkerchief, which strangely smelled of onions, into her clutch.

Another block and she found the bus stop and propped herself on the bench. She rustled in her clutch and pulled out a battered packet of cigarettes, popping one in her mouth. More rustling in the clutch, and some very unladylike language.

A hand appeared, with a cigarette lighter in it. "Miss Hallik. May I?"

She looked up, the cigarette dangling from her lips, and found the man who'd sat next to her at the seance. "Oh, Mr. Willix," she said in a shaky voice, very different from the one she;d been using a minute before. "If you would."

Cigarette lit, she leaned back and took a deep drag. "I just needed one to calm my nerves," she said, blowing out smoke. "It has been so long since I heard from my dear, dear Papa."

"Of course," he said. "You know, I think I've seen you before."

She gave him a quelling look. "I'm certain you haven't."

"The seance at the Great Blavatsky's house? I happened to be there as well. You don't remember me?"

She eyed him. "I think you had a beard," she said.

"Yes. And you were seeking to contact your sweet husband. Dead in the 'flu pandemic, wasn't it?"

"I have had a lot of deaths in my life," she said calmly, taking a drag of her cigarette. "It's all very tragic."

"Right, yes, but you were a widow of ten years' standing and your name was Mrs. Kestrel."

She gave a snort. "All right, what's the game, pal? You work for the Krennics?"

"If I did, I'd tell 'em that business with the knuckles is so old it's got moss growing on it."

Her lips quirked in appreciation. "She did good voices, though," she said. "Throwing her voice across the room like that, for the woman with the dead baby, was pretty slick."

In opposition to her careless words, there was a troubled look in her eyes.

"I take it your Papa's not really dead?" Willix said.

The troubled look disappeared. "Hell if I know. I haven't seen him in fifteen years. He might as well be."

"What's your game, then? You work for someone? One of Houdini's? Or maybe the Partisan."

"The Partisan?" she said contemptuously. "Lining my birdcage with that piece of trash would be a compliment. No, I'm independent."

"What's that mean, when it's at home?"

She smiled sweetly. "I blackmail them." She narrowed her eyes at him. "Until that stinking rag the Fulcrum exposes their tricks and they leave town. That's you, isn't it? Cassian Andor, star reporter?"

Caught, he gave her a smile. "Always nice to meet a fan."

"Wouldn't call myself that. You know how much work it is to do what I do?"

"I have an inkling. How about if I buy you a drink to apologize?"

She arched a brow. "You think you're gonna get on my good side by buying a damned sarsaparilla?"

"First of all, I haven't seen any evidence of a good side. And second, I can do better than a sarsaparilla."

His smooth entry into the speakeasy down the street, and the gin cocktail he bought her, loosened her up a treat. Smoking another cigarette at a tiny table up against the wall, she said, "You never answered me, you know. What's your deal, huh? I know why I do it. I like eating. But why do you put all this time into these con artists? Just to sell your paper?"

He swirled his own drink for a moment before answering. "The Krennics and people like them are parasites. They feed on grief and desperation. You know there are people who've lost everything they had trying to contact the ones they love?"

She shifted, looking uncomfortable for a split second. "They should know better."

"Perhaps they do," he acknowledged. "But hope is a hell of a thing."

"So you want to take that hope away from them? How cynical."

"I believe in hope. But it's a double-edged sword." He shrugged. "Sometimes, in life, you just lose people. One way or another. Nothing you can do about it but move on."

"Who did you lose?"

His eyes flicked up for a moment, then away. "We're not talking about me."

"Weren't we? My mistake. What were we talking about?"

Presented with such an opening, he took it. "About you coming to work at the Fulcrum."

She laughed loud enough to draw the attention of neighboring tables. "Pull the other one, pal, it's got bells on."

"No, I mean it."

"Why should I?"

"You could do exactly the same work without the blackmail part."

"The blackmail part is how I earn a living."

"We'll pay you."

"Sure you will. I've tried the newspaper gig before. Ten cents for every dollar the fella next to me makes. And since that fella's you - "

"I'll make sure you get paid equitably."

