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toxicanonymity · 3 months

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The Spread 2

THOMAS HEWITT X F!READER

WORD COUNT: 3.8k | SERIES MASTERLIST SUMMARY: Tommy takes care of you, his captive. He wants you to be okay, but he also has primal needs. WARNINGS: I8+ Dubcon (captivity/Stockholm) unsafe P in V, mild injuries from prior restraints, fingering, cum eating, thumb sucking. See also masterlist. SIZE & HAND KINK - Tommy is much larger than reader, can lift/maneuver her. He is canonically 6'5" and thicc. A/N: divider by @gasolinerainbowpuddles

Tommy kept you in the shed. It was a humbling, being at his mercy for your survival, but he attended to your basic needs better than you might have thought. He even unboarded a damaged window to let in some sunlight. From the inside of the shed, he nailed a sheet over the window frame so you could peek out without being seen. Through the old, dirty glass, you could see a tree stump, some logs, and in the distance, the garage where you had been laid out shackled to the table.

—-

In the yard, Tommy chopped wood on the tree stump. It was something to behold – his hulking body bending and flexing with each swing of the ax. His sheer mass. Watching him work, a tingle grew between your legs, and as soon as you felt it, your face heated up. You tried not to watch, instead inspecting the sheet's frayed bottom edge. After the echoes of wood-splitting stopped, you peeked out to see if he was coming your way, but he wasn’t.

He was removing his button-down shirt, a scene that stirred the heat of your core. His upper body was left in a stained white tee that stretched obscenely over his middle, his biceps, and his herculean back.

He resumed splitting the firewood. His weight would jiggle with each impact of the blade. You found yourself hoping his shirt would ride up so you could see just a little more of him, but the shirt was too long. You weren’t even sure if he wore boxers or briefs. What did it matter to you? It was a curiosity, really. All of him was. Such a man, a big, burly man, and something so primal about him.

The memory was hazy — your first physical experience with Tommy, when you were shackled to the big table. You had been delirious with fear and confusion. But you vividly recalled his head between your legs and the way he feasted on you, intruding his tongue, searching for more to drink. And you remembered how hard you came, even if you didn’t really want to.

You could have tried not to think about this. But the alternative was thinking about whether and how you’d ever get out of there. The world outside the shack was terrifying-–the strange, faded world you and your friends had stumbled into.

The property was full of hazardous scrap metal, broken glass, and barbed wire. You didn’t have any shoes. It crossed your mind to push out the window—another hazard in itself—-but the shed was a safe haven in the middle of an apocalyptic hellscape. If you could teleport home, sure, you would, but the thought of what lay outside the shed made you content to stay put for the time being. You had a feeling Tommy wouldn’t let you go anyway. He didn't say so. He didn't say anything at all. But it was the way he had yanked you back to him when you merely crawled toward the garage door. There was no way he would let you go, as long as he noticed you leaving.

You told yourself the danger outside was the only thing keeping you there. You told yourself Tommy was a bad man, or at best, a dangerous man. It was certainly safer to have him on your side. It was safer to have his protection. You tried to ignore the throb between your legs when you watched him. But you couldn't stop yourself from conjuring the sensation of his massive hands wrangling you to your feet, hauling you over his shoulder, gently nestling you into the wheelbarrow, covering you with blankets. It made your chest flutter to think about. With fear or desire, you couldn't be sure.

A while after Tommy finished his chore, the squeak of the wheelbarrow approached the shed. He unlocked it and pushed it open. The rays of light that poured in were full of dust. He froze for a moment, squinting at the sight of you in his shirt, huddled in the corner. You squinted back at the way his torso stretched his stained t-shirt. Finally, he nodded at you with a soft grunt and began to bring in the freshly chopped wood.

Each piece of wood looked like a twig, the way his hand wrapped around it. As he stacked the logs, the sweet stench of his sweat began to reach you. You felt very aware of your lack of panties and the way every scent hung in the air in this small space – Tommy’s sweat, the wood, the char on his apron.

When he was finished with the wood, Tommy lingered in the shed, wiping his hands off on his pants and looking at the stacks he made.

“Good job, Tommy,” you told him and watched his face soften.

The floor quivered under each step as he thudded toward you. He faced you and cautiously squatted, still looming over you even in his more compact state. You watched his eyes as they scanned your body. When his gaze lingered on your ankle, you realized you were idly caressing skin that had been rubbed raw from the metal cuff he shackled you with in the garage.

You withdrew your hand from the injury and pushed the shirt tail down between your legs, covering yourself as you reflexively tugged your knees closer to your chest. He gave a dissatisfied frown – you couldn’t see much of his mouth through his partial mask, but it colored the rest of his face. He held his enormous hand near your ankle, then glanced up at you hesitantly.

You nodded, and he grazed you so lightly you could barely feel it at first. Your foot looked so small and delicate, framed by Tommy’s hand. His thumb brushed over the discoloration. You winced, not in pain but Tommy huffed. His brows knitted together as he looked up to study your face. Only a moment after your eyes met, he looked down and shook his head at himself, then hesitantly brushed your ankle again, but not directly on the bruise.

“It’s okay,” you offered. “You didn’t mean to.”

He slowly nodded, but didn’t meet your eyes again. He lowered his knees to the floor, kneeling at your feet to inspect the rest of your body.

The other ankle wasn’t as bad, only a small mark. Then he looked at your arms. He took your hand in his and his eyes almost seemed to smile at the contrast of your delicate fingers in the cradle of his palm. He caressed his way up your wrist and arm, looking for damage. Your heart raced, and your insides swelled with need. No damage on that side.

He moved to the other side. He held your hand for a moment, but started at your shoulder this time. His fingers were feather-light on their way down your arm and made your hair stand on end. The exploratory caress drew a soft sigh out of you. Tommy glanced at your face when he heard it. You cleared your throat and looked away, throbbing as his fingers continued their path. His hand froze when he found a small but pronounced scrape on your wrist. He exhaled sharply through his nose, then his eyes weakened.

“It’s okay,” you reassured him,adjusting the shirt tail between your legs with your free hand as you felt yourself getting wet.

He held your wrist and gently caressed it, then let you have your hand back. You put your hands together and rested them between your legs, holding down the shirt tail. His gaze followed your hands, and his eyes narrowed. He looked at you for a second then tugged at the shirttail (his shirttail) that was providing what little modesty you were allowed.

Your heart skipped a beat and you moved your hands out of the way a little too fast, offering him access between your legs. He adjusted himself, and you ached at the thought of his cock. His breathing was shallow under the leather that covered his nose. He slowly, gently lifted the shirt, occasionally glancing at you for permission. He unbuttoned the bottom two buttons and you marveled at how those huge fingers made quick work of it. He pushed the shirt open at the bottom and out of the way.

He scooted back without taking his eyes away, and bent forward to inspect you. A lock of curls fell in front of his eye and he brushed it back, securing it under the tie of his mask. His head was now between your legs, and he braced an elbow on the hay-covered floor. His thumb brushed your inner thigh where it met your torso and you twitched in anticipation of his tongue lapping at your folds. How ravenous he was the day before. But Tommy took his time. He gently caressed your outer lips, one at a time. He lay his hand gently on your mound. He traced your inner thigh creases, eyes studious, concerned.

Then he nudged your legs further apart to make room for himself and braced both elbows on the floor. He used his thumbs to gently spread your outer lips. You held your breath as he simply gazed into his feast. He grunted and his face flushed. You let out a tiny shiver of pleasure and his eyes lept to yours with concern. You felt your face heat up.

He was worried he had hurt you there, too? You were moved by his apparent concern. You felt bad that he felt bad—for putting you in a sleeper hold, shackling you to a table, and having his way with you. Your face bristled when you thought of it that way.

Why did you feel sorry for him? You were just a toy he didn't want to break.

Still, you reassured him, “I’m fine.” He studied your face and nodded, then sniffed.

You should have been relieved when Tommy didn’t force his mouth on you again, but your heart fell when he sat up on his knees.

Tommy hesitantly approached your neck with one hand, and you nodded. He traced your vein. His thumb brushed over the front of your throat, and his fingers lingered where your neck met your shoulder. Then, his other hand came to your shirt, and he unbuttoned the rest of it. His fat fingers were so nimble.

Your nipples sharpened as the last button came undone. He looked at your face again, and this time it felt like more of a warning than an ask. He nudged the fabric apart, over your breasts. He inhaled sharply at the sight of them, but he didn’t let his eyes linger for long until they were pouring over your torso looking for other signs of damage from his ravishing. He ran his fingers and palms over your chest, your tummy, your sides, making your flesh erupt with goosebumps as his eyes scanned each area. Then he inhaled slow and deep as his attention returned to your breasts.

Without looking up, he cradled one breast. He closed his eyes for a moment as he felt the shape of it in his hand. He gently kneaded it. You bit your lip and closed your eyes. Then you felt his hot breath on your tit. You opened your eyes to see his pupils blown out under heavy eyelids as his lips approached. He took your nipple into his mouth and let his eyes close again as he tongued, then sucked it. He seemed to suck as much of your breast into his mouth as he could, grunting softly, before focusing back on your nipple, and suckling at it.

The mask made it hard to breathe through his nose, so he would break the seal of his mouth every couple of seconds before latching on again. He couldn’t seem to get enough, but his mouth was gentle. The pleasure zapped through your chest, down your torso to the floor, where you knew you were making a mess by now. He sucked, and tongued, and moaned, “Mm,” at a pitch that told you his voice must be sexy if he ever spoke. “Mmm,” he moaned into your breast again,and then a moan slipped out of you.

When he opened his eyes, he glanced up at you before releasing your tit. His mouth hung slightly open. He adjusted himself and inhaled a big chest full of air. Your thighs opened slightly, and it didn’t go unnoticed. He palmed himself over his pants and when he took his hand away, your breath hitched at the thick, curved shape sitting on his enormous thigh.

—--

Tommy looked around for a moment, seeming to consider the situation, which was that your legs were spread with him between them.

He reached between your thighs and gently caressed your folds with the backs of two fingers.. The quietest growl escaped his chest. He rubbed himself once over his pants, then he straddled your leg and approached your cunt palm-up. His thick, dark eyelashes fluttered as he looked down at his hand engulfing your pussy. His four fingers barely fit between your thighs. A finger prodded ever so slightly at your entrance, and your hole fluttered needily, making him grunt. You tensed as he wriggled his ring finger inside to the first knuckle. How did you feel so full already? He braced one hand on the wall behind you, and slid his digit further into you with a barely audible gasp. He held his finger there for a moment, enveloped in your snug, throbbing warmth,with you melting under his touch, fully relaxing back against the wall.

Tommy loomed over you on his knees. As he fucked you with his finger, your half-lidded eyes were fixed on the massive erection on his thigh. He prodded your hole with another finger and his hips pushed forward as he tried to wedge it inside with the other. You gasped as the second finger stretched you wide. You whimpered and he withdrew the second digit. He didn’t have to, but it wasn’t what you really wanted anyway.

You found your hand reaching for his thigh. And at first contact, your chest opened up, flooding you with desire. You traced the hard shape in his pants, and the stiff warmth under your palm made you twitch and swoon. It made you needy and sleepy. He moaned, then shuddered and slid his wet fingers out of your cunt.

He glanced behind himself at the door, then unbuttoned his pants and pulled down his underwear.

With you slumped down against the wall, and Tommy on his knees, his massive cock was almost at eye level and you couldn’t look away from it. He held it in a loose fist, and looked you over. He tilted his head, then let go of his cock, letting it bob heavily as he leaned forward and scooped you up with his hands under your arms. He brought you into straddling his folded knees. His cock brushed your folds as his arm wrapped around you, and he held you close. He smelled like fire and man.

He clumsily tried to pull you down without taking care to make sure it was lined up just right.

“Wait,” you whispered. “Just a second,” and you made a move to try to help him find the right place.

But he grumbled and held you tighter. He reached under you with one hand, still holding you with the other. He got his tip into place, then with his massive arm around you, he forced you down on his cock, dividing your walls which were still a little tender from the first time. He groaned as he bottomed out as deep as he could be. You whimpered with the burn and were grateful for the prelude – his painstakingly light touch and feral suckling had made you so wet.

Your body adapted, and soon, the overwhelming feeling was one of being occupied, your insides perfectly rearranged to fit him just right. He held your hips, dwarfing your torso with his massive hands. He held you all the way on his cock, his chest expanding with deep breaths. His cock twitched as your walls slowly welcomed his monstrous girth.

After holding you impaled on his cock for a minute, you briefly spasmed around it. He took a deep breath through his mouth, letting it out as a growl. He began to move you up and down on his shaft, using his hands. It felt like you were split in two. He moved you faster and faster and you whimpered as he bounced you like a rag doll on his massive cock, making your gut dizzy with pleasure the faster he went. You held on tight, gripping his tight t-shirt, then putting your hands around his neck, nestled under his dampening hair, against the cool sweat of his skin.

He got up on his knees and braced a hand against the wall behind you, holding you steady with his other arm. You held on tighter. He thrust into you as he held you steady. He used you as a sleeve for his pleasure. As his massive length pummeled into you, he grunted and sighed. His muffled, feral sounds touched something deep in your core and lit it on fire. The sweat of his shirt wafted into your nostrils. His hair grazed your head as he pounded you.

He stopped, fully seated within your warmth, and nudged his shirt off your shoulders so you were totally nude. Then he began moving you slower, up and down his length. You could feel each vein of his cock as it dragged heavily, pushing itself through your soft, snug channel with each stroke. Your hips moved, grinding you against the softness of his pelvic area. You wedged your hand between the two of you and he flinched at the feeling of your knuckles digging into his belly. He snatched your hand and moved it.

His grip became bruising as he took back control. He moved you at a jackhammer pace and your chest opened up with butterflies as you got closer and closer. He grunted and snarled and you hung onto the edge of bliss until you couldn’t, and you fully unraveled around his cock, whimpering and moaning with each contraction. He fucked you through it until you finally whimpered, “Tommy.” He growled and held you still. He tilted his head at you. You closed your eyes and took a deep breath, inhaling the strong musk, the sweat, the char, the wood, as your body drew itself back together.

With you still on his cock, Tommy bent forward and laid you down on the hay-covered floor. It scratched your back, but your body was buzzing so warmly you didn’t mind.

—

He slowly withdrew his length, then he held it in his hand, and you marveled at it-–thick, veiny, dripping. Wild, dark hair wet with a faintly white blend of his precum and you.

He hadn’t cum yet. You wanted him to. You wanted so badly to see him cum. You could smell it, practically taste it.

He braced one hand on his knee and with a barely audible groan, he stood up, pants still undone. You felt a sense of loss as he moved away.

Tommy glanced toward the window, then turned away from you. He squeezed his cock and pulled his underwear up over it.

“No,” you protested. “No, you don’t have to—come back,” you pleaded. “It’s okay.” You got up on your knees. He watched you skeptically, chest heaving. You wondered if he hadn’t cum in front of anyone before. “I would like to,” you started, then cleared your throat. “Please put it in my mouth, I’d really like that.”

He looked at you, frozen.

“Please,” you repeated, then wet your lips and stared at his cock.

He slowly made his way back to you, and you opened your mouth. “I can–” you offered, but he didn’t let you suck it. He brought the tip to your lips, but kept his fist around his length, pumping it slowly. It squelched obscenely with each stroke.

When precum beaded at his tip, your tongue darted out to collect it. He growled, and his free hand seized your jaw, holding your mouth still and open as he continued pumping his cock. Then, when he could hang on no longer, he pointed it into your mouth. He came with a rumble in his chest and a low groan from his throat. The first, thick rope hit the roof of your mouth. The next went directly to your throat. And by the sixth ribbon or so, it was dribbling onto your tongue, thick, salty, and heady. You were salivating and could hardly wait to swallow.

He dropped his tip onto your tongue and it sat there heavily for a moment while he breathed. You dared to wrap your lips around it until he quickly backed up, taking it away, with a thick string of drool connecting you for a moment. You swallowed and wiped your mouth with the back of your wrist. His face was pink as he composed himself and stuffed it back in his pants.

You sat back on the floor, and he did a double take. He knelt down again and laid his hand on your mound. He scanned your body like he had hurt you all over again.