"You don't even know if I can write."

"You're the same Jyn Erso who wrote the best stories the Partisan ever published. And got pennies for it, clearly."

Pleasure and annoyance warred in her eyes.

"Listen. Wouldn't you like to leave off threatening people for a living?"

"You underestimate how much I enjoy threatening people."

"Yeah, and how often does one of them threaten you back?"

She took a gulp of her drink. "I can take care of myself."

"And then there's the fact that blackmail's illegal, and technically speaking, what they do isn't." Every medium and psychic he'd ever investigated was very careful to take donations, some cloaking themselves in the guise of a religious service. "It won't go well for you if one of them goes crying to the coppers."

She shrugged. "Only if I get caught."

He shook his head. "Which won't be too long. Listen, you going to the Scariftown tent revival next weekend?"

"Maybe."

"I'll meet you there. We'll write the story together. You'll get paid. Then you can make up your mind about something more permanent."

She rolled her eyes.

"I'm not hearing a no."

She leaned over and drowned her cigarette in his drink. "You're a dreamer, Cassian Andor. Thanks for the hooch." She got to her feet, snatched her clutch, and took off for the door.

He called after her, "Not a dreamer. I just believe in hope."

FINIS

#Cassian Andor #Jyn Erso #rebelcaptain #mosylufanfic lives up to her damn name #NaNo stories #historical AU #star wars

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oc-cafe · 2 years

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The Beginning Of The End (Episode 2)

Zuri managed to arrange a ball in mere hours, which even for her, is impressive. She manages to transform the entire castle, the town, the people and somehow, the entire royal family. She starts with me first, claiming that I take the longest to get ready, she acquires a lovely jazzberry coloured gown, she paints my lips a dark red and gives me one of her own extravagant necklaces to highlight the boat neckline, when I am finally able to look in the mirror, I see someone who is worthy of the title Princess, I look and feel beautiful. Zuri doesn’t stay with me for long, moving onto mother as quickly as possible.

When the ball begins, I am expected to sit at the head of court while mother addresses the returned soldiers. My only job at the moment is to sit still and appear regal, which considering my track record is an almost impossible task. We have been informed that father will be the last to return, as he wants to have a final word with the rulers of mesognes, and that they will be arriving with him. I adjust my glasses and quietly watch the party, not particularly in a mood to dance, I watch Zuri and Gabriel fool around. My sister had taken her shoes off at some point, probably to better feel the vibration caused by the music. They dance perfectly in sync, their bodies practically melded together, they are perfectly balanced, each other’s yin and yang, perfect in every way, their souls fused together. I find myself wondering if I will ever fall like that, if I will ever give myself to someone fully, and expect nothing back, to love like that is perhaps to truly live.

I tear my gaze away from them, not wanting to hurt myself any further. I watch as Eren pours himself a glass of wine. A highly illegal glass of wine. Finally! Something to distract me.

♕

“You know I could have you arrested for that, right?” I startle and whip around, there stands the heir.

“Oh leave me be, Daru, it’s not like this is the first time,” “Admitting to your crimes, huh Captain Abbas?” She laughs and I smile, I haven’t seen her laugh in so long, and despite the music, I can hear it, it’s a deep true laugh. I missed it. I missed her.

“Give it here, captain dearest.” She reaches for the glass and I tilt away, falling flat on my ass, the glass breaks, spilling wine all over my clean white shirt. I let out a string of curses, forgetting for a moment that the future queen of Aiga stands over me.

“Tch, don’t make me wash your mouth out with soap Eri, We can get you a tunic from one of the guest wings,” She helps me up, tutting at my misbehaviour.

♕

We walk around the castle like we did as children; we try to avoid running into the hundreds of servants running around, trying to finish the last few chores before joining the party. We help where we can but mostly we just talk. Even after months of letters, there is still much to discuss. From Gabriel and Zuri’s wedding to the war to the quality of life at sea, there is no topic left untouched. By the time we find a new shirt, we’ve lapsed into a comfortable silence.

I find myself, staring at Daru, trying to see if anything’s changed since we last met. Her hair’s definitely longer, she stands with more grace. No longer a child, her eyes seem darker tonight, lips redder, she looks regal, but if you look at her for a little long, you start to notice that she’s unsure of herself, you start to see that she feels inadequate. I tell her as much.

“I don’t feel inadequate! I’m Daraja Adesina, I am the picture of perfection honestly,” She still uses humour to deflect things, glad to know some things don’t change. “Are you?” Knowing fully well, that she has the power to banish me.

I’ve always been good at getting on people’s very last nerve, Daraja seems to be the only person who can withstand my constant bothering.

“I-” Whatever she says fades into the background as a ship rapidly approaches our shore, a ship bearing our crest. The king is finally home.

♕

Eren’s face splits into a grin, and I bristle, nothing that I have just confessed is something to be laughed at, but then I notice that they aren’t looking at me. No, of course not, their gaze instead is fixed on the window behind me.

“Wha-” The words are barely out of mouth before their cold hands are clasped around my wrist and I’m being dragged down towards the ball. I’m winded by the time we reach;my gown sticks to my back, a few strands of hair have escaped my bun and my crown is a little lopsided but I manage to look dignified and sophisticated. I might be a little too proud of that.

Eren is still smiling, his hair’s wild, the too big shirt hangs off her gangly frame but she looks alive, she reminds me of when we were children, racing and laughing, oblivious to the war on our shore. I shake my head, willing myself to focus on the present, not on what we have lost, on the party and not on the names etched onto the castle walls. I hope they will be there forever, a final remembrance of those forgotten.

“Dance with me,” Zuri’s voice is the one to pull me away, she’s breathless and shining, crown perched neatly on her head, laughter dancing in her eyes. I find myself laughing, happy to be alive, happy to dance with my sister, my head lounging delicately on her shoulder, her soft vanilla scent enveloping me and the soft murmur of music ebbing and flowing.

“Time to switch partners princess,” I turn and there stands Gabriel, his bright eyes glint in the dim light and he looks so very in love, my heart twists. I wonder if my parents lived like this before we were born. I step away and almost immediately am snatched away by Eren, they spin me around to the upbeat music, barely giving me a second to breathe before dipping into the next move. My worries fade, and I let myself flow with the music.

We dance for a long time, until my feet practically give out, and Eren has had his fill. I stumble to a dark corner, taking them with me, as he stumbles behind me, he picks up two glasses full of wine, a deep red which reminds me uncomfortably of blood, but I drink nonetheless, it tastes sweet and I feel it go to my head but I can’t bring myself to care.

As I calm down and start watching the others dance, my companion leans down and whispers “When we were talking,I saw our ship through the window upstairs, that’s why I brought you down, he should be right outside the door right now,” Before I fully process what they’ve said, the doors are thrown open and Vea Amaris barges in.

A/N : *banging pots and pans* LOOK ALIVE PEOPLE, THE UPDATE IS HERE. I'M SORRY, I HAD TO DO MATH, I APOLOGISE, THANKYOU FOR READING THOUGH.

Taglist (send an ask to be added or removed): @thisismisogynoir @ghostdragoncookie @mina-globes-and-maps @quakeismyhero @ialmostdonothingnew @gravitational-potential-energy @death-and-the-lady13 @otbyosh @fierreth-who @mister-finally-found-himself @coffeelovinggayidiot @pinkyy-promises @sassychaostrash @lesbiansayaishii @planet-alicorn @cool-way-to-die @brkh96 @i-likestuff86

Mod tag: @cringefail-swagless @athousandcherryblossoms

#battlecrown #written by: mod 🔥#battlecrown 2022 #captain Eren Abbas

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letters-from-the-gaps · 2 years

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I think I need to move the ghost

I think I need to move the ghost.