“Tommy, I’m fine,” you assured him. “I promise, I’m good.” He squinted at you. “That felt good,” you repeated, nodding, face burning. “Good, Tommy,” you whispered.

He nodded back hesitantly.

He left and didn’t lock the door. While he was gone, you put his shirt back on, didn’t button it, but wrapped it around you. He returned with a few more blankets. He picked you up and laid one down under you. He folded one under your head, and used the last one to cover you.

As he finished tucking you in, a drop of sweat fell from his hair onto your neck. He brushed it off with his thumb. And as he began to take his hand away, you reached for it. You brought his hand to your mouth and wrapped your lips around his thumb. Your tongue collected the salty drop of perspiration. And as you swallowed it, you sucked his thumb more into your mouth. As you gently sucked his massive thumb, your eyes closed, and when you opened them again, he was looking at you softly. You released his thumb, and he gently cradled your jaw in his hand. Then he slid his fingers down to your neck. He could have squeezed or snapped the life out of you with no effort at all, but you knew he wouldn't. All he did was admire you, softly stroking your delicate skin for a moment. Then, when he took his hand off your neck, he brushed his thumb down your chin.

He braced his hands on his hefty thighs and stood up. He adjusted his mask as he slowly left the shed. Once he was outside, you heard the padlock click into place, and then the squeak of his wheelbarrow fading into the distance.

Thank you for reading!

Your engagement helps a lot in motivating me and letting me know what you enjoyed so you might see more of it.

#thomas hewitt #thomas hewitt x you #thomas hewitt x reader #thomas hewitt smut #leatherface x reader #tommy hewitt #leatherface x you #slasher x you #slasher x reader #leatherface smut #tw dubcon #toxicanonymity ☠️#texas chainsaw massacre #leatherface

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writers-potion · 4 months

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Writing Mad Characters

Okay this is a bit awkward because I had this question copypasted into Google Docs I use to draft my answers, and I realized I've lost the question in my inbox (which is being flooded).

So...I'm so sorry for whoever asked this question. Sorry for the delay because I was struggling with life in general for the past month and definitely SORRY for losing your question (－‸ლ)

Q: I'm writing a story where a major character is slowly spiraling into madness where small details kinda hint into the downfall right before the bigger details appear and then it the floodgates open. Is there anything I should avoid? Anything that I should keep in mind? Anything that I should research?

Things to Avoid

“Mad” or “Insane” is too general. Writing a cliched ‘crazy’ character who randomly talks to imaginary people and lashes out at strangers, you’ll offend a whole bunch of people who've gone through/have mental illnesses. Read up on existing mental conditions (schizophrenia, bipolar disorder, post-traumatic disorder and borderline personality disorder, etc.) to see what your character might have.

Words like “mad” “crazy” or “insane” aren’t enough when you’re describing their status. As mentioned, these words hardly mean much when it comes to providing a clear description.

Contradicting yourself. Throwing random unhinged symptoms here and there wouldn’t work. In fact, you must have a clear arc on which they’re traveling and ensure that your “hints” are all getting at something.

Making the character overly destructive or harmful to others (when nothing really justifies it)

Justifying damaging behavior with this “madness”. Mad or not, your character will still have motives and goals that drive them forward.

Making them look incompetent just the fact that they have a mental condition that makes them appear “mad” to others shouldn’t prevent them from achieving success. In fact, they may be even more cool-hearted and logical when it comes to their obsessions/goals.

Research Tips

Narrow down the mental conditions your character experiences. Even if it’s a fictional condition, try basing it on existing ones and building on top of them.

Take some time to study characters and/or real clinical cases that resemble the kind of madness you’re going for.

- Anxiety Disorders: excessive fear and dread (ex. phobias) - Mood Disorders: persistent swings in mood or persistent feelings that interfere with daily life (ex. Depression, bipolar) - Psychotic Disorders: disordered thinking (ex. schizophrenia) - Eating Disorders: extreme emotional attitudes toward food (ex. Bulimia, anorexia) - Impulse Disorders: unable to resist urges (ex. Kleptomania, pyromania, gambling) - Personality Disorders: extreme inflexible personality traits (ex. Anti-social disorder, OCPD) - Past Traumatic Stress: persistent, frightening memories leading to emotional numbness

Does your character have empathy?

A sociopathic kind of madness is different.

General Writing Tips for Spiraling into Madness

Establish a Baseline

A lot of factors (stress, family history, innate personality, trauma, etc.) can contribute to madness, but it is not going to happen in a week. Define the existing mental and physical conditions your character has, and start from there.

If you’re aiming for suicidal tendencies at the end, you want to start with symptoms of depression (a condition that may lead to suicide) - growing apathetic, erratic sleeping patterns, irritability, etc.

This is also the stage where you want to plant some triggers that’ll go off later.

Trigger Events

A perfectly sound character suddenly spiraling down the madness route due to a single accident or traumatizing event isn’t convincing.

A madness “snap” denies the reader the experience of watching the character’s journey into madness and how they feel about it.

Internal Conflict (antagonist in himself)

You must remember that madness is incurable. If someone could “cure” themselves by eating healthy, exercising and taking a few pills, it wouldn’t be much of a madness, would it? This means that the worst antagonist is going to be the character themselves, or the part of them that’s been taken away.

Show how they are frustrated with themselves, scared of themselves, angry at their “alternative self”. The experience of not knowing yourself is a whole journey of its own.

Physical Manifestations/Quirks

If your character has a routine, show how they break down.

They might develop habits that they otherwise would never allow themselves to have, perhaps as an effort to “keep this madness out”

Deteriorating Relationships

Depict how the character’s madness impacts his closed/loved ones. In the earlier stages, those close to him might be faster to notice and accept the signs of madness, even if the character denies it him/herself.

The first signs of madness might show when the character is trying to deal with difficult relationships - like losing patience and being unable to pick up subtle social clues.

Choosing Obsessions Over Primal Urges

For these characters, obsession can take over a person’s normal urge to eat, sleep or even live. This can lead to, more or less, suicide.

Example: In Black Swan, Nina’s obsession with becoming the perfect ballerina drive her to insanity, to the point where she doesn't mind dying on stage for the show.

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foreingersgod · 5 months

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Kate and reader accidentally coming out on Jada’s live with Jada’s response being “well that’s one way to hard launch a relationship” while the rest of the team that was there start laughing while Kate and reader try and melt into the floor. Then now that they’re public they become the most sickeningly cute couple always posting each other and gushing about eachother in interviews and not shying away from being affectionate in front of cameras now that they are public

Hard Launch . KM

pairing: kate martin x reader

synopsis: kate accidentally makes your relationship public

༶•┈┈୨♡୧┈┈•༶

you were all cooped up in jada’s apartment, hanging out after an incredibly long practice. everyone was exhausted and just wanted to spend the night relaxing and catching up. so you had all opted to go to jada’s place for the evening, maybe watch a movie or something.

to be completely transparent, you had just wanted to go home. drag kate into a nice hot shower with you and spend the night intertwined in your shared bed. but when jada had offered to have everyone over, kate was quick to announce your plans of attendance. you couldn’t blame her, you had all been working very hard this season with very little breaks in between to casually spend time together. you could share your girlfriend for one night, you supposed.

you didn’t get to spend a lot of time with kate outside the safety of your apartment walls. both of you had agreed to keep things private for a while, only the team and your families knew of your relationship. so you concluded that a night with the team couldn’t hurt anyone.

the room filled with laughter, excitement buzzing off the walls. the team was sat in jada’s living room going back and forth about old stories and favorite memories of the season. it was nice to see all of you together like this, no pressure or stress weighing down on you.

a few drinks and several embarrassing stories later, jada had suggested you all go live. it had been a while since the team had been active on social media and in everyone’s tipsy opinion, going live to all the fans was a perfect idea for the night. jada had her phone out immediately, starting the stream as she watched viewers join left and right.

you honestly didn’t care for it much, off in your own world as caitlin and jada laughed next to you. they were messing around and talking to fans on the live. meanwhile, you were observing from afar, offering a small comment here and there. chatter started to die down as the night went on and you were beginning to grown tired. kate, from the other side of the room where she was goofing around with hannah, noticed your heavy eyelids and small yawns. she knew it was time to call it quits for the night and let everyone know you guys were about to head out.

she walked over to you, completely unaware of jada and caitlin still cackling about something said in the livestream. you were barely keeping your eyes open as she knelt in front of you, taking the half empty cup from your hands.

“hey, baby” she said, shaking you awake “ready to head home, you seem tired”

you yawned again and nodded, about to hoist yourself off of the couch until you realized the silence that filled the room. everyone was staring at you, jada’s hand covered her mouth as she held back another laugh. kate, like you, looked extremely confused.

“well that’s one way to hard launch a relationship” jada broke the silence.

“what?” kate asked. and suddenly it dawned on you, your hand also flying to your mouth in disbelief.

“the live is still going” caitlin said, double checking and watching the comments flood with people asking about you and kate.

“oh my god” you said mortified “i completely forgot, kate”

kate just stood in shock as you peered over the phone to see the damage. sure enough, you were the topic of discussion. so many people were asking about your supposed ‘secret relationship’ and freaking out over the accidental reveal.

the team began to laugh, seeing the looks on your faces as the comments kept flooding in. you and kate just looked at each other with wide eyes. you were always so careful when it came to keeping your relationship quiet. it had become a skill at this point, but now all your efforts had seemed to be for nothing.

“ok i think we’re gonna head out,” kate announced slowly, cheeks a bright crimson “i’m too mortified to stay at this point”

everyone was still laughing at your slip up, ending the live before things could go any further. they all offered their goodbyes as you headed out the door, sneaking in a few ‘good luck’ s for when the announcement of your relationship was all over the internet.

the car ride to your apartment was near silent. both of you were too caught up in your own disbelief to say anything. you weren’t really sure how to feel. mad? nervous? relived?

the warmth of your apartment was a welcoming sensation as you stepped through the door. keys gently hit the hallway table, shoes clunking against hard wood floor. you could see through the still dimly lit room that kate was troubled, hands rubbing at her temples. you turned on the lights as she hunched over the kitchen counter with her head in her hands.

you approached her from behind. front your your chest meeting with her sweater clad back and hands snaking their way around her waist. you let yourself mold into her, head dropping to rest between her shoulder blades. she sighed as you spoke up.

“don’t be too hard on yourself, babe”

“i just can’t believe i wasn’t paying attention” she muttered through her hands “i’m sorry, i know we were gonna wait until-”

“hey” you shushed her, standing up while taking her with you, forcing her to look you in the eyes “i know it’s not what we had planned, but it’s ok! it was an accident and you didn’t mean to, it’s not the end of the world”

she frowned slightly, perfect lips pulling tight together as she nodded in agreement.

“and who knows? maybe this’ll work out better anyways! now we won’t have to hide it anymore!” you continued your attempt to reassure her.

“yea i guess so,” she cracked a smile “i just wish we could’ve done it on our own terms”

“maybe we still can” you pecked her on the lips.

“what do you mean?”

“well it’s only been like an hour” you said “what if we made a post on instagram or something, then that way it can still come from us?”

she thought for a moment before obliging, “yea ok, i like that idea”

so you sat down on the couch, shoulder to shoulder, phones in hand. you made sure to keep the posts simple, but sweet and meaningful to get the point across.

after posting your relationship officially, you and kate finally decided to settle into bed and let the situation play out over night. after changing and shutting down the house for the evening, you dove into the comforter next to your girlfriend. her arms instinctively found you and pulled you into her chest, kissing you goodnight before you both drifted off into a peaceful slumber.

when you awoke the next morning, you got exactly what you had expected. instagram notifications on both of your phones were out of control.

katemartin03

♡ liked by its.yn, caitlinclark22, and 737,575 others

katemartin03 my other half <3 @its.yn

view all 13,445 comments

its.yn i love you !

iowafan44 no way

caitlinclark22 proud of you guys :)

⤷ katemartin03 thanks cait

user53 anyone else here after jada’s live?

⤷ iloveyn13 guilty

moneymartin4ever totally called it

its.yn

♡ liked by katemartin03, ur.sis, and 553,449 others

its.yn love you to the moon and back @katemartin03

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katemartin03 my soulmate <3

ynsbiggestfan ok this is going to be my new obsession

⤷ user55 no cause same

ur.sis i’m going to tear up :’)

caitlinismygf the new it couple fr

˗ˏˋ ´ˎ˗

weeks passed and you couldn’t be happier. being able to finally be out to the public about your relationship was like a breathe of fresh air. and no doubt about it, you and kate were taking full advantage of being officially ‘out’ girlfriends.

the media was all over you two, trying to capture sweet moments of the cute couple. and really, you didn’t mind. any chance you got to flaunt your girlfriend, you leaped at with no hesitation. there were probably dozens of pictures of you guys holding hands, kissing, and leaving practice together by now.

even in post game interviews, both you and kate found ways to bring each other up. you were absolutely obsessed with one another and could never get tired of displaying your love to the public.

jada’s livestream was a blessing in disguise.

#kate martin #kate martin x reader #wcbb #wcbb x reader #iowa wbb #foreingersgod

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teyums · 1 year

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a/n: cats are so funny because they genuinely think they’re doing something nice for you when they drop a mouse at your feet as an offering and it’s actually the opposite. i was watching my cat play with her little toy and it just brought the terrifying memory back to me bc WHY WOULD YOU THINK I WANT THIS? As soon as the idea came i wrote it, Neteyam just seems like the type LMAOO 😭

neteyam x human!reader

It takes Neteyam quite a while to understand the difference between Na’vi women and human women, especially the difference in what you do and don’t like. But you can’t blame him, you don’t look like his kind, you don’t smell like his kind, hell, you don’t even dress like them.

The Na’vi’s behavior very closely resembles that of a house cat on earth— you’ve noted after studying how Neteyam’s emotions portray themselves through his expressive tail, how his ears dip when he’s angry or perk up when he’s excited, or how he purrs when you finally agree to sitting in his lap instead of your chair while you finish up your work for the day. With the innate behavior of the two creatures mirroring each other almost completely, it’s no surprise that this also heavily factors into what they deem as ‘gifts’ for their favorite human.

Just as housecats will fetch their humans dead animals or rodents as an offering to them, the Na’vi way isn’t too far from that. You hated so much as looking at dead animals, let alone being near them, but when your childhood cat, Loki, used to bring field mice into the home and drop them at the foot of your bed, at least it was small enough for you to scoop into a grocery bag with pinched eyes and a hand over your nose while you fought back the tears of sheer terror.

Most of Neteyam’s catlike nature rendered adorable to you, and while you were more than willing to learn more about the ways of his people, this new custom he’d introduced you to had your heart dropping out of your ass like a brick and your soul exiting your body as if you could do without it. It’s when he shows up to the lab, a dead boar strung over his back with the biggest, toothiest smile you’ve ever seen spread on his lips until a bloodcurdling scream wipes it clean off his expression.

“Oh my God, ‘Teyam, get it away, get it away!” You shrill, so startled you almost tumble out of your desk chair, the hairs on your neck standing straight up as you divert your attention from the animal that’s almost the size of your body, a panicked hand splayed over your rumbling chest and the other extended out, palm towards him.

“What? You don’t like it? Should I have gone with a hexapede (deer) instead?” His brows gather in the center of his forehead when he steps closer and you immediately yelp and scoot back, the metal wheels of your chair screeching against the smooth tile with the effort of your retreat. He’s wholeheartedly confused, because any woman of his kind would find such a gesture as this one beyond thoughtful, and even romantic. Catching one of these things isn’t easy, and a clean kill with an arrow through the heart as to not rupture or damage the meat of the animal is even harder.

“I even skinned it for you!” He urges with a pout.

Your involuntary squeal interrupts his attempt to convince you as you fan your face with your hands, but it seems as if he’s still having trouble understanding.

“Perhaps I should have roasted it as well…” He ponders to himself with a hand pinching his chin, deep in contemplation while he keeps his catch over his shoulder and his eyes cast toward the wall, completely missing the way your trembling hands scramble over your desk for something to launch at him.

“GET IT OUT!”