It’s been too long- months, years spent festering in the corner of my room. Whispering, muttering. Sometimes it screams, though those are thankfully less and less frequent these days. I think it’s just as sad as I am. How many days have we spent like this, catatonic on our respective sides of the studio apartment? How many hours have spilled past, staining the walls, dusting the sheets without either of us moving? Part of me thinks the Ghost is the reason for this stupor; if it would just leave, would just go away! If he would just realize his place at my side is not for him, if he would just stop trying to warm my sheets, then I would be fine! This is, of course, a cowardly stance. After all, was it not partly my fault that he left? So sure of myself, so steadfast in my own identity- swaddled in the love of a thousand others- that I bared not even a moment of mind towards him. Towards his own uncertainty. Oh, my love who could not be my love, I know it hurts to see me like this. I’ve let my own pity get the best of me, haven’t I? I still think of you fondly, you know.

Of course you know. How could you not, when you are still inundated in my being? I think of your voice when I hear the radio, and I think of your hands when I try to do the dishes (because you always had such skill, such patience, such delicacy!), and when I face down the decisions I have to make- once in a blue moon, when I gather the strength to screw my courage tight- it is your voice I listen to for council. My love. My dearest. I still pause for that fragile half-second between the too-loud clink of a dish and your voice from the other side. I wait for it when I know it will not come because I think I am afraid to move past it, that finite little pause. What if I break it? What if it is already broken? I have mourned for you in a thousand thousand ways. I think I have chained myself to them. I think that is why I need to move. To move you, my love.

And I think it begins like this: I do not blame you for what you did. You should have been able to trust your family, should never have had to fear your mother’s scorn or your father’s belt, and yet you did. They wanted to make you strong and in doing so they broke you. But I know that you were strong. You were strong in the little ways, in the ways that you held me, or the ways that you taught your students, or the ways that you showed kindness to strangers you would never see again. You were strong without thinking, and I will forever hold a kernel of resentment for your parents. You were never meant to swing from our ceiling, and you were never meant to stay here after you did. I think I have held you here. I do not blame you for what you did, but this is not all there is to the healing. The second part is this: I am angry at you for leaving. You were strong, but you never let me use my own strengths. You never let me council you, never let me close enough to stitch up the tears and gashes of your psyche, of your tender heart. I am angry at you for never letting me close enough to help you, for only showing me yourself in full after you were gone. I’m mad you did it in our home. I’m mad at how rarely you told me you loved me: not because I didn’t think you loved me. I knew you did, I knew it when you reminded me to eat, when you helped me pick out what to wear, when you cooked me my favorites after a long day, even if yours had been longer. No, I’m angry because you never trusted yourself enough to make that love tangible, real. Concrete.

These two dichotomies have to exist. I have to let them exist, because if I don’t I am terrified that you will never leave. That I will forever be a broken, lonely man, pining after his own lonely, broken man. I will not let that be how we- how you- are remembered. We were not broken men when you first kissed me, and we were not broken men when we moved into this little place, and I was not a broken man when I sobbed over your grave, and I will not be a broken man now. Come, my love. Help me up, and I will take you with me. Where are we going? I don’t rightly know- I thought we could just wander, us two? Maybe we’ll swing by the park, and you can bid the squirrels adieu. Maybe we’ll pass under the bridge, and I can give old Tom and Bill and Georgia some bread, or maybe some of your socks. Maybe we can stop by the schoolhouse. Maybe, maybe, maybe. Maybe this is how I will say goodbye, my love.

This is how I will move your ghost.

#grief tw #loss tw #homophobia mention #prose #queerness #hauntings #from between the gaps

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theshotsheardacrossworlds · 1 year

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Home

For Wolmeric Week 2023. Dagasi and Estinien await the return of their husband on a very special evening. SFW.

“Where the bloody hells is he?” Estinien grumbled, his countenance looking grumpier than usual. “He better not be late.”

Oh dear, my grumpy dragon is very, very grumpy today. Dagasi chuckled softly and laid her hand on his thigh. “I’m sure he’ll be home soon, love. He promised he wouldn’t be late, tonight of all nights.”

“Hmph.” He grunted and rolled his eyes. “We shall see about that. He can’t say no to those people and keeps us waiting—”

“Love please.” Dagasi sighed, now rubbing his thigh. “He’s an important man. The work he does is to make things better for Ishgard and for the future…” She glanced down at her swollen belly and smiled. “For our children.” Well, there’s one child in here at the moment but still! Hoping to have more!