He winces at the pitch of your shriek, astounded by how that loud of a sound could come out of such a tiny being. His brows raise before he quickly ducks to dodge the one-subject notebook that flaps past his head in a blur of fluttering paper, and he hurriedly obliges your wishes with a few steps back and a rushed ‘okay, okay!’.

Likes + Comments + Reblogs are much appreciated 💗

©teyums 2023

#avatar 2 #avatar way of water #neteyam sully #neteyam x reader #neteyam x you #neteyam #neteyam fanfiction #neteyam fic #neteyam fluff #avatar twow #neteyam x y/n #neteyam x human reader

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thesmollestsnek · 1 year

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Death echoes

So a while ago, i found this dp x dc post that had a really interesting lore headcanon for Danny’s ghostly wail. Idk if I’ll be able to find it again, I’ll link it here if I do, but essentially it posited that every ghost has something called a “death echo”, which is an ability unique to them based heavily on their deaths. These echoes are the most powerful move in a ghost’s moveset, but they’re also extremely volatile and draining, typically damaging the ghost in some way when used, with Danny’s being his Wail because he died screaming. The original post then went on to some really cool halfa!Jason ideas based on these death echoes, but for this lil snippet with an extremely long intro I’d like to focus on Danny a bit more.

Edit: Apparently I may have extrapolated a lot of the actual lore behind these death echos myself? The inspiration post was a lot longer in my memories. Or I might've mushed multiple posts into one mental box and then forgot lol. So a lot of the actual detail from this point on is seemingly mostly original material? I think? Idk man, sometimes my brain spits out information without giving me any clues as to where it got that information. Anyway, this post got kinda long and since I'm... decently sure this is where I shifted from summarizing @ailithnight's post to writing all my own thoughts I figured here would be a good place to throw the cut lol.

So! with all of the context-for-the-context out of the way, let’s move on to the actual context for what I’m writing cause I can’t be bothered with writing an intro XD

Essentially, this is an au where Danny is an established member of the Justice League, or maybe one of the teen hero teams? I’m a slut for eternal teenager Danny, but maybe he’s enough of a powerhouse to be on the main team despite him both looking and acting like the dumbass fourteen year old he died as. Either way, he’s on a League/League-sanctioned mission and things go bad. Like, everyone-almost-dies bad. And so as a final desperation attack, Danny uses his Wail, a power he’s never told anyone on the league he even has. And it works, and they make it out, but after the fact everyone has. Questions. And because in this au death echoes are deeply personal, Danny dodges those questions, but the league coughbatmancough isn’t satisfied with that. So they push for answers. Answers Danny’s not willing to give, because. In my mind death echoes aren’t just based on how a person died, but also their experience of that death. What their last thoughts were. When Danny died the only thing that he could process beyond just an all-encompassing painpainpainpainpain was the sound of someone screaming. His screaming. And so his death echo is the sound of a fourteen year old child screaming in deathly pain and terror weaponized, which definitely gave the league Even More Questions than they would’ve had already. Which finally brings us to the actual snippet, which is a conversation between John Constantine, who was brought in for his experience with the supernatural once it became clear Danny wasn’t going to talk, and Danny himself.

~~~~~~~

“So, kid. Batsy tells me you’ve been hiding some of your abilities, wanna tell me what's up with that? Call it an occultist's intuition, but somethin’ tells me you’re not just being stubborn for the hell of it.”

“It’s... complicated. And not anyone’s business, either!”

“Kid...”

“Why does it even matter?! It’s not something I want to or am even able to do on a regular basis! I saved the mission, can’t they just accept that and move on???”

Sighing, Constantine reached up to start massaging his brow. “Kid, you and I both know that ain’t gonna be enough. Now I know that some things are better left alone, but the rest of these idiots? They can’t accept that, Batsy especially. That man’s never left bloody well enough alone in his life”

He looked up just in time to see the otherworldly teen shrink into himself, looking every bit the child he was. “I know but... why? Why do they need to keep asking questions? And why do they only ask the ones that hurt to answer?”

A sharp glance. “The fuck kinda questions are they asking? Batman was speaking in more grunt than word, so I didn’t really catch all the details of what this power you’re supposedly hiding even is.”

Phantom shrinks even more into himself at that, and responds in a voice so small it’s more sigh than speech. “I... I can scream. And it breaks things and pushes people back. But it, it sounds. Bad. And it brings up bad memories and I don’t like to do it or listentoitoreventhinkaboutitandtheywon’tletmeforgetand-”

“Breathe kid. I know you don’t need to but just take a deep breath with me. Don’t you go getting lost in your own head on me now., Constantine reassured the kid automatically, the sheer hopelessness prompting action long before the words themselves could be understood. Then the rest of him caught up, and he had to pause. Looked up at the kid, saw just how distressed he was. A picture was starting to form in the back of his head, and Constantine didn’t like what he saw one bit. A last-resort power that the normally open Phantom was strangely reticent about. A scream so horrible sounding the rest of the league would not to stop asking questions about it. Terrible memories to match said scream. And one truly miserable child who couldn’t bear to even think about any of it.

“Phantom... is that your Echo? Screaming?”

A miserable nod is his only response, the tears that had been welling up in the kid’s eyes finally starting to fall. Cursing softly to himself, Constantine stood to leave, bracing himself for the Bat’s inevitable questioning. “Well then you just take all the time you need love, and leave the rest to me. I’ll make sure the rest of those idiots know not to ask you about this ever again.” And with that Constantine turned and strode towards the door, leaving the quietly sobbing child to collect himself in privacy.

~~~~~

I had a whole-ass lore dump conversation between Constantine and Batman planned here, explaining how death echoes are deeply personal, and asking about one is a taboo on par with, potentially even worse than, asking a ghost about their death outright. Because they are formed from an amalgamation of how a ghost died, their last thoughts, and their final emotions, in some ways asking a ghost about their Echo is like asking them to describe their death in painstaking detail. But uhhh... inspiration bug left. So yea. Side note, I’d like to apologize if my depiction of Constantine’s accent was Bad, I’m but a lowly USAmerican whose only exposure to British accents is through tv ^-^’

#did some minor edits to fix typos and make things flow better when i went back in to add the hyperlink #that being said dont expect too much i wrote this in a bit of an inspiration frenzy lol #and barely edited it after the fact #the snek rambles #the snek writes #snippit #dp x dc #danny phantom #john constantine #idk wtf else to tag this #dc x dp #dpxdc #dcxdp #crossover

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kamotecue · 7 months

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the one that got away ❆ l. williamson

pairing: leah williamson x fem!reader

summary: after you had torn your acl, it was deemed that you weren't able to return to your football career. so, what happens when you pursued something different, that the one you love, ended up being the one who got away? singer!reader

agony was what the blonde defender felt, it was the agony of losing you - the one that got away, for the english captain it was a relentless ache, the haunting melody of memories that lingers long after the music has stopped. her silent screams, the tumultuois storm of her emotions that threatens to consume every one of her thoughts and feelings. it was definitely a rollercoaster ride of emotions, the experience you both had together as a couple - the deep sense of grief and loss, the emptiness feeling that was impossible to feel, how every thought is consumed by the memories of you - how you'd both dance in the rain, her watching in amusement as you would always make blanket forts during movie nights, how she held onto you close as if you were going to disappear, and lastly, her favorite - the way she'd kiss you in private, how she showed you what it's like to be loved.

yet there it was, the winter of 2011 - you had suffered an anterior cruciate ligament injury making everything fall down, as much as you tried there was nothing that you could do. and so, you had left the football world, despite being the arsenal prodigy. a knock was heard, as you gazed at your bedroom door - the blonde defender had carefully opened the door, she looked at your eyes to see them filled with tears, knowing how this moment would change everything. your career ending injury, the one you sustained was not just a blow to your body, but a devestating blow to your dreams. you had worked so hard, sacrificed so much, to reach the pinnacle of yourcareer, only to have it all taken away in an instant.

"i won't be playing alongside you, as we thought, lee." your voice broke as you buried your face into the crook of her neck. the blonde reaching to softly rub your back, in an attempt to calm you which it did. the sniffles was heard throughout the house, yet all she could do was be there for you. it took you a while to accept circumstance, so you moved onto something else - music was the second, no third thing you loved - besides football, and the english defender. a year later, you took off into the music industry with a storm - you decided to form a band with your childhood friends, performing in sold-out stadiums, releasing a whole album - and it was even worse when the band had even gotten more famous.

in the early days, the love between you two was a bright flame, burning fiercely and passionately. but as your music career soared to unimaginable heights, the glare of fame cast a shadow over their relationship, changing everything. you had never anticipated the level of fame and scrutiny that would come with the band's success. everywhere you went, you were followed by a throng of fans and paparazzi, eager for a glimpse into your glamorous life. in which the pressure to maintain your image became suffocating, and you knew that any hint of scandal could spell disaster for your career. asmuch as you loved the blonde defender, you also knew that being seen with her in public could invite unwanted attention and speculation. that's why you couldn't bear the thought of her being surrounded by the media, or having her privacy invaded - as she loved being private. and so, with a heavy heart, you made the painful decision to push her away, thinking it was for the best.

at first, lee was confused and hurt with the way you acted, the unnesscary coldness. you tried to explain it, to make her understand the pressure you were under, but the damage had already been done, the trust between you two had been shattered, despite your best intentions - it couldn't be repaired. so as the distance between you two grew, your love began to wither and fade - the bright flame that had once burned so brightly was now nothing more than a flicker, barely illuminating the darkness that crept into the relationship. in the end, you were alone - your fame and success, a hollow comfort for the love that you'd lost. you often find yourself pondering, if you made the right choice, if pushing her away had been the only option, but deep down, you knew that the price of fame had been too high, and that you'd always regret the day that you'd let her slip away.

yet there you were, in front of her eyes - performing in front of 90,000 fans. she still loves you, and a part of her is hoping that you still do. and you do, you still do - there are countless nights were you're looking up at the hotel ceiling, a lingering ache in your heart for the love you had lost, the one that could've been yours if fate had not intervened. you'd often wondered how things could've been different if the acl injury had never happened, perhaps you would've never pursued music with such fervor, instead choosing a quieter life by her side. the lazy mornings spent in bed, tangeled in each other's embrace, and peaceful evenings watching as the sun would set, hand in hand. but reality was cruel, and the injury shattered not just your dreams but also the future you had envisioned with her. and as the final notes of your song had faded away, you closed your eyes, imagining for a brief moment that she was there in the crowd, that the blue eyes you had fallen in love with - and when you opened them, she was. a wide smile was seen on her face, as you noticed the tears in her eyes that were begging to drop, she was watching you with pride and love.

the crowd had cheered, as you looked away - greeted them with a small smile, as you bid goodbye. her eyes followed as you left the stage, a concerned look was seen throughout your bandmate's eyes. the crowd began to leave, one by one - yet a dazed look was shown on her face, you saw her, yet you haven't made the effort to do anything. maybe you shouldn't, maybe you couldn't or maybe you didn't have to.

"come on, lee - the concert is done." beth, her club and national teammate said, as a soft sigh was heard. she didn't notice a tour staff had walked her way. you had given orders to invite her teammate's backstage. the defender had only looked up when she took note of the unfamiliar ones, her eyes locked onto someone in uniform, the lanyard confirming that she worked for, or with you.

"ms. williamson, i presume? i was ordered to give you these backstage passes, as well as to escort you backstage." the worker said, as her eyes gazed to the passes in her hands, beth and a few others, their eyes had widened in shock. she slowly stood up before nodding to the girl, as every step began to feel a bit heavy for the defender, you walked back in forth in your changing room - wondering if it was the right choice.

it was, as the team had been led backstage, leah had caught the eyes of your three childhood best friends - people that she also knows, as she formed a friendship with the trio while you were dating. an amused look was seen on oliver's face, as he stood up to greet the team.

"never thought i'd see you again, lee." oliver's charming voice was heard, catching the eyes of his two other bandmate's "childhood friends". a soft smile was shown on archie's and adeline's face.

"neither did i" the english captain's voice was calm, gaining the attention of oliver who softly hummed.

"we've missed you, but she misses you more." oliver replied, he gazed at your dressing room door - it opened, revealing you.

#woso x reader #woso imagine #arsenal wfc imagine #engwnt x reader #lionesses x reader #leah williamson #leah williamson x reader #leah williamson imagine

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thesilmarillionblog · 30 days

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𝐑𝐄𝐌𝐄𝐌𝐁𝐑𝐀𝐍𝐂𝐄

𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭: 𝟔

Click here to read the first part.

Summary: You and Soldier Boy want to create a family and move on from everything, even the Vought, but you also know that he has to face Homelander one last time to keep his vow to Butcher. However, nothing turns out as you had hoped.

Pairing: Soldier Boy / Reader

Warnings: Heavy angst, hurt, language, memory loss, reader is hurt and confused, angst, Soldier Boy is harsh

Word Count: 5394

A/N: English is not my first language.

This is inspired by the song 'Remembrance' by Memoria Futuri.༊

You could feel Soldier Boy's arms holding you tightly, and you made an effort to free yourself, only to find that the harder you fought, the tighter he held you. Eventually, you let out a painful moan as you felt his powerful, frightening grip around your lower abdomen.

“Hey,” you said in a restless tone, swiftly rubbing your palm on your stomach to wake him up. “You're hurting me.”

He gave off a sound like a groan and said something that was incomprehensible. You firmly said, “Fuck, you're going to kill me here if you don't loosen your hands right now,” while he forced your body to press against his. “I mean it.”

Regaining wakefulness and eventually opening his eyes, Soldier Boy released his grip a bit on you. “What happened?”

You rubbed your arms and belly with agony and moans while he stretched his muscles and rubbed his sleepy eyes in between grumblings.

“You held me far too firmly. That hurt,” you replied, turning to face him while you raised your shirt to see the damage. There, it was somewhat reddish. You looked like you'd been slapped by him there. You give him a sour look and draw attention to the skin marks on your body. “Look what you have done.”

When he finally woke up, his thick fingers gently stroked your tummy, and he whispered a curse.

He apologized, “Fuck, sorry,” but he prevented you from getting up.

You said in a sarcastic voice, “Do you usually wake me up like this?” out of curiosity. You worried if he had ever injured you before without knowing anything about the background of your relationship.

“On occasion,” he said with a mischievous grin. “But of course, I don't do it on purpose.”

“I have to be insane to be with a supe,” you muttered in disbelief. You questioned your irrationality in taking such a risk with your life. It was well known that supes sometimes killed their partners behind closed doors or in different circumstances.

With a playfully “Hey,” he embraced you, and you felt the warmth of his chest behind your back. It was heartwarming, and he felt safe. “You enjoyed every moment of it. All I can say is that you were really enthusiastic and energetic, though you can't recall. Yet.”

You remarked, half-joking, half-hurt. “I'm sure just because I don't remember a single thing, you're making things up.” He was making statements as though he was talking about someone else entirely, like an ex-lover. You were taken aback by how comfortable you felt with him in just one day, as if you were deeply connected. If he was being honest with you, your skin and body had memories of their own to justify him.

He inquired, “What happened?” after noticing your abrupt expression change.

You said, “Nothing,” not wanting to put in too much effort because your headache persisted. It was all truly complicated.

“Are you still unable to remember anything? Concerning us or another thing?” When Soldier Boy noticed you had become lost in thoughts, he queried with suspicion.

“No.”

His facial expressions have altered, and he is now staring at you irritated. He didn't inquire about it, even though it seemed like you didn't want to remember anything at all. He was aware of your efforts, and he knew it was just too much for you. Yet he believed you also had to understand him. It wasn't easy for him either in that situation. He was missing you.

“All right,” he sighed. “Get ready so we can go to the doctor. I'll make sure to it that you are well taken care of, okay?”

You nodded to him and quickly showered while he got dressed. You also had to confront Butcher and others, but you'll discuss this matter with another doctor first. Since Soldier Boy had sensitive nerves and you didn't believe that he wouldn't intentionally or unintentionally harm you, However, you didn't want to get into a fight with him anyway. You wondered what he was like and the nature of the relationship you had with him some months prior. It was all so surreal that it was difficult to believe. You questioned if you really loved him or whether he really loved you.

You looked at Soldier Boy as he adjusted his belt and put on his gloves, right after you had put on whatever you had found in the home. His messy hair gave him a savage and very attractive appearance. He smiled at you genuinely once he saw you were staring at him.

It wasn't bothersome, but he said in an arrogant manner, “Enjoying the view?”

“I'm just waiting for you to suit up already. You're taking too long,” you said playfully as you kept watching him.

“Oh, yeah? It's an old attitude.” When he was finally done, he blinked at you. “Guess we're both ready to go, huh?”

“Well, yes,” you said, taking one final glance around the room as though you would be staying here with him forever, even though it didn't seem that way.

When you got in the car, you two were silent. Soldier Boy kept checking on you, which should have helped you feel a little better, but you were restless and uncomfortable. You called Butcher over and over, but he never answered, which made you feel awful and as though you were being ignored.

His actions proved Soldier Boy was the one to tell you the whole truth. You would have preferred it if Butcher had once been honest with you, but perhaps this is best for you. You believed that you were getting close or something. He was like a big brother to you after all. You were obviously wrong.

“He's not returning your calls, right?” With his gaze fixed on the road, Soldier Boy posed a sharp question.

“No.”

You spoke in an attempt to appear calm, but it was clear that you were lost and heartbroken. You had no option but to believe what Soldier Boy told you about him, about you, about everything. Butcher had abandoned you.

Saying, “I told you he's a coward and a liar. He won't tell you anything, and he will continue to tell you lies even if you manage to track him down. He is a fucking liar; that much is true.” Soldier Boy gave you a serious look, as if he wanted you to believe whatever he said. Word by word.

You murmured, “We can talk about such things later,” not wanting to discuss the difficult situation any more.

Soldier Boy angrily replied, “Don't you tell me you still trust him.” He was so ready for another fight.

“I won't say that I think highly of him, nor do I still trust him fully. He clearly told me bullshit about a few topics. However, you have to understand that I am unable to totally trust you as well.” You tried not to seem hostile as you added, “I don't even know you,” but you could feel the tension in the air rising as he inhaled deeply.

He questioned, frustrated. “What's wrong with you?” Soldier Boy hated Butcher more than anything. “God knows how long you've been asleep or he's telling you lies with others, but you still say you can't trust me as well.”

Soldier Boy struggled to control his tone, not wanting to frighten you away or anything, but it was difficult for him to be informed you didn't trust him. As though he were just another man, like Butcher and the rest.

“Why are you even upset with me? Since you are aware of the complete truth and my pals have lied to me, it is simple to look from your side. I have no idea what's happening at all.”

He glanced at you briefly, but he continued driving without changing his face. You felt that he was treating you a little worse than he had been the night before, but you weren't sure why. It shouldn't have hurt because you didn't know him, yet it still crushed your heart in a strange way.

As if he would act differently if only you were different too.

He said emphatically, “I'm not angry. It's simply annoying that you're telling me you don't believe me but continuing to hold out hope for Butcher and demand an explanation.”

“Why is it wrong to wait for an explanation? I'm curious what he's going to say, and it's okay to be cautious of strangers, but he needs to tell me the truth, or at the very least acknowledge that he lied to my face teaming up with the rest of the others, because I now know his lies. Even though I genuinely appreciate your concern, you should be understanding of my situation rather than being selfish.”

You would have liked to know the truth about what transpired between them so you could know why Soldier Boy was so outraged with him. You were certain he would kill Butcher instantly, without hesitation.

“Fuck that! Am I now being self-centered?” He gave you an angry expression as he inquired in a harsh tone, “Is it okay to give a fucking hand job to a stranger?”

He was behaving as though it was all your fault. Despite your best efforts to remain composed, his attitude scared you a little. You questioned whether this was how he treated you always.

Your face heated while you attempted to push the memories of yesterday from your thoughts. Your fingertips grazed the hard surface of the seat while you searched for an answer to his bold question.

“It was an instinct for survival lets say. You're a..strong supe, and I couldn't fight you after all. Why are you even talking about this right now?” With a mumble, you hoped that soon enough the two of you would forget your private moment.

“Oh god,” he whispered. He didn't seem at all pleased with your response. “Are you fucking telling me you'd do the same if it was another supe on top of you?”

As the images filled his mind, you being with another Supe, he made an angry noise, trying to empty his mind. He'd kill whomever tried to lay a hand on you. You both were lucky he recognised your voice yesterday.

You said, “I don't know.” You had no idea what would happen if it turned out to be someone else, not him, just another Supe. As you saw him get irate and clench his fingers on the steer, you said, “But no one would kiss me right away like you did, right?” That sounded as genuine as you had hoped it would. It was sincere. You had no idea what possessed you to give him that quick kiss back without even thinking twice. Perhaps it was meant to be.

He only murmured, “I'd kill them.” Then he grasped your hand in his, realizing you were gone silent. “Hey, I'm just...” To figure out just what to say, he took a deep breath. “I understand that it's terrifying for you, and it's just too much. Yet even if it doesn't seem rational, I need your faith. I need you to trust me in this.”

You said, “I don't get it,” unsure of what step to take. Your eyes wandered helplessly to your phone. That might be a little bit simpler if Butcher spoke to you, but Soldier Boy detested Butcher so much that he believed Butcher would immediately start telling you more lies the moment he opened his lips.

“I know, baby. I know,” he said, attempting to block out the thoughts of Butcher's crap. For everything he did, he vowed to murder Butcher.

In a quiet voice, you asked, “Are you always like this?” wanting to know more about his personality. About you in the past.

He looked perplexed and scowled. “Like what?”

“Just like this,” you urged. “Angry and on edge.”

His mouth dropped open in protest at what you'd just stated. It was true that he appeared a little tense and maybe even a little too aggressive. But you had nothing to do with any of the negative feelings he was going through. “No, of course not.”

He looked at you with real regret, and you sighed. He was giving you the truth, and you could tell by the way he looked at you. But these days, it was difficult to trust anyone. However, it was also difficult to ignore the need to rely on someone.

“I think you would behave differently.” Finally, you mumbled to him what was really worrying you: “If only I remembered everything.”

You were right, and Soldier Boy didn't say anything for a while—possibly even unaware of his attitude toward you. You sensed that every second passing was making you two more and more apart, yet you were so close to reconnecting.

You said, “Am I right?” expecting him to say no.

He managed to reply in a stern voice, “You're not,” and went on, “Like I've told you before, it's not about you. It's true that I feel a little...tense, but I most often do, even with you. You simply can't recall anything about us. That has to be the cause of your feelings.”

“You mean that I'm constantly welcoming of you in this way? Am I really that obedient and docile?” you questioned, startled. It was hard to imagine you were a scaredy little cat around him, putting up with his rage all day and night.

“You're simply misinterpreting us at this moment, sweetheart,” he stated, grinning heartily at you. “You know, it would be so much easier if you could only remember just one memory of us, so that it would be a lot easier for you to grasp our dynamic.”

“I still think I must be a dumb being with a supe.”

“Anways,” grumbled Soldier Boy. Right now, things seemed a little bleak for you. It's true that you seemed like a new person. That's when he understood how much he really did miss you and needed you back. It hurt so much to miss you and your memories. He would make sure to it that the doctors do the best they could to get you back to him. He didn't even want to imagine if nothing worked.

He remained silent for a considerable time after that, and you were becoming more apart. The abrupt coldness in his attitude toward you made you feel restless and uncomfortable. It was true that you wanted to learn more about Soldier Boy and find out about your former relationship with him, but you also didn't want to trust him until you spoke with Butcher and the others. Either you had genuinely loved him, or you had to have an appropriate explanation for being with him.

None of them mattered; perhaps your connection with him wasn't as awful as you thought it would be, or perhaps you were too blind to recognize his true cruelty and mercilessness while you were with him. All you had to do, if it was possible, was know the truth and get to know him again. You questioned if you truly had loved him in the past and whether you could love him again. It wasn't like you were completely against the idea or something.

You gaped in distaste looking at the massive Vought Tower as Soldier Boy brought the car to a stop. That terrifying structure was the source of rage that one could never forget. It was filled with demons in masks who thought of themselves as heroes.

“Hey, you okay?” You inhaled deeply as Soldier Boy asked you in a concerned tone.

“Yes," you mumbled. “I just don't like this place.”

“Come on. We won't be spending the most of our time in this place. We are coming to visit a doctor—a legitimate, real one. Just like you deserve.” As soon as he heard your heartbeat quickening and worry taking hold of you, he wanted to comfort and encourage you.

“Okay,” you said, feeling a little relieved as he smiled at you genuinely.

When you entered the elevator, you whispered, “Is Homelander here?”

He listened to his surroundings for a while and said, “Yes.”

You shivered as a wave of worry and nervousness washed over you when you thought of Homelander. Homelander was something you could never forget, even if you bashed your head until your skull broke. You didn't want to be in the same room as him because he was the most vile and vicious person that has ever lived.

Soldier Boy stroked your arms and placed his gloved hand behind your neck when he saw your uneasy demeanor and the change in your breathing. “Hey. Nobody could or would risk hurting you. Particularly him, especially him.”

You knew Homelander, but you wanted to put your faith in Soldier Boy and feel at peace. No one could ever stop Homelander when he intended to hurt someone, and you had doubts about Soldier Boy's full strength. Their power dynamics were foreign to you.

You couldn't even move to nod at him as you wanted to. You just had a sour expression on your face, as if you were willing to embrace anything he said.

You placed your hands on his to express your gratitude and your faith, whispering, “I want to believe you.”

Soldier Boy planted a kiss on your forehead and said, “Then believe me,” with confidence. It was such a lovely moment that a thrill and a hint of crave surged through your veins. In a moment, a tiny piece of hope filled your heart; maybe he could fall in love with this version of you. After all, you were you. If you were genuinely loved, memories shouldn't matter all that much as long as the same emotions persisted in his heart.

When he saw that you were staring at him intensely and with a faint smile on your lips, he seemed confused. Knowing that you were in a relationship yet feeling both too close and too far away was insane. At that little, genuine moment you two had, he should have had the same thought. That would be a good memory too between you and him.

At last, Soldier Boy murmured, “Okay, let's go,” releasing his hold on the skin while still holding your hand.

As soon as you and Soldier Boy entered the large white room, you took a deep breath to calm yourself. To cheer you up, he offered your hand a small, determined squeeze.

When Soldier Boy called upon the doctor across the room, who was absorbed in his thoughts and studying the paperwork, he smiled warmly at you.

The doctor shook hands with Soldier Boy, saying, “It's good to see you see you in person, Soldier Boy, and I guess you are..”

You shook hands and said your name to him. You looked like a toddler whose parents had forcibly taken her to the hospital. That wasn't all that different, really.

Before he could ask any questions, Soldier Boy interrupted, “Yeah, she's the one we talked about on the phone.” He must have spoken with him when you were taking a shower or changing your clothes. You thought it would be simply an ordinary check, but you didn't trust the doctor because he worked for Vought after all.

You were led into the doctor's room and seated, your fingertips twitching uncomfortably on the chair. Even though Soldier Boy was gently playing with your hair to console you, you were still feeling worried and uncertain.

He waited for you to respond before asking, “So, is it true that you're not remembering a single thing that happened in the twelve months?”

“Yes,” you answered right away.

“Alright,” he said without disputing the preciseness of the time. “So, what specific events do you recall having happened to you? What did you last recall before the incident?”

When Soldier Boy waited on foot, you could feel his concentrated gaze on your shoulder and the trail of his fingers on your back, but you tried not to look at him.

The doctor responded, “You can take your time,” as if he was trying to calm you down.

You forced your memory again, even though you were suffering from a headache, but the pictures remained the same. You just didn't want to.

You began, “I was...” but you refrained from giving any specifics about Translucent. “I was with Hughie, a friend of mine.”

“How did you spend the time with him? Are you able to think about the specifics?” he repeated quietly. You wanted him not to ask you anything at all.

What are you meant to say? That you were torturing Translucent in an attempt to get him to talk. Telling a Vought doctor about this would be problematic.

You lied and said, “I don't...remember exactly.” You hoped that Soldier Boy wouldn't pressure you to reveal everything. “We were just spending time, and then I guess hit my head somewhere.”

Your lie made Soldier Boy tense, but he didn't break off to avoid creating a scene or placing you in an awkward position. You wouldn't dare to... Fuck, he didn't even want to picture you with that dumb son of a bitch. Fuck.

The doctor finally remarked, “I see. How long has it been since you lost your memories?”

“Three months, I guess,” you said, hoping that what Butcher had told you about the period you had been asleep was accurate at least. You have slept for literally months, but you weren't sure if you should provide him with more information. Since it didn't seem essential, you chose to merely give the information the doctor needed. The whole story did not need to be told.

“It's been months, and you still don't remember a single thing?”

“No," you politely said. "Not at all.”

“Is there a way to bring her memories back?” Soldier Boy took the seat in front of you and asked immediately.

The doctor said, “I...cannot promise such a thing I'm afraid,” and then he looked at you sadly. You kind of feel at ease, though you're not sure why.

“What do you mean you can't promise? What the fuck? You work at Vought and are a supe doctor. You're not being paid for doing anything at all.”

The doctor tried to explain, saying, “It's hard to bring back memories like that; naturally. However, her circumstances won't even present a difficulty. She is quite fortunate.”

“What do you mean?” Soldier Boy questioned suspiciously, feeling a little more at ease now, hoping that the doctor would provide some helpful guidance.

“A supe woman called Cate came to see me a few hours ago regarding her injuries. As I treated to her arm, she briefly informed me about her powers. Life is strange. Cate told me she could play with memories, that she could even bring them back, among other things.”

“Are you absofuckinglutely sure?” When the doctor continued to give Soldier Boy more facts about her, his eyes became wide with excitement and in disbelief.

You should have been thrilled about it, but instead you felt quite uncomfortable and worried. You didn't want someone to forcefully retrieve your forgotten memories from your brain through mind games. You knew this wasn't what you wanted right now, even though it was a weak excuse. You would never allow a stranger to play with your memories in that way.

Your heart broke seeing Soldier Boy's delighted face and hearing him ask the doctor many questions. Even though he was now just another stranger to you, you could still sense and know he was important. You would have injected a virus into his body yesterday with Butcher's order before you even met him. Still, a lot has happened since yesterday.

In one day, you had created a lot of memories with Soldier Boy, and they were now special to you two; they were no longer about your former self. You were the real one, this time. You felt lost when you saw him becoming enthusiastic about it as if he was finally ready to meet his true love, even though you knew it was foolish to think this way. Wouldn't he love you like this?

“As far as I've learned, Homelander signed her missions, and unfortunately I don't know her contact number,” said the doctor. “But I think Homelander would tell you where she is.”

"All right, that's good," said Soldier Boy. You felt horrible to hear how relieved he sounded. You were terrified to say a single word because you knew he would get frustrated if you informed him that you didn't want your memories to come back to you in this state.

You and Soldier Boy left the doctor's office after expressing your gratitude.

You exclaimed, “I'm starving,” as soon as you entered the elevator, preventing him from mentioning Cate and talking about bringing your memories. “Can we eat something?”

He said, “Sure,” and you felt your heart melt with his smile.

Soldier Boy played with the small necklace around your throat and gave you a serious expression. “I sensed that you were lying in there, by the way, when he asked you what you were doing with that stupid face, Hughie, before you lost your memories,” he said.

You spoke fast so he wouldn't start making up scenarios about Hughie and you. “Butcher had kidnapped a member of the Seven, and he was torturing him in his own ways to get him to talk about how to kill a supe,” you said. It was irresponsible and dumb. “I couldn't tell it to him, and it didn't seem important.”

He said, “Hmm,” happy that he wasn't going to hear something unpleasant. You were always his; he knew it. It was difficult to picture you assisting Butcher in his abduction of a supe. That jerk forced you to take several foolish and dangerous risks.

You could see that the doctor's advice about bringing your memories to light was the reason he was feeling more at ease, even as his fingers continued to gently trace around your neck.

“I keep wondering what happened to the ring I gave you,” he said. “Maybe we can also find out this.”

Your heart melted with thrill and sorrow at the thought of the ring.