“I know. I know.” Oh good, now he’s calming down. Estinien smiled ruefully at his wife and then kissed her head. “I simply want him here with us…he works far too hard…”

FACT.

“Who works too hard, pray tell?” A smooth, deep voice boomed from the entrance of the sitting room.

“You bloody well know, Aymeric!” Estinien grumbled, rising to kiss him. “It’s our fucking anniversary and you’ve kept us waiting!”

Oh for fuck’s sake.

Aymeric chuckled. “I’ll have you know, ser that I told my squires and various assistants to keep any and all official business away from our home for the next two days. I will be home with the two of you as promised.” As he faced Dagasi, he smiled brightly. “Technically, three of you. How are you feeling, darling? No, no, don’t get up.” He hurried to the couch, sat next to her, and kissed her softly on the lips. “You’re both doing well today?”

Dagasi nodded. “Oh yes love, we’re fine. Our little girl is very active.” There he goes. Him and Estinien equally love touching my belly and talking to Esme. Estinien is her “father” but they both are her fathers. How lucky you are, little one.

“There she is. Hello my daughter! You seem to be doing well. I’ll tell you about my day later—”

“AYMERIC! DINNER! NOW!” Estinien shouted, hands on his narrow hips. Someone is very hangry, and thankfully it’s not me. This time. Most of the time it is me.

Dagasi laughed as Aymeric rolled his eyes. “Do you mind helping me up, Aymeric love?”

“Of course, my dear. Take my hand.” He rose and assisted his wife to her feet. “I believe we’re having a selection of our favorites for dinner, if I’m correct.” Aymeric held Dagasi’s hand as they walked to the dining room.

She wrinkled her nose and giggled. “Yes. I had wanted to do all the cooking, but a certain someone insisted the cooks do it instead.”

Aymeric’s sapphire eyes twinkled. “Oh ho, I wonder if this certain someone is our beloved grump?”

Estinien grunted as he pulled out a chair for Dagasi. “You damn well know it. She shouldn’t be on her feet so long. Esme will be here in less than a moon, and Dagasi needs rest.”

As her two husbands settled in their seats (Aymeric across from me and Estinien next to me), Dagasi raised a glass of my favorite snurlberry lemonade. “Happy Anniversary, my loves. May our next year together continue to be happy, joyous, and—”

“Fruitful.” Estinien said as he winked at Dagasi. NAUGHTY MAN!

“Here, here! Happy Anniversary, my dearest hearts.” Aymeric said with what Dagasi thought were tears in his eyes. “Both of you mean so very much to me.”

With Aymeric and Dagasi’s eyes on Estinien, his face turned crimson. “Happy Anniversary. I love you both…and I’m forever grateful for the two of you. I’ve never known such happiness and did not think myself worthy of it. But nevertheless, you love me as I am…as I was…” He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “Thank you.” Don’t start bawling at the table. Don’t start bawling at the table. Don’t start…

“Oh Estinien,” Aymeric smiled as tears rolled down his cheeks. “You never need to thank us. We adore you, husband. Cheers!”

“Cheers!”

Dagasi was too busy weeping into her napkin to toast. Fuck. Now I won’t hear the end of it from Estinien! But at least we’re home. Together. All of us. And I will beat the shit out of anyone who asks to see Aymeric. HE’S OUR FOR THE NEXT TWO DAYS, ASSHOLES!

#dagasi qestir #aymeric de borel #estinien wyrmblood #estinien varlineau #wolestemeric?#remember dagasi is agi except she's a lizzer #wolmeric week 2023 #they're just all a bunch of dorks tbh #pregnancy #anniversary

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honney-pies · 6 months

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Ma Cherie ❤︎₊ ⊹

Chapter vi: Absence

Pairing: Inuokku/ F! Oc

Summary: the loss of someone in your life can be hard to navigate around, even more so when a relationship had only recently blossomed.