You looked at your empty finger and whispered gently, “I don't know what happened to it. There was no ring on my finger when I woke up.”

Soldier Boy's whisper was rough, “They must have taken it,” and his posture stiffened.

You softly asked, “Did I like it?” to ease the tension. “The ring that you bought for me.”

He smiled weakly at you and said with a hint of pride, “Yeah, very much. With the help of that Supe the doctor talked about, Cate, we can also learn where your ring is, huh?”

The tiny smile that was on your lips vanished as he spoke about reliving your memories. You said, “We could just buy another one. Maybe it's just lost, and I'd like a different one.”

He firmly answered, “No,” not really interested in what you were proposing. “It was a nice one. You have no idea how hard I searched for that ring. We can definitely find it. It must have been taken by someone.”

He grasped your hand when the elevator stopped, and you were at a loss for words when it came to telling him how you felt. He was clearly expressing how much he didn't want this you. You followed him heartbroken.

As soon as you walked inside his room, you were astounded by how large and cozy the furnishings were. You were unaware that Vought Tower offered rooms like that. Tired, you stared out the window at the entire city as Soldier Boy ordered a meal for both of you. Up top, the view was incredible.

When your desperate eyes scanned the crowds, you turned to Soldier Boy. “After we have our meal, I'll find that Cate and everything will be solved,” he stated, putting his phone back into his pocket.

You leaned in closer to him and said, “I think we need to talk about this.”

While he waited for you to continue, he frowned. That was going to be difficult.

Nervous of his attitude, you managed to mumble in a low voice, “I just don't want someone to play with my memories and bring them back so suddenly.”

He was puzzled by your idea and said, “What the hell do you mean now?”

You asked in a panicked manner, “Why are you insisting so much? Everything is happening so quickly that I'm unable to keep up with it. I don't want my thoughts and memories to be played with.”

Soldier Boy approached you cautiously and confidently stroked your cheeks while maintaining a harsh expression.

“You can't even recall a single detail about me, you, or us since you fucking lost the last year of your life. Everything's going to be alright when your memories return. What makes you so afraid of?” he asked quietly, although it was obvious that he was growing frustrated.

Just saying, “I don't want it now,” You wanted to spend time with him in this way, to live the memories you couldn't remember, to create new memories with him, and to discover whether or not the thing between you was real. You weren't sure why your thoughts had changed so suddenly.

“Even if you don't want it now, I'll find Cate, and you'll get your memories back. End of discussion. You will thank me for it once you remember us again, sweetie,” he continued, deliberately implying that he would make you do it even against your choice.

You mumbled, “You can't force me.”

“Well, I think I can,” he said confidently. “Don't you see, I miss you.”

You were heartbroken by the way he sounded, as if he were trying to reach out to you, but you were lost in what he was saying, and it was as if he was talking entirely about someone else.

You asked unexpectedly in a whisper, “Can't you love me like this?” You had to know what he was thinking about you, even if you had no idea where it had come from. “Since yesterday, we created some nice memories. Aren't they good enough for now?”

When Soldier Boy saw you like this, like you were lost, he grimaced.

“You simply feel afraid to learn the entire truth, and you're just confused.” He continued in a cold voice, “You are still you,” but this time you didn't trust him.

“No,” you protested, unable to control your tearing eyes. “Everything will change, even me. You make statements as though you were talking about someone else. You didn't respond to my question, If I remain this way, wouldn't you still be able to love me even if I lost all memory of the past?”

With a hopeful expression on your face, you waited for him to agree that things hadn't come back to you so rapidly. He was right to say that you were afraid; while you anxiously awaited his response, your heart raced with both hope and sorrow. After being abandoned by Butcher and the others, you were also rejected by him. You really did feel afraid.

He frowned and said, “Do you even remember my name?” ignoring the question you asked.

You opened your mouth to answer him, shocked as you were, but you had absolutely no idea what to say. You forced your mind to recall even though you had a burning headache. You must have previously addressed him by name a thousand times, so you were only waiting for a memory to emerge.

As he observed your struggles, Soldier Boy scowled and repeated in a harsh tone, “Do you?”

At last, you said, “No,” embarrassed that you couldn't recall his name. You were unaware that, up until now, you had never addressed him by name. Not even once.

You felt your heart shattered into a million pieces as he sent you a sharp and disappointed look. You knew then that you were strangers with a past after all. He hadn't fallen in love with you. It was your memories that made everything special.

“Then my answer is no.”

Next Chapter

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A/N: Comments are very much appreciated. They keep me going. ^.^

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firegirl888101 · 7 months

Text

Insatiable Madness (10)

|Sagau Yandere Fatui Harbingers x Reader|

You need to start planning an escape.

Reader is Gender Neutral!

It wasn't the most flattering picture of you they decided to use. At least you could find some humour in that fact.

"...Why are you just staring at 'the television'?" Sandrone raised an eyebrow, looking distraught.

"Oh, hey, you're on there!" Childe pointed out. "You famous?"

"Something like that..." You mumbled in return, trying to hide the smug smile on your face.

This is perfect. They couldn't read the roman alphabet! Not only can you use this against them to plan an escape, but you can also insult them later for it!

Illiterate bitches You snickered to yourself.

"Yesterday afternoon, a local fast food restaurant in '_____ ___ _______' was attacked by an unknown group. Police officers found in the area of the crime were frozen solid in strong ice, scientists all across the country have come to try and understand how such a phenomenon could happen."

The screen changed to the McDonald's you were taken from yesterday, to a hospital ward with remnants of ice all over the floor. The camera panned upwards to a man laying on one of the hospital beds. His face looked awful, like he'd been revived from the dead. His nose red and lips blue, he was shivering as nurses rushed to get heatpacks for him.

"When the first officer was thawed, he had no memories after he'd been turned to ice. From what our journalist's gathered from him, the group whom attacked the restaurant kidnapped a civilian inside the facility, killing all who remained inside and allowing children to run away from the scene."

The screen then cut to a zoomed in clip of him sitting up, visibly in a better condition than before.

"Could you tell us what happened?" A cameraman from behind the screen asked him, the police officer looking directly into the lens of the device.

"It was... traumatising." He answered in a low tone. "I had ran from the station after being called to an emergency downtown. Something about an answer to a 999 call expressing worries of there being a hostage. My co-workers ran out of the police car first, and shouted from outside the building."

"And?" The cameraman pushed him, noticing the officer's hesitation.

The officer sighed, his breath shaky, then continued.

"A woman calmy walked outside, at least I think it was a woman. I remember my friends shouting for 'a lady' to stop walking towards them and put her hands in the air. Last thing I remember is seeing something blue and shiny heading right for my co-workers and the police car I was in."

"Bah!" The cameraman laughed out loud. "You're saying she was the one who almost froze you to death? Don't be ridiculous, unless you dreamt Elsa." He mocked.

"But, that's what happened!" The police officer shouted at him, the footage of the hospital suddenly going black.

"The Police Station checked all officer's body cameras. However, from the external ice interference, all footage was damaged and therefore unable to be investigated."

Another picture of you, different from the first one displayed earlier, transitioned next to the lady reading from her script. Her face showed one of concern.

"The missing person is Mx Y/N L/N, a college student who was kidnapped at the location. They were the one whom called 999 and first alerted authorities to the situation in the building. Our heart goes out to them, in hopes of them being safe." She said sympathetically. Her face soon changed to an interested one, forgetting about all the death's in the first place.

"Just who could this group and 'lady' be? Where did they get the power to turn others into ice? Perhaps the lady is their leader! Let's hope an update on the situation comes soon. To find out more, go to our websi--"

You turned the television off with a disgusted expression on your face.

Fake. Arse. Bitch.

"Her??? 'The Leader'? Fuck that shit." Childe scoffed, arms crossed with a glare sent towards the woman.

"Enough, Childe." Signora scoffed back, rolling her eyes at the child clearly fuming.

"So, everyone knows you've gone missing?" The Regrator whistled, fiddling with a mora coin and sitting on the only armchair which hadn't been torn to pieces.

Ugh, you forgot they could still understand the English language.

"Yup." You sighed.

"Even though I already know the answer," Scaramouche huffed. "Do you have friends who could have seen that and immediately thought to check up on you at your house?"

Oh yeah, if only you had friends who actually cared about you! Then, maybe someone would come looking for you. Also, was Scaramouche implying you had no friends!?

For his information, you knew plenty of people and had a lot of 'friends'! ... Unfortunately, you don't think they care enough to drop by your house.

"Pshh!" You shoved his shoulder lightly, slightly hurt. The puppet scowled and rolled his eyes. "Of course I do. They just... aren't available right now." You lied with a shrug.

Scaramouche simply stared back at you. "Uh-huh, I believe you." He shook his head, walking away.

"Hey, don't walk away from me. You need to- HEY, THAT DOESN'T MEAN EVERYONE ELSE CAN TOO! CLEAN THIS GOD DAMN MESS YOU LOT MADE OR I SWEAR TO-"

... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ...

Everyone walked off to do their own thing around the house after that... cleaning session. You spied on what the harbingers were doing, a notepad in your hands with scribbled writing full of potential ideas to get away from the house.

You'd crossed out many plans:

Use phone, call someone?

Definitely not, you'd be heard and questioned by the harbingers then lose your phone to their control. There's no doubt in your mind Pierro would let Sandrone and Dottore get their hands on it.

Run out house, when everyone is sleeping?

Wouldn't work. They said it themselves, some of them don't sleep. Plus, most of them probably have supersonic hearing.

Suggest to go out together then secretly pass someone a note?

Too dangerous. The harbingers would quickly catch on to what you were planning, and would potentially kill the person whom you asked for help.

Ugh! This is terrible. Your dumb brain has thought of every possible way to escape, and they all end up in failure! They're too risky, the phone one is the most ideal but you'd never risk your phone being taken away too early! It could be detrimental later down the line.

"Decider. If I may have your attention," The old sounding voice of Pulcinella coughed from in front of you. "I would like to ask a question."

"A question? I mean, it's not like I can stop you from asking it." You hid your notepad from his view.

You didn't want to make the harbingers suspicious. Even if they couldn't read what you were writing.

"Insolent child." Pulcinella sighed to himself, shaking his head. "What exactly do you plan to do about the food?"

"Huh? Whaddya mean 'the food'?"

"While your meal from last night was delicious, I noticed from how it tasted it isn't the... healthiest option. Feeding 12 people, including yourself, is quite a task so I understand why you prepared something like it. But, aren't you worried about eventually running out?" He scratched his mustache, sitting on the sofa next to you.

"You're right." You sighed back to him with a nod. "I'll need to go shopping soon to get more food for everyone. But if I start doing that, I'll eventually run out of money."

"The Regrator can lend you some Mora---"

"Fuck that." You scoffed. "First of all, I know just how harsh the Fatui are with debt. Second of all, Mora isn't even the currency used here."

"You mean to say The Regrator is worth nothing in this world?" The old man's face grew amused.

"I mean, he wasn't worth anything to begin with..." You grumbled, trying to be as quiet as possible. "Anyway, I'll need to go to the cornershop and grab us some food."

"You won't be going anywhere." Pierro walked into the room, a small yawn erupting from his lips.

"Welcome back from my office." You glared slightly, Pierro glaring in return.

Well, technically it's not your office. Buuuut, your father did always joke how it would be yours when he dies... so yeah, it's yours now.

"I see no reason why it must belong to you when you are so concerned of your bedroom." He put a piece of paper in front of you.

"What does this say?" He dropped the paper on your lap, you giving him an eye roll before taking a closer look.

It seemed to be a... private file addressed to your dad. Something about house bills being paid at a certain date,. Wow, that's not interesting at all.

"Don't you know privacy is the only thing I have left now?" You scoffed, pushing the paper away from you.

"Now, Now...." Pulcinella scolded you, his walking stick digging into your foot. "Treat The Jester politely."

"Fine. I don't want to read it to you since they're my father's personal affairs, got it?" You winced, sighing in relief when feeling the pressure on your foot fade.

"Understandable." Pierros sighed to himself. "It looked important, with this script being written in thicker ink."

I could have sworn Teyvat has made something equivalent to a printing press... How else would 'The Legend of the Sword' gotten so popular? You thought, scratching your cheek with a confused face.

Well, Pierro was right either way. What he didn't know, was the bold text he deemed important was just the money paid, and the next date due.

Not like the house bills mattered anymore, you were assumed missing and it's probably not going to be visited for at least a year due to the janky government.

Besides, you were missing, not dead. According to the law, you have seven years until you need to worry about the police barging down the door. You probably won't live that long, so yay for legalities sake!

"Well, it would have been important for my mother and father before you ripped their carcass' in half. Now it's meaningless, ...for the next seven years or whatever." You gave a sassy reply, handing the paper back to him.

"Could you put it back where you found it? You'll probably not let me back in the office."

"Very well." He took the paper from you, leaving the room without another word.

"You, Mx Decider, need to work on your manners." Pulcinella gave you a side-eye.

"I have manners, but I won't give them to people who killed at least 30 people because they couldn't 'find the person they were looking for'. And then proceeded to kidnap them and--"

"I am getting tired of your blathering." He cut you off, a vein very clear on his head.

"One would say you act worse than Tonia back in Snezhnaya, but that would be a compliment. The situation is over and done now, I don't think you realise how much trouble you're actually in at this moment."

"Well, old man, everyone has a different coping method for traumatic situations. It just so happens that one of mine is joking and yapping on and on and on--"

"Understood. Just, shut up for the sake of my headache." He rubbed his head with his fingers, effectively shushing you.

Ahh, being annoying truly has its perks no matter who you annoy. From a scolding mother, to a bloodthirsty harbinger.

Anyway, you have an idea. You may look like an idiot trying, but you have evidence it could work.

All the Harbingers called you 'The Decider', meaning they recognised you before you even met them. This must mean they were aware of your existence before they left the game and entered your world.

Arlecchino in particular, she commented on Aether's existence being involved with your title. This means you're tied to him in some way. Perhaps.. If you were to log in to Genshin again you could ask him what in the fuck was going on.

You're not the smartest person, but this seems like the most obvious choice right now. You wish you could say the same for it being the easiest choice.

You hadn't logged into Genshin since you were forcefully taken out of the bathroom's in the restaurant. Were you really ready to go back to Genshin? The game which started all of this?

This is definitely not two (technically three) weeks late or anything... ahahah....

I, 100%, purposefully uploaded this on Valentine's Day.

Yup.

Anyway, I'm very unsatisfied with this. But I really wanted to post it. I'll try to make the next one as long as possible since I'd like to personally not make too many views...

One day, I'll most likely combine some shorter ones into one whole view if that makes sense :3 (I think I've mentioned this before...)

Please don't expect too many happy, nice and generally fluffy scenes.

This is Yandere, a genre which should never, under any circumstance be considered normal. It's abusive, unhealthy and leads to a lot of victims facing awful conditions which they never should or ever have to endure no matter who they are.

This is fiction that I'm writing, meaning it's all taken light-heartedly IN A FICTIONAL SENSE.

If anyone, by chance, is currently in conditions where a loved-one or yourself has suddenly become distant and/or being hurt when away from eyes please get help. Talk to them, or if it's you, talk to someone you know you can trust.

If you can't talk to anyone, find authorities who can help you. Call 999, as it is in the U.K, or your local emergency service. They will always help you, and will never deny your rights or freedom.

Thanks for reading this, I hope all who's reading knows this information already, but I thought I'd include it since who knows when it comes to where you are in the world and whether your education programs taught critical information like this.

✨Elusive✨ Taglist!:

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sinisterexaggerator · 3 months

Text

Final Straw

Nick Valentine x Fem Reader | Ao3

Summary: You're sick to death of listening to people insult and belittle Nick; you take matters into your own hands, much to the Synth's surprise, but your methods are a little bit unorthodox.

Warnings: None, except for blood, violence, and foul language. NICK GETS SUPER PISSED AT YOU, and you also share a kiss. 💋

IT'S FLUFF.

Notes: This is SELF-INDULGENT AF. I hate it when people insult Nick in the game. This is my way of getting them back! And I want to kiss him and tell him I love him so bad. ;-:

Word count: 2k

It was the final straw, the one that broke the brahmin’s back, Nick Valentine left to defend himself against hate and bigotry for the umpteenth time, and you would not be party to it.

For so long you had traveled by Nick’s side, learning of the many facets to his personality. If there was a single thing about him you did not like, it had to be the ease with which he practiced self-deprecation, not knowing how to remedy the awful perception he had about himself.

Oftentimes, he regurgitated what came out the mouths of others; it had been internalized, compartmentalized, processed, and stored in his long-term memory, the detective unable to let things go—just like so many cases that remained unsolved.

“Shit, a Synth— don’t come near me. What a freak, thinks he’s human…”

“Don’t worry, I wouldn’t go near you if it meant tomorrow I’d wake up from this nightmare.”

Your soul ached, knowing that every insult, every snide remark caused some level of psychic damage to your partner, his expressions all too readable for those times he was robbed of his fragile dignity, though always walking away the bigger man.

A culmination of varying factors led you to this, Nick’s tragic past haunting not only himself, but you; what you wouldn’t give to make it better, only wishing you had the power to convince him he was worth more than half the Commonwealth combined.

If Valentine could equate himself to nothing more than garbage, you could be the one to remind him that someone else’s trash was frequently another’s treasure— in this case, he was yours.

Though not privy to your feelings, you adored Nick completely. So much so, you were not above engaging in a physical altercation on his behalf.

“Say that again,” you threatened scathingly, turning to face the asshole who had just dared to disrespect your companion, and for no good reason.

“I said he’s a freak, lady—and what’s a pretty thing like you doing traveling with him, anyway?” the ill-mannered caravan guard asked, acting as if Valentine was some disease he could catch, making a blatant show of his disgust.

The hired gun pulled no reaction from the Synth, though Nick stared at you tight-lipped, unnatural, glowing eyes trained hard on your face. His silence spoke volumes, instructing you with a stern look beneath the shade of his hat to drop the matter and turn the other cheek—it was something you weren’t willing to do this time, meeting your newfound enemy head-on.

“Apologize!” you demanded, shoving your adversary backward with a forceful push, both your palms making contact with his ribs. Your cheeks burned, accompanying a rise in your temper, readying yourself for if this vermin should do anything but grovel at Nick’s feet.

“Forget it, this guy ain’t worth it,” Nick offered laconically, hoping to appeal to your common sense. “I’ve heard worse in my time; being called a freak is the least of my concerns.”

“But you’re worth it!” you protested, Valentine’s forehead arcing upward at the conviction in your voice. He had a momentary lapse, his concentration faltering as he tried to get a handle on the situation, Nick having visualized an entirely different outcome based on variables that were currently in flux—namely the sudden change in your mood.

It seemed the shithead had caught on, smarter than he looked, eyeing the two of you with suspicion and derision, as if the very idea you could have feelings toward this hunk of junk was baffling when able-bodied, strong men like him existed.

“Oh, I get it. You’re real sick, lady, a real pervert—you fucking a machine? What’s the matter, human men aren’t good en—”

The jerk was cut off mid-sentence, your balled up fist coming into contact with his jaw; a resounding crack split sound waves as blood spurted from his lips. His colleagues had already wandered off down the road, not wanting to be a part of whatever trouble he had found himself in, having silently agreed to let this member of their team fend for himself.

“You fucking bitch!” the guard twice your size growled, swinging wildly only to miss. Your leg extended; you were pleased when he stumbled, only wishing he had fallen flat on his face.

“Now, wait a—”

He was quick to right himself, spinning on the ball of his heel—you were quicker, kneeing him in the nuts so hard he doubled over, but you weren’t finished yet.

Lifting your arm to gain momentum, you drove the point of your elbow into his spine, causing the offender to drop onto the dirt at your feet.

“I'd say he's down for the—”

Nick couldn’t get a word out; you didn’t appear to be listening, the android observing your uncharacteristic actions with rapt concern. You were pounding your knuckles into the bastard’s nose repeatedly, sticky crimson coating your fist and the man’s sorely wounded face.

As if coming to from a trance, Valentine whisked forward, snatching your wrist before you could cause the poor schmuck any more damage, thinking he may look worse off than even he, what with his bare wires and metal frame exposed to the elements.

“Hey! What’s gotten into you?!” Nick barked, his tone alone condemning your inappropriate conduct, the Synth yanking you up so fast you audibly gasped.

“There ain’t no excuse for this—this guy may be a jackass, but that doesn’t mean he deserves to die!” Nick protested, brows knit in anger the likes of which you had never seen.

You glanced down, only now seeming to notice the extent of his injuries; the man was out like a light. You only cared because he did.

“Nick, I—” you began, voice quavering, losing all resolve as you had been forced to witness Valentine’s sweet disposition vanish, quickly replaced by something undeniably frightening.

You never once imagined yourself to be the victim of his choler, finding you absolutely hated it, breaking down all at once to cry despite not meaning to. You felt simultaneously overwhelmed by guilt and embarrassed beyond measure, unable to look him in the eye.

“Don’t Nick me, this isn’t like you, this—” The man froze, his grip slackening as he loosely held on, thoroughly confused by how you could go from nearly murdering a man in cold blood with your bare hands, to shedding tears in the span of under a minute; he moved to grasp you by your shoulders.

“What’s going on?” he asked, perplexed, the question dry on his tongue. He searched your face for any hint of what the matter was, wondering if you’d lost a screw sometime after leaving Diamond City, as he thought he had a handle on how you operated.

You could not will yourself to respond, vision clouded, droplets pelting your cheeks as you gazed at the ground. You felt worse than a scolded child; you had never meant to upset him so, it being decidedly more terrible than any physical pain you had yet to endure.

“Look at me, damn you!” Valentine demanded, gently jostling you back to the present moment, though your tears only increased, Nick having never cursed at you before.

“Valentine,” you whispered, eyes shimmering, Nick’s fury subsiding to a dull roar as he waited for you to explain yourself. The crease of his brow evened out, the Synth notably more relaxed, though he did not trust you wouldn’t lash out again.

“Go on,” he urged sharply, wanting to get to the bottom of your behavior. It was unnerving, not knowing what else you were capable of at the drop of a dime.

It was an understatement to say that he was surprised when you lifted your arms, pulling the man forward to enfold in your tight embrace. You buried your cheek in the tattered, stained fabric of his coat, crying more softly now as it started to rain.

“Don’t listen to them,” you pleaded, “don’t ever listen to them. You’re perfect just the way you are,” you spoke with earnest, your lips pressing a tender kiss to the spot that lacked a heartbeat, though the gesture stood apart on its own.

“I can’t stand it—the way people treat you, the way they talk down to you—if only they knew—if only they could see what I see—” you sobbed, the sound of your cries muffled against his chest; it was firm, his shirt smelling like coolant and ozone—cigarettes mixed with something earthy—you breathed in deeply, overcome with silent relief when Nick placed his metallic hand on the crown of your head.

“I... I appreciate you, doll,” he started, his voice turning toward a soothing cadence, the way he pet your hair in long, slow strokes comforting you more than it should. “But you didn’t have to do that; would have preferred if you didn’t. Jerks like him get their comeuppance, but it shouldn’t be at the price of dirtying your hands.”

You had never been this intimate with him, nor had you ever planned to be—his words were unscripted, and his affection given of his own volition. You curled in tighter, nuzzling your way into the crook of his good arm, wanting to entomb yourself there for all eternity.

“I’m sorry,” you offered apologetically, feeling the pressure of Nick’s own arms around you, returning your hug, making you feel as if you could die happy at this moment, not minding in the least that there was an unconscious, bleeding man lying only a hairbreadth away. “It hurts me, like I know it hurts you.”

Nick was quiet, mulling over the fact it didn’t do you or him any good to disparage his own person when there were others to do it for him. He had never considered the effect it might have on those around him; it came naturally to want to harp on his own shortcomings—or had it come natural to the real Nick? That was the million-dollar question, wasn’t it.

“You’re right, it does. But I shouldn’t let it bother me, not when I have people like you by my side.”

“I love you, Valentine,” you countered, not recognizing the softness of your own voice. You felt a shift beneath you, your head being coaxed to rise by way of a slow tilt of your chin.

Nick stared down at you, gleaming, golden eyes emoting dolefully as he gazed into yours. He held a deep-seated sorrow, not only for you, but for himself, wishing that he was human, if only so he could touch you, hold you, kiss you the way he wanted to.

“That’s not the smartest thing you’ve ever said, but I take it you mean that,” Valentine replied, bending low to brush soft, silicone lips across yours of flesh and blood; they were cool and rough in texture, but not unpleasant. The fact he was kissing you at all was a dream come true.

“With all my heart,” you replied, cupping the Synth's battered cheek in the bowl of your palm, fingers trailing over artificial skin in a light caress.

“So, that’s what this was all about,” he remarked, conjuring up a smile. “You know, I’d give you mine,” he added solemnly, his glum tone indicative of something he was not telling you.

Instead of elaborating, Nick changed the subject, always one to brighten a dark mood. “Next time, just tell me what’s on your mind instead of beating the living daylights out of some poor schmo, all right?”

You managed a smile of your own, delighting in his sarcasm, glad for the fact your confession had taken a lighthearted turn. “I can’t make any promises,” you quipped.

The detective gave a small shake of his head, that lopsided, infectious grin of his spreading up one side of his face. “Taking a page out of my book, are you?”

“I learned from the best,” you breathed, kissing him once more. Though selfish of you, for all you cared, the world could undergo another nuclear war, and you wouldn’t bat a lash, not for as long as you had your funny Valentine.

#Nick Valentine #Valentine fallout 4 #Fallout 4 #Fallout #Nick Valentine x Reader #Nick Valentine x Fem Reader #Fluff #Fanfiction #Fallout fanfiction #My writing #Synth #Synth detective #Nick Valentine x Sole Survivor #Sole Survivor

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featherandferns · 7 months

Text

orange juice (fic)

jj maybank x fem!reader | inspired by noah kahn's incredible music

content warning: mentions of drinking and drug use; mentions of abuse; mentions of bodily harm (vague, non-graphic); sexual content | feel free to message me with questions of detail if any of this concerns you before reading!

word count: 7.5k

blurb: in the most unlikely of settings, you and JJ reunite after five years apart in radio silence.

“You know, on my way here, I saw a dead rat.”

A cloud of cigarette smoke dispels into the air.

“It was funny, you know? Cause I felt bad that it was dead, even though it was a rat. I mean, I knew nobody was going to miss it, and that it didn’t have any rat family or friends which would mourn it or anything. But still…It looked like it had been hit by a car, and it was only small so it didn’t look very old, and it seemed so harmless lying there. It probably had a million and one diseases, but just laying there, it seemed harmless. And it felt weird to be sad about this thing dying which would have only maybe caused more damage if it had stayed alive – nibbling through electrical wires and all that.”

JJ takes another drag of his cigarette as he digests the anecdote.

“Anyway. This just made me think of that,” you quietly finish before sinking back into the silence.

“Did you just compare my dad’s funeral to a dead rat?”

You clear your throat. JJ watches in his peripheral as you look down at your feet and fidget your fingers.

“Shit, I guess I did.”

His eyes cut ahead the moment yours seem to flick up.

“Can’t believe that’s the first thing I’ve said to you in years.”

JJ inhales and exhales the nicotine of his cigarette. “Well, I can.”

That makes you laugh. Small and sheltered.

“I weren’t sure that you were going to come,” JJ tells you.

“Could say the same thing to you,” you reply.

Sighing, he drops the cigarette and crushes it under the heel of his boot. He probably should have worn smarter shoes. But then, why would he? Waste of money and space in his truck. Not like his dad was going to see them anyway.

“I only decided yesterday. Practically drove all night.” As if reminding himself of the sleep deprivation, JJ lets out a yawn.

“How is it, being back in Kildare?” you wonder.

JJ shrugs. “Weird. But also not weird at all. I guess I just feel old. I was driving through town and everything looks different.”

“I mean, it has been five years.”

“Jesus,” JJ chuckles, shaking his head. Had it really been that long?

He shoves his hands in his pant pockets and finally finds the nerve to take you in. His eyes scan over you like one might survey potential damage to a car after a close call. He never lets them go below your waist though. As if losing nerve, he flicks them back up to your head and meets your eyes.

“You look well.”

“Thanks. Right back at ya,” you smile.

With that smile – sweet and simple – JJ finds himself being hurled back through time to his teen years. The reminiscing of his youth and the memories that your presence stirs up feels like reflecting on a past life. Something that he almost had, and something that he didn’t exactly lose, but something that changed.

Everything had changed, really. The streets that he used to drive down with his friends, running away from security and darting to and from keggers and house parties, they all had new homes, new paint, new families. Old mom-and-pop shops were now trendy smoothie spots and hippie bars. Empty plots of land that were a good spot to share a joint had now been bought and developed into stylish holiday rentals. None of JJ’s family was left here, not even his cousin. None of his friends were here anymore either. Well, except for you. Is that what you were to him? A friend?

“It was a nice service,” you say.

“Was it?”

For someone like Luke Maybank, ‘nice’ is probably a generous term for a funeral service that’s void of cheery anecdotes and tender memories. It’s a shame that all the memories JJ held in high regard of his father – of the moments that they were bonded and close – often came with the overarching theme of alcohol or drugs. He wasn’t sure there was ever a genuine moment shared between the two. Whatever praise and pride he gathered from his dad was short lived and sparse. When his dad left the island on the boat he stole, JJ never heard from him again. And now he never would.

“Did they ask if you wanted to say anything?”

“What’s there to say? He was a guy and he died in a bender. Short and simple, I guess.”

You nod and go silent once more.

JJ knows that his answer evaded the politeness markers of small talk, but it was true. Luke Maybank was a human who lived on this earth with no mark to be left apart from those which he laid on his own child. The only way that he’d be remembered was in the nightmares that still sometimes have JJ waking up in cold sweats and reaching for the box of cigarettes by his bed.

“I’m sorry. I probably shouldn’t have come,” you say.

“No, it’s not…” JJ shakes his head and offers you a smile, but he knows it looks unnatural. He isn’t sure what he’s feeling right now. Perhaps everything, if that’s even possible. “I’m glad you came. I’m just tired and…well, you know.”

The funeral of my father.

“Right. Of course.”

He watches you tuck your hair behind your ears and glance towards the graves. He remembers how you used to do that when you were both younger. It was funny to him: you’d go through the fuss of trying your hair back in one way or another, but you’d always leave out a couple of strands. “To frame my face” you’d tell him, and then you’d precede to spend the rest of the day tucking your hair behind your ears. He liked it though. When you’d be concentrating on something, like surfing or fixing something up or writing, you’d lean forward and they’d come lose and hang over your pretty features. He’d want to mess with them; tuck them behind your ears for you. Sometimes he did. He remembers when you’d be on top of him, kissing him senseless, and they’d come lose and tickle his face. Somehow it would make the whole thing more sensual, with his laughs and your giggles.

He feels his face flush as the memories of nights like those creep back into his head. He shouldn’t think of you like that, not after all this time. Not with how things turned out. And especially not at his father’s funeral.

JJ had come over to you once his father was safely tucked away in the ground, six feet under. You’d attended the service at the church, hiding near the back, and then the burial, and as everybody else departed to give JJ ‘a moment’ (whatever the hell that meant), he’d turned to find you stood near a bench, lost in thought.

“It was nice of you to come,” JJ thanks.

“I’m surprised none of the others are here.”

“They don’t know. I sort of kept it close to the chest,” JJ admits. “I’m actually impressed by the turnout.”

You go to laugh and JJ sees you stifle it. It helps him ease up, smile a real smile for a second, as wicked as that sounds.

“People have layers, I guess.”

“Not my dad.”

“Maybe. Maybe not.”

You meet his gaze again. Your eyes make it clear that you haven’t shed a tear and neither had JJ. He wasn’t sure if maybe that would come later, once the so-called shock had worn off. He doubted it though. And yet, there was a haze of sadness about him. Death is weird as a whole. The death of a parent like JJ’s, even weirder. Maybe it wasn’t just the funeral causing the sadness. Maybe it was you.

JJ makes a move to leave but before he can even shift his foot one whole step, you’re talking.