Length: 3.02k

Ma Cherie Masterlist

While it’s only been three months out of the eight scheduled months of Yuta’s time abroad, Toge is going insane. He misses Yuta’s warmth, his reassurance, love, and his ability to understand Kanae in ways that he is unable to — even after all these years. The two still text and FaceTime regularly, but it’s not the same. Kanae helps to ease the pain, but their relationship had been so new when he left, it pains them both. In the days before Yuta left, Kanae scheduled them full of random date ideas, but this did nothing to slow the flow of tears at the airport as Yuta left for Africa with Miguel.

Kanae, like her beloved, is losing her sanity. Don’t get her wrong, she loves Toge — she would’ve figured a way around the marriage if this wasn’t the case — but Yuta’s a breath of fresh air. A breath the young couple both desired and consumed to the fullest.

The dynamic between the two hadn’t necessarily been awkward once Yuta left, but after spending nearly every waking moment with someone, the relationship molds itself to have the other in it all the time. Yuta leaving made them reform their relationship for the fifth time. At first it had been kanaeandtoge and yuta, then it became kanaeandtogeandyuta. It was still the three of them, but with newfound distance they had been unprepared for.

One of the ways the trio compromised with the thousands of miles of useless space was many calls, texts, photos, and videos. This led to Kanae ‘asking’ her adoptive dad to upgrade her phone plan to accommodate the plethora of content growing in her phone.

“Toru-nii, I changed my storage plan. I got 2TB.”

“What?”

“It’s an extra forty dollars, so just a warning.”

“… Okay?”

“You’re paying for it.”

“When am I not paying for something?”

“ ‘Kay, thanks!”

With the accompanying spare time of one less person to be with, Kanae has been filling her days evolving her cursed technique, working on her friendship with her older brother, preparing Megumi for the dorms-

“I’m an empty nester!”

“You’re literally my teacher.”

“Kanae-Chan and Megumi-Chan are abandoning me!”

“We’re still seeing you everyday, Toru-nii.”

Megumi grumbled before shuffling towards his warden, who’s on his knees in fake hysterics, and placed a gentle hand on Gojo’s head. No infinity stopping him. Kanae smiled softly and walked over to her small family. She wrapped her arms around her boys tightly.

-which has been fun. He got a room the hall over from his adoring, darling, dearest sister. However, this does little to thwart Kanae appearing at random. She felt it was her sisterly duty to materialize from thin air and either claim a spot in his room and play with his shikigami or would request his assistance.

Toge and Kanae had more time together than they’ve had in a while, but that did little to squash the ache in their chest for the absence of Yuta. Their beds were bigger and colder. Their rooms were more barren, and their days more boring. There wasn’t anyone else besides the two of them for a long time then they found another, only for them to leave and it hurt far more than they anticipated.

Toge and Kanae had been togeandkanae for as long as they could remember; promised to each other at the ripe ages of three and four. Even though they never considered an addition to their love, Yuta wormed his way into their hearts and lives before leaving soon after. They didn’t know what to do, they didn’t know how to function.

Yuta wasn’t there to hang out with Megumi and make Kanae’s heart soar beyond belief. Yuta wasn’t there to get the things that the two of them couldn’t reach because they were both fairly short. Yuta wasn’t there to help ease the pain of Toge’s sore throat. Yuta wasn’t there to help on the days where Kanae could hardly get out of bed, so wracked with guilt and despair that the very thought of leaving the world hidden away beneath her covers was impossible.

Some times Kanae’s glad that he isn’t there, to be honest. She already feels bad enough that everyone has to see her on the days where everything is too much and she just wants to fade from this life and wait for the next one. After Yuta left, it got too much to handle. One less person to distract herself by giving every possible ounce of affection and adoration she could. Kanae tried to keep it to herself and deal with it in the early hours of the morning and the late hours of the night, but this did little to stop her melt down.

She became erratic during training, sloppy running drills, and has less self preservation. Kanae didn’t mean for any of this to happen, at least she doesn’t think so. She doesn’t want to die. She wants to grow all gross and wrinkly with her friends, family and lovers. She really does. However, in the hours where everything is still, in the hours where she has time to feel and remember, she can’t help but hurt.