“Do you wanna come back to mine? We could catch up. I’m sure you’ve been doing all sorts since I last saw you. Maybe have a drink or two, for old times’ sake?”

“Oh, I don’t drink anymore.”

“Oh,” you say. A pause for thought, then, “well, I have orange juice.”

It’s a strange thing to offer in place of a bottle of beer or glass of wine. Most people would say a cup of coffee. But no - orange juice: that’s where your mind went. It makes JJ smile. It seems so on-par for you to offer him that.

“Okay. Sure. Orange juice sounds good.”

“Do you need a moment, before we leave?” you ask, glancing back over your shoulder to the gravesite of JJ’s deceased father.

The dirt atop of his plot is fresh and stark brown against the green grass. JJ stares a second. The groundkeeper is dusting some muck off the gravestone. The funeral director had offered him a fine granite with award winning chiselling, after recognising JJ from the articles of El Dorado and assuming some high-placed budget. JJ had opted for a simple thing though. Cheap and likely to be hard to read within half a decade. It’s what Luke deserved. Probably what he would have invested into JJ, if the roles were reversed.

“No, I don’t. We can go,” JJ says, voice vacant. He looks back to you. “I’ll drive.”

You don’t live in your childhood home anymore. The place that you’ve settled in is a small home in a sweet looking neighbourhood. In fact, it seems the only part of Kildare that feels familiar to JJ. The front garden is quaint but well kept, with trimmed grass and flower beds that clearly garner a lot of attention and care. The fence is in need of a lick of paint: the blue fading and peeling. A sticky note is attached to the door frame of the front door and it makes JJ smile. ‘Doorbell’s fucked – shout “ding dong” really loud’.

“This is a step up,” JJ says.

“Nice, right? My neighbour is a dick though. Always complaining that I leave my driveway light on in the middle of the night. As if I can even afford to that.”

JJ chuckles as he follows you inside. There’s an instant warm smell that hits him. JJ can’t seem to describe it in any other way than that it smells like you. The interior is safe and homely. The wallpaper and wooden floors pair nicely with the throw pillows and crystals and plants and flowers. Fairy lights are strung from end to end. A kitchen, open plan, feeds nicely into a sitting room. A dining table is tucked in the corner which seemingly functions more as a desk: books piled atop with sheets of paper strewn out. There’s a small corridor to the right and the walls are lined with framed pictures which JJ can’t make out from where he’s stood. He assumes it must lead to a bathroom and bedroom. It isn’t unlived in though. There’s a small pile of clothes which need ironing; they’re sat in a basket, next to the TV. Near the backdoor is an arts and crafts project of some kind strewn about on the floor in organised chaos, blocking the exit.

It's still early in the afternoon so you don’t bother flicking on a light, instead opting to soak in the last few hours of daylight before dusk. Kie used to compare you to a cat, basking in the sun and chasing the rays until there was none left to follow.

JJ closes the door behind him and leans against it.

“You can take your shoes off, if you want.”

“Alright,” he mumbles. He toes them off and kicks them to the side, amongst a pile of your own. He notices how there’s nobody else’s shoes there: just yours, and now his.

You pour out two glasses of orange juice and turn around, handing one to him. He takes it, lost in thought. It all feels surreal, stood here with you, after a five-year pause. When you go to the sofa to sit, he assumes he should follow. You sit on opposite ends. A part of him wonders why you haven’t stretched out your legs and dumped your feet in his lap. ‘These stink’, JJ jokes, poking your toes. You wiggle his fingers off. ‘Shut up, no they don’t.’ Force of habit: he always seems to get stuck on that past. Instead, you go to pull one of your legs up onto the sofa, and JJ flicks his eyes around the room another time. He sips his juice.

“So…” You start. “Any news?”

“Well, my dad died, so there’s that.”

You kick out your leg, aiming for his thigh. “Come on now. Be serious.”

“I am; you were at the funeral. Thought you might remember that,” JJ jokes.

Rolling your eyes mirthfully, you have a sip of your juice. The sun paints shapes on the coffee table, weaving through the thin curtains that line your window. It makes your skin glow, healthy and happy. He’s torn between staring at your face and remembering every detail of your features and avoiding you completely.

“When did you move in here? It’s nice.”

“About two years ago. Mom and dad are still at the old place. They’ve rented out my room though, for tourists and stuff.”

“That’s nice of them,” JJ snorts. “How’s your brother? Is he doing good?”

“He is. He’s at college actually. Graduates later this year.”

“The fuck? That’s so trippy,” JJ mumbles, almost to himself.

JJ can remember your brother as nothing more than a preteen, sulking around the house and begging for rides to soccer practice. Now he’s nearly got a whole ass degree. His eyes naturally fixate on the dining-table-come-desk in the corner.

“What do you do for work then?”

“I’m a teacher at Kildare high.”

Of course you are. JJ smiles, eyes still fixated on the table. It seems to prompt you to continue.

“It’s kinda weird sometimes cause some of the old farts still work there,” you say.

“Oh shit. Mr Rumble still there?” JJ asks, perking up a little, meeting your gaze.

You laugh. “Mr Rummel does still work there, yeah. Still likes to bring you up to me, actually.”

“Really? In what way?”

“Just likes to add the odd little ‘you remember when your boyfriend used to steal my stapler’ kinda things.”

JJ’s laugh is different this time. The word ‘boyfriend’ coming out of your mouth has his thoughts short circuiting. You glance down at your juice and swirl it around the cup.

“Anyway, it’s a pretty good gig. I like teaching, and I actually think I’m making a difference to some of these kids lives sometimes, which is sort of strange.”

“I bet you are. You were always good at helping people,” JJ tells you. Your smile turns soft.

“Thanks, JayJ.”

The nickname is like another sucker punch to the chest. JJ takes it like a champ. Washes it down with water; pretends there’s vodka in there somewhere.

“How are the others, then?” you ask. “How are they?”

“Good. Happy. John B and Sarah are expecting a kid soon.”

“Fuck off.”

“No joke,” JJ laughs. He leans back into the sofa, reclining in the soft throw pillows. It’s strange how easily relaxed he is in this new setting. “They’re debating between two names. Esmeralda or Eton.”

“No. Please God, tell me you’re joking.”

“I wish,” JJ snorts. “Not that I got much of a leg to stand on.”

“What do you mean?” you frown. You lean over and place your juice down on the coffee table.

“JJ? Kinda dumb name.” JJ has a sip of his own before mirroring your actions.

“Hardly. ‘John James’ is pretty proper sounding to me.”

“Meh.” JJ shrugs and props an arm up on the back of the sofa.

“What about Kie, and Pope?”

“Kie is on her environmentalist shit. Investing in rebuilding the coral and things. Pope is studying like crazy. Got a good job lined up too.”

“Only Pope would get a degree when he has literal gold in his savings,” you chuckle. “Didn’t you buy a shop too, or something?”

“A little surf shop with John B, yeah,” JJ nods, smiling proud. The surf shop is something that he would always take pride in. What felt like a pipedream was now his nine-to-five. “It’s doing real good, actually. We’re thinking about expanding.”

“Well, that’s good,” you say, nodding. The two of you lock eyes. Your smile holds steady. “I’m happy for you, JJ. Really.”

“Thanks,” he says. “I’m glad you’re doing good, too.”

And now the polite small talk is over and the catch-up is done. It’s so bizarre seeing someone again after so long. So many things in life have passed – relationships, jobs, fights, conversations, achievements, ailments – but when you finally come to sum it up, it only takes ten minutes. Going through a heartbreak lasts for months, but then a year later and the relationship is summed up in a sentence or two. Time doesn’t only heal, but it also shrinks. It seems to have shrunk whatever used to exist between yourself and JJ too, as you both sit, searching for things to talk about which avoid the dark and ugly. Things which avoid the obvious.

“Do you think you’ll stick around in Kildare for a bit?”

“I don’t know. I ain't really thought about it,” JJ admits. “I weren't even sure if I was gonna go to the funeral.”

“Where are you staying tonight?” you wonder.

He laughs to himself and shakes his head, running a hand through his hair. “I have no idea. Probably just crash in my truck.”

“You’re loaded as fuck and you’re gonna crash in your truck?” you laugh. It isn’t mean when you say it. Just amused.

“I don’t know. You don’t really get used to having money when you grew up without it. I still feel guilty buying a new pair of boots or something when my old ones ain't coming apart at the soles and shit.”

You nod. “That makes sense. Eminem had a similar thing.”

“Yeah, I’ve always thought me and Eminem were similar,” JJ deadpans.

It seems to strike well with you because you’re cracking up, laughing like he’s just told the best joke you’ve ever heard. He smiles. He always liked making you laugh. You have a horrendous laugh: truly awful. Cats in a bag being bashed against the wall-howling dog parade level of terrible. JJ loved it though. He used to tickle you just to hear it. Watching you now, head titled back, eyes shut and mouth agape, guffawing like a damn hyena…He feels like throwing up.

“Sorry, that…That was good,” you chuckle, wiping your eyes and catching your breath. “You were always good at making me laugh.”

“Fuck knows why,” JJ chuckles.

“Cause you’re funny,” you reply, as if its obvious. “You were always funny.”

It’s strange how the tone of the conversation rises and falls like a mountain range the longer the two of you sit on the sofa.

Your smile turns sombre, like when someone reminisces over a funny memory of their dead pet. Nice at first, amused, and then dampened with the reminder that those times have passed.

“It’s weird, to be honest. You’re so different now but you’re also still JJ.”

“Different how?”

“I don’t know,” you sigh. You glance around the room for a moment, as if you’d find the answer hidden in code on the spine of the books stacked on the windowsill. You look at him again. “Your face looks different.”

“It does?” JJ asks. He lifts a hand and strokes his jaw. He could do with a shave, he supposes. The vanity tries to bite through to ask how, but before he can, you’re talking again.

“You don’t drink,” you add, nodding to the orange juice still sat on the coffee table. “You’re quieter. Less…”

You seem to lose the words and so you gesture with your hands. Explosion.

“Calmer. Sadder, but not sad.”

“I can’t tell if these are good things or not,” JJ says, half-joking.

“You look at me different too.”

That makes him pause. He meets your eyes and holds your gaze, steady. The whole room shifts in a moment, from carefree catch-up to tense confrontation.

“Different?”

“Yeah. You look at me different.”

“I don’t know what you mean,” JJ mutters, going to reach for his drink.

“Yes, you do, JJ.”

Your smile is gone now. He can tell, catching it from his peripheral. Suddenly he doesn’t want to be here. Doesn’t want to be in Kildare, doesn’t want to be in this house, in this room.

“You could at least acknowledge it, you know?”

“I don’t understand—”

“It’s actually more rude to not acknowledge it,” you snip.

“I’m not being rude, I’m just making conversation. You’re the one who’s got me on blast like you’re some God damn therapist,” JJ hits back, meeting your steely stare.

“You feel like you’re on blast?”

“I feel like I’m being observed, that’s for fucking sure.”

“Maybe you are. Maybe you are being observed, JJ,” you return, voice harsh and cutting like how a blade slices through paper. “Because it’s fucking weird having you back.”

“You’re the one that invited me here.”

“That’s not what I mean and you know it,” you say.

JJ takes a breath and closes his eyes. The anger never went away, despite what you’ve just told him, he just got older. Got better at hiding it. Got enough money to try therapy. He takes another moment to breathe through it. Push it down his throat and back into his stomach and let it burn out in the acid.

“I’m sorry,” you quietly say. The venom is gone. “I shouldn’t have…I’m sorry.”

He isn’t sure why – can’t pinpoint a perfect reason behind it – but behind his eyelids, JJ feels tears swell. Feels his lips twitch like a child when they hit their funny bone. His next breath in is shaky.

“JJ?”

“Just…”

His voice cracks and he clears it, shaking his head. He wants to open his eyes but he’s scared he’ll start crying, and he’s not doing that, not right now, not today. It’s not even you. You’d seen him cry before. Held him through it and patched him up; made him smile after the sadness. But he refuses to cry today because he can’t give his dad that satisfaction, even if it’s not about him. Opening his eyes, no tears escape. He reaches for the juice and downs it.

“I’m sorry.”

“Stop saying that,” he snaps. Then, softer, “please.”

You nod. There’s a quiet. Then, you move to stand and he closes his eyes again because it’s a struggle for you to stand. It’s a struggle. He rubs a hand over his mouth as if trying to shove the welling emotions back inside. There’s the sound of running water in the background as JJ tries to gather himself. The crack-crack-crack of a gas stove turning on and then the clink of metal on metal. You’ve put the kettle on, boiling water. There’s the tinker of porcelain mugs being taken off a stand. He seems to zone in on the peaceful sounds of you making coffee.

When you pour water into the mugs, he remembers the sound of your voice years back. ‘Did you know humans have the ability to hear the difference between hot and cold water being poured?’ ‘Why the fuck do you know that?’ ‘I don’t know. Just thought it was interesting.’

As the teaspoon repeatedly brushes against the inside of the cup as you stir in the instant coffee and milk, JJ finally feels all the emotions even out. As your footsteps make their way back over to him, you flick on the lamp by the front door. JJ opens his eyes to see you place a steaming cup of Joe in front of him on the coffee table. The mug is cute. It’s peach pink and says “I’m drinking tea instead of committing crimes” on the front in an innocent type-writer print.

“Cute mug.”

“Thanks. Thought of you.”

He silently laughs. You sit closer to him this time and your mug sits next to his. There’s no funny quote written across the paint. Then your hand is on his back, barely rubbing him, and it hits JJ that this is the first time you’ve touched him in five years.

“I shouldn’t have gotten so angry,” you tell him. “It ain’t my place to say any of that. Especially not today.”

“It’s true, though. That’s the kicker, ain’t it? That it’s true,” JJ replies.

He sighs and leans back, sitting upright once more. Your hand falls away and you clasp it in the other in your lap. He glances down and takes in your side profile. That stupid piece of hair has come lose again, fallen in your face. He distracts his twitching fingers by twisting one of his rings.

“I’m okay, you know,” you tell him. You look up and meet his eyes. Yours are damp with emotion, just like his were moments earlier. “I’m really okay.”

“You almost weren’t though.”

“Is that the problem? That I almost wasn’t?”

“It’s not the problem. You were never a problem.”

“I ain't mean it like that,” you tell him. You shake your head and JJ isn’t entirely sure why. “Can I ask you something?”

“Of course.”

“Am I the reason that you left Kildare?”

A bird calls outside and JJ seems to latch onto it like a lifeline. That question makes him feel stranded and scared. He wasn’t ready for it despite being fully prepared.

“I don’t think so.”

“You don’t think so?”

“I…It ain't that simple.”

“Can you explain it to me, maybe?” you wonder. There’s no wrath to your tone anymore – no vendetta against him. There’s just curiosity and care, and this wonderful tenderness that JJ always associated with you from day one, when you offered him your cap to keep his hair off his face.

“I didn’t like the person I was in Kildare.”

“Okay,” you quietly say.

“I didn’t like how I acted. I didn’t like how reckless I was, and how I didn’t care who got hurt in the process.”

“Like me?”

JJ swallows. He doesn’t tear his eyes from yours though. “Yeah. Like you.”

“Okay,” you repeat, quieter still, nodding.

“After El Dorado, coming back here, everything felt tainted. I just…I needed to escape it. My dad and my past and…And you. I couldn’t face it. I felt like I’d caused some freak accident and had gotten away, and then I'd come back to face the aftermath and I just couldn’t stomach it. I just ran.”

You nod.

“I just ran,” he hears himself repeat. “And I’m not proud of it. Of any of it.”

“Okay.”

“And I wanted to fix things, but I didn’t know how. Every time I thought of coming back to Kildare, or picking up the phone, or going on Instagram and finding you…I just got so fucking scared, like a stupid shithead kid. I was so scared of becoming the guy I was again.”

And, again, you nod. When he doesn’t continue, you fill the space. “How long have you been sober?”

“The minute I left Kildare.”

“Fuck.”

“Cold turkey. It sucked ass. It still does. You don’t miss it any less. I miss the rage too, sometimes. I miss my dad sometimes, too. Miss him beating on me. How fucked up is that? That I miss him beating on me?”