—————

“Ah Utahime, to what do I owe the pleasure-“

“Kamo-san, she’s… she’s…” The rustling of fabric and small voices in protests could be heard on the other end.

“What about my daughter? Did she get hurt under your watch? Where are you?” Gojo’s voice becoming that of a stern one laced with desperation gave Utahime whiplash.

“She’s not hurt, in fact I don’t think anything even touched her-”

“Spit it out.”

“She’s dripping in blood and there’s carcasses scattered everywhere, Gojo. Is there something I need to know?”

“I will be there soon. Call me again if there are any spikes in cursed energy.” Before Utahime could respond, the line clicked and an annoying jingle could be heard. The teacher and student watched as Kanae slowly blinked and reached into her skirt pocket, pulling out her phone.

Obviously it’s the one that came out just a few days ago, only the best for Gojo’s little girl.

“Dad.” The two strained their ears to hear the other end of the conversation, the girl rarely refers to Gojo as her dad around others.

“No, I’m not hurt.”

“No, it’s not my blood.”

“Yes, I’m with Nori-nii now.”

Like so many others.

Gojo arrived soon after and strode straight towards Kanae. Noritoshi hesitantly handed her to him. Gojo pulls her taught to his chest and cradles her as he used to when they were younger. A time that felt so long ago. Kanae curled her hand into his clothes and cried. This made even more weight fall heavily on Satoru’s heart.

(Kanae is a girl who cries often, this is true. She cries when: she watches a sad movie or show, when she reads a sad book, when she sees something adorable, when she’s angry, when she laughs hard enough, when she’s on her period, and occasionally when she shits. Despite this, she doesn’t typically cry when others think she should. Kanae has days where most can predict her tears, and most of the time they’re correct, but those are only a handful of days. Her family and friends have familiarized themselves with these dates and plan everything they can around it. She cries on her birthday, Christmas Eve, mid November, and her fallen loved one’s death days. Unfortunately, Kanae will soon not know life without tear stained cheeks and red eyes. She will survive, for better or for worse we do not know, but not without a trail of immense pain that will try to drown her at every turn).

“My sweet, baby girl. You’re safe. I’m here,” he murmurs softly for Kanae’s ears only. However, the silence that surrounds them allows the others to hear. Noritoshi feels slightly envious that Kanae’s father is so warm. He quickly banishes the thought, remembering some of the things she has had to endure to get the loving family she so rightfully deserves.

Satoru slowly turned and began to walk, not before turning back into his ‘strongest’ facade and looking at the other two.

The father and daughter make their exit, letting Utahime finally ask questions.

“Kanae is in so much pain and I don’t think I will ever know just how deeply she has been hurting.”

This was the only information Noritoshi was willing to divulge to his elder. Utahime pats her student on the back, sighing, before getting back up.

“We will not breathe a word of this to anyone, not even your classmates or your father. Do you understand?” Noritoshi nodded his head.

“Yes, sensei.”

Kanae had spent the remainder of the day at home, in the luxurious penthouse Gojo had bought for their growing family. Her room, like the one at school, is covered with many different things. The only difference is that these things are far more personal and bittersweet than the ones at her dorm. Mementos of special occasions and intimate reminders of those she lost. It even smells of the past, of a time where all she knew was her mothers death, Suguru’s downfall, and the warmth of those close to her.

———————

Megumi, to put it gently, is a complete and utter wreck. He has snot dripping down his nose onto, and most likely into, his mouth. His eyes are puffy and his soft, porcelain skin has become red. Kanae desperately wants to whip out her phone and take a picture in order to blackmail him at a later date, but her first priority is to make sure her brother is okay, which he clearly isn’t.

“ ‘Gumi-” He practically launches himself through the air and into his big sister’s arms, seeking any comfort he can.

“He-he’s gone, nee-san! He’s gone!” Kanae’s brows furrow. “Who’s gone, ‘gumi?”

“Itadori!” Kanae’s eyes widen slightly, she has heard of the boy and how remarkable he is from her dad and brother. She didn’t think that Sukuna would have let his vessel die so soon, but she pushes the logic away from her mind for the moment. Megumi comes first, all else comes second.

“He left me, Kanae!” Kanae's heart aches with the remnants of her brother’s. She cradles him in her arms through the tears, even when he tires himself out from crying. Satoru arrives later in the night, noticeably distraught. He watches silently from the entrance of the room as Kanae and Megumi curl tightly around each other in his room. Satoru gently closes the door behind him and slips off his shoes, moving quietly towards the bed, wiggling his way behind his kids. He moves them closer to him and holds them tightly to his body.

The next day, after a little bit more crying, Kanae is introduced to Kugisaki Nobara, a sweet, headstrong girl. The two get along splendidly and the older of the two listens dutifully as Nobara speaks of Itadori. Even though she calls him an idiot, moron, and dumbass, Kanae knows that his death has rocked her deeply.

Later she questions Satoru about the incident, and his answers are vague at best.

“You’ll be very upset with me when you find out the truth.” Kanae sighs before placing a hand on his arm.

“You’re our dad, so I trust you blindly, but please think of Megumi in your choices.” Satoru has a solemn look on his face when she says this.

“I’m doing the smartest thing I can, I’m trying to keep everyone safe.” Kanae hums softly.

“So he is alive?” Satoru looks at his daughter, a slight twitch in his expression is all it takes for Kanae to know she’s correct. Sometimes Satoru can forget just how brilliant his daughter is.

“If you think it’s best to keep it quiet, I’ll follow your lead, but if I find out otherwise I’m telling them.” He nods. “I’d expect nothing less.”

Two days later, The other second years make the journey home while Kanae is in a meeting with the higher ups. An awful, boring, useless meeting. They desire to make her feel small and worthless, and above all else try to make her feel weak and Kanae hates feeling weak. She knows full well she can kill them. She knows her place above them, Satoru and Suguru had made sure of it, but that does little to help her when all they do is berate her and piss her off.

“That’s my girl.” Kanae smiles at him and walks with him to the car. The two play hand games in the back seat and make their way towards the school. When Kanae steps out of the car, she looks at Gojo to follow, but he doesn’t exit.

“I have a job, but I’ll come see you when I’m done. Keep an eye on Megumi?” Kanae frowns, but nods nonetheless. “Of course.”

She closes the car door with a slightly harder than necessary shove and walks up the stairs towards the entrance of the school.

“Wait… someone did die?” Kanae immediately recognizes her best friend's voice and hurriedly walks over.

“I told you in my text, or did you not read it?” Maki looks over her shoulder and rests her arm on Kanae. “I skimmed it.” Kanae scoffs, “Rude.” Maki shoves her playfully.

“Kam-“

“Kanae”

“Kanae-san, are you friends with this girl?” Kanae looks at Nobara and nods.

“They’re my classmates. Don’t mind Maki, she didn’t mean to appear insensitive. Well at least, I don’t think she meant to.” Maki swats at the girl. She feels her fiancé’s hand intertwining itself with her own and she can’t help but smile. Nobara clearly sees this exchange due to the now grossed out expression on her face. Kanae just smiles sweetly at her and can hear Megumi gag faintly. She subtly sticks her tongue at the demon spawn.

In the future, Kanae will look back on this memory with fondness. In the future she will weep at the thought of how her brother once was and the fading remnants of Megumi in her mind. She will mourn her short lived friends, the impact they had on her with the small amount of time she had with them. She will think of the plethora of ‘what ifs’ that continuously plague her mind. Kanae will remember the final moments of her childhood and innocence with that lingering bitterness that follows nostalgia.

In the future Kanae will have one single wish of having that Time Turner from Harry Potter her Suguru would read to her as a small child.

___________

#jjk #honney-pies #jujutsu kaisen #inumaki toge #ma cherie #okkotsu yuuta #inumaki x okkotsu #inuokko #inuokko x oc

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