You don’t seem to know what to say to that. You just look down at the coffee mugs and watch how the steam is slowly but surely going away.

“I am sorry. I know that ain't worth anything, but I am sorry.”

“It is worth something.” You clear your throat, voice coming out stronger when you say, “It’s worth everything.”

Your smile comes back, timid and tiny. You meet eyes for the millionth time that night.

“It feels like I’ve been ready for you to come back, for so long, and now you’re actually here and…I don’t even know where to start.” He watches your tongue dart out and wet your lips. “I wasn’t expecting you to look so good.”

“Disappointed?”

“Massively. I would have got my ass in the gym more if I knew it was a Goddamn competition.”

JJ smiles. “You were always a sore loser.”

“Says you,” you snort.

There’s another peak in the conversation after the long slug of the last dip. It’s so bizarre. So wonderfully bizarre.

“I’m proud of you, for getting sober. Do you feel better for it?”

“Depends.”

“Well, you look better for it,” you say.

“You’re drooling, I think,” JJ teases, reaching a finger out to prod your cheek.

Rolling your eyes, you mirthfully bat his hand away. “You’re hallucinating.”

“Well, withdrawal does crazy things,” he quips back.

You chuckle and shake your head. “I missed you like crazy.”

“I miss you too.”

Your lips part a little with that. Miss. You seem to hesitate to hold his gaze then, like it’s too intense. JJ feels as though he can see every emotion flash across your face in a second, like watching a car crash in slow motion. Surprise, shock, joy, anger, then sadness. It’s that sadness that hammers hard when you speak, voice weak.

“You left without saying anything, JJ. For five years. You just left me.”

“Don’t make it sound like that. Like I abandoned you.”

“But you did,” you whisper. The tears are back. You’ve both fallen from the top of the mountain. “You abandoned me.”

“You don’t get it,” JJ replies, voice suddenly thick.

“I was in it with you.”

“You didn’t see it,” JJ forces out. His tears are falling: they didn’t wait this time. “You didn’t see how it looked – how you looked. You looked so fucking fragile and tiny and small and your leg was so bent and twisted and black – it was black – and I thought you were already dead.”

Your breathing is shaky and broken. The two of you sit on your sofa in the sunset, eyes locked, tears streaming, chests heaving like you’ve run a marathon. The word ‘dead’ hangs in the air and haunts the room.

“I thought you were dead, and I thought it was because of me.”

“Do you hate me for it?”

“Why the fuck would I—”

“Because I didn’t die? Do you hate me for it?”

JJ blinks back his bewilderment. He physically shifts back in his seat, as if you just spat in his face. Horrified, he tells you, “Of course I don’t. Why would you even ask me that?”

“Because I’m still here, JJ. But you acted like I wasn’t for five years. You didn’t even come see me in the hospital. Didn’t sit with me in the ambulance. Hell, you can’t even look at my leg now! You think I didn’t notice? At the graveyard, and now. You think I can’t see it on your face?”

JJ whispers your name in a tearful plea. Stop.

“I’m still here, JJ. And I invited you back here, and I went to the funeral, because I wanted to see you.”

“To show me what I did?” JJ asks, harsher than needed.

You hold his gaze. “To show you I’m okay.”

He shakes his head, insistent. “It was my fault. If I hadn’t been drinking and if I’d been thinking straight, I would have never let you jump off the bike like that. It was fucking reckless and stupid and I would never, ever do it again. It was all my fault.”

“I don’t care who’s fault it was, JJ,” you whisper. Your hand reaches out and traces his cheek and jaw, and he can’t help but lean into your warm touch. There you sit, cradling his face as if he was the victim in this whole thing. It calms him almost immediately. “Nobody forced me on that bike. Nobody forced me to jump, not even you.”

“I shouldn’t have let you.”

“JJ,” you sigh.

He closes his eyes as you shift in your spot, and somehow you end up with your forehead pressed against his. He reaches out one of his hands for the other of yours that rests in your lap and he clenches it, tight. You’re both still crying but they’re silent tears now.

“I forgive you, JJ.”

He shakes his head whilst you nod.

“Yes, I do, I forgive you. I always have. You know why?”

He doesn’t speak. Doesn’t move.

“Because you were dealt the shitest hand I’ve ever known and look who you are. You’re sober, and you're healthy, and you have loving friends and a steady income and a job which you love, and a boathouse, and so much of your life left. And you didn’t kill anyone. You didn’t kill me, JJ. You didn’t even lose me.”

“I don’t—”

“We’re more than our mistakes.”

When JJ opens his eyes, you pull back enough to let him meet your gaze. As if you know what he’s about to ask, you smile. That smile…JJ feels like he’s coming home.

“You’re more than your mistakes, JJ.”

The moment his lips slot against yours, tentative and hesitant, like a bird exploring new ground for the first time, he’s home. There’s hardly a moment of reluctance, of confusion and mismatch from the time passed, before you’re kissing him back. The softness of your lips against his and the brush of your tongue. The sigh in your voice and the tilt of your head. It’s so seamless and sweet and safe. JJ feels safe here, with you. He feels like all the shit doesn’t matter. He feels like sober might actually be synonymous with happiness, with you. When he lies you down on the sofa, JJ doesn’t want to leave this room, this house, or Kildare. He wants to stay here, worshipping you, breathing you in until you consume all of his senses, because after five years, nothing has made him feel as alive as this. As you.

Everything is a wonderful illusion of being rushed and well-paced all at once. He revels in the way your skin gives gently beneath the scrape of his teeth. When he sucks at your throat, the skin is so delicate, and this close to you JJ can smell nothing but your perfume. He wants to fucking drown in it.

“Fuck, I missed you,” he pants. You’re gasping too. Fingers sliding through his hair, down his sides, along his face.

“I missed you,” you whine.

And that phrase gets repeated over and over like a mantra or a prayer. He hears himself whispering it against your skin with every button he undoes on your blouse. Basks in the sound of your voice, older and mature but still you, as you say it whilst pushing his dress shirt off his shoulder.

There’s a stalling pause when his fingers finish tracing down your stomach to your pants. You seem to notice it. Your hand comes to his face and thumbs at his cheek. They’re still sticky from dried tears.

“JJ,” you whisper, coaxing his attention back to your face. You’re glowing. You’re happy, you’re healthy, and you’re here. “It’s okay.” Nodding, you repeat. “It’s okay.”

Then, he watches your own fingers land on the button of your pants, slowly undoing it. Then the other and the third until they’re lose. He watches you wriggle out of them, pulling them down, struggling somewhat from the tight position on the sofa. Watches the scars emerge, faint but clear, and how they grow and spread like ivy on the side of a house. They merge with the cellulite and stretch marks. With a random bruise you must’ve gotten from hitting your leg on the table the other day. They’re a part of you – plain and simple. At the knee, there’s the connection for your prosthetic right leg. Once your trousers are off, JJ finds himself reaching out to touch it. This thing that he was partly responsible for, this marvel of medicine, the reason you can walk. He loves it and hates it desperately all at once. Glancing back up to your face, you’re watching him just as carefully as he was watching you. But you’re smiling.

“You’re okay,” JJ finds himself saying quietly. Because you are. You’re here, laying almost bare before him, just like you had years before.

“It’s rude to make a girl wait, JJ,” you tease.

With that, JJ’s smile is blossoming back like the returning of spring flowers following a brutal winter. He leans forward and catches himself above you with his arms, kissing you like you’re all the oxygen in the world. Your left leg rubs at his calf, still covered by his trousers, and you giggle against his mouth.

“Fuck, I missed this,” you say. “I missed you.”

“How much?”

“So much,” you say.

“Oh yeah? What’d you miss?” JJ persists, kissing down your neck.

“Your mouth,” you say through a moan. His hands slip behind your back and unclasp your bra. You arch your back enough for him to tug it off.

“My mouth?” he wonders, breathing it against your skin. You’re practically writhing. JJ laughs. “What about my mouth?”

“Don’t be a jackass, JJ,” you mutter.

“You want my mouth?”

“Yes,” you quietly beg.

“You do?” he checks, kissing over your breast, sucking at your nipple. “Where do you want it?”

“You fucking know where,” you sigh, impatience shining through.

He grins at the sudden hitch of your moan as he softly nips at the sensitive skin around your nipple. Then he’s kissing down your stomach until finally his fingers hook into the sides of your panties. He slowly, tauntingly, pulls them down. You kick them off at the ankles, a clear act of frustration, and he bites back his laugh.

“What? Here?” JJ plants a kiss to your hipbone. “You want my mouth here? Or…”

Another kiss, to your pelvic bone.

“Here?”

“Fuck you, Maybank.”

“You wanna?”

“I swear to fucking God,” you huff, laughing through the annoyance.

With that, JJ settles himself between your legs and praises you like you deserve to be. The noises you make are downright evil, considering he can do nothing about it and has to hold it together. You taste so familiar on his tongue.

“Fucking missed you,” he groans against you.

When he sucks on your clit, your hands latch into his hair. Your back is arching and you’re gasping and panting and desperate, and JJ feels like a young God. Pulling back, he slips a finger into your hole and it welcomes him so easily. He cusses at how wet you are.

“Come on baby. Come on, I know you’re close.”

The tells of your body haven’t changed since the last time you two were in this position. The way your mouth hangs open in a silent moan when you fall over the edge is so surreal to see after five years apart. He feels you spasms around him and basks in the scratch of your nails against his scalp as you try to ground yourself. He hardly has time to suck his fingers clean before your pulling his mouth to yours and kissing him stupid.

“Fucking missed you,” you repeat against his mouth, making him laugh. “Nobody fucks me as good as you.”

“Jesus Christ, you can’t say shit like that,” JJ chuckles. “Won’t last.”

“Don’t care,” you say. “Only thing bigger than your ego is your dick.”

JJ can’t help but laugh at that. He loves your giggles in response. And then your hands are shoving at his trousers and the humour is gone, replaced with nothing but raw lust and desperation. There’s nothing performative about it, when the two of you hurry to strip his clothes away as soon as possible. He takes note to get his socks off. You’d always had a weird thing about it, sex in socks, and nothing was going to taint this night. Not after so long.

Being inside you…JJ missed it more than all the alcohol and weed in the world. Nothing compared to the feeling of you clenching around him. The vice of your leg hitched up and over his back as he grips into your thigh, mean and firm, perfecting the angle. The senseless, endless whines falling from your agape mouth, eyes closed tight, lost in the feeling of it. JJ wants nothing to be less than perfect for you, for this. Every stroke, every kiss, every clench of his fingers…it all has to be perfect. He knows when you’re close and he’s more than fucking relieved. It’s taking everything in him not to come. He needs you to fall over the edge first.

“Do the thing,” you whine. “Do the thing, John.”

With that, JJ remembers five years back, to late nights and later mornings spent rolling in bed with you. He bites into his lip, holding back his shit-eating grin as the memories flood back, and he leans forward to your ear. Gently taking the lobe within his teeth, he croons into the shell of your ear.

“That’s my good fucking girl.”

And finally, you fall apart, taking JJ with you like you always would.

When the high finally passes and the endorphins settle down, the two of you are laying on the sofa, only covered by a throw blanket JJ had dragged down from the back of the sofa. You’ve somehow shuffled so you’re laying mostly atop of him. His arms are locked around your damp stomach like a vice, nose nestled into your hair, just behind your ear, breathing you in with every inhale.

“Will you stay in Kildare, just for a short while? For me?”

JJ wants to laugh but he knows how wrong that would be in this moment. The humour doesn’t come from the question, but from the notion that he’d leave after finally having you back in his life, safe and happy, after five long years.

“Anything,” he whispers, pressing a kiss against your hair. Anything for you.

“You look like shit by the way,” JJ says.

His hands are warm in his cargo pant pockets. Head tilted down and gaze steady, he sighs.

“Guess you didn’t have chance to clean up though, right?”

Shockingly, the gravestone says nothing back. Well, says nothing asides form Luke Maybank in barely legible font.

It still feels surreal, that his dad is gone. That they’d never remedy anything, or even attempt to fix their relationship. That JJ wouldn’t be able to face him and show him what he’d become. How he’d risen past it all and grown from the pain and the agony. That he’d taken the shitty hand that he was dealt and turned it into nothing but flushes and full houses. That he hadn’t grown into a petty criminal or a tax-evading lowlife, but a strong, good-willed, well-intentioned man. The thought, bittersweet at heart, makes him smile.

“I’m happy dad. I know you probably hate that, being dead and all, but I am.”

As if on cue, there’s the high pitch giggles from afar that catch JJ’s attention. He glances over to spot you and your wonderful mini-you, sitting on your shoulders, waving at him. He waves back, small and short, smiling.

“I’m glad you never met her,” JJ tells his dad, never tearing his eyes away from the pair of you. You ease her off your shoulders and take her hand, pointing to a small bed of daffodils. “I was so scared I’d be bad at this. I was so scared that I’d be like you.”

She’s so fragile as she picks a flower free from the bunch, holding it by the stem, up to you. You nod and presumably smile in approval.

“But I’ll never be like you. She’ll never know what it feels like to live in fear,” JJ states, firmly. He looks back down to the grave. “I’m not your mistakes, and I’m not mine.”

He lowers to a squat and wipes some of the dirt off the stone, revealing the dates. “Happy birthday, dad. You suck, and I hope you’re finally at peace.”

“Daddy, daddy…”

There’s an insistent tug at his jacket sleeve. JJ smiles and looks down at the best mistake he ever made. Mistake is a strong word. ‘Oops, I think is better’, you’d said when you first showed him the pregnancy test.

“What’s up, bub?”

“I found this flower. Can I give it to papa?”

JJ takes the daffodil and glances to the grave. A brief moment of anger passes over him like the breeze of winter. He doesn’t deserve this. He isn’t your papa. I’m glad he’s dead. But he closes his eyes and breathes. Your hand squeezing gently at his shoulder tells him you’re there. It helps ground him.

“Yeah, bub. I think that’d be nice,” he smiles, handing it back.

She giggles as she puts it on the grass just before the stone. Her laughter is brighter and louder still when JJ scoops her up as he stands, looping her around him until she’s a backpack.

“You wanna get ice cream?”

“Hell yeah,” you whoop.

“Hell yeah!” mini-you copies. JJ laughs.

“Alrighty, lets go.”

As the three of you make the small walk back to the car, you intertwine your fingers with JJ’s, holding his hand tight and secure. JJ takes one last glance back at the gravestone. It all began here, in a way, the re-introduction to a life he thought he’d lost. Perhaps the nicest thing JJ’s dad ever did, the kindest act he ever performed, was dying. Perhaps that was his way of paying him back for all the crap he gave.

“Hey.”

JJ glances down at you.

“You okay?”

He smiles. Then, he nods. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m okay.”

Everything is going to be okay.

#JJ #JJ Maybank #JJ x reader #JJ Maybank x reader #jj x oc #jj maybank x oc #outer banks #outerbanks #outer banks jj #outerbanks jj #outer banks jj x reader #outerbanks jj x reader #outer banks fic #outerbanks fic

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bajicantspell · 3 months

Text

Strangers

Summary : part two to Kodzuken in my DMs (press), although i wrote it in a way that reading part one isn’t necessary. The only context you need is that x reader is a small instagram influencer. This chapter is about them hanging out together, doing stuff and Kenma pondering how to make you his girlfriend :)

→ Warnings: smut,cursing (Fluff) 🎧

Kenma loved every conversation with you and couldn't get enough. Each text left him wanting you more ; you were just so… interesting. He was completely amused and infatuated with you.

The fact that he also thought you were a total smoke show was a bonus as well. It was like having the best of both worlds – someone who was not only interesting to talk to but also insanely attractive.

He daydreamed about you a lot, whether he was grocery shopping and saw the drink you told him you like, or glancing at his screen every few minutes hoping you’d reply. He also thought about you, at other times. With one last whimper he flopped onto his bed, exhausted, reaching for the tissues.

He couldn’t help himself; everything you said, every picture you sent, every time you spoke during a call, made him feel a certain way. Your words, your voice, and your beauty all had a profound effect on him, stirring emotions he couldn't ignore. Each interaction left him more captivated, more infatuated with you, and he found himself constantly thinking about you during his alone time late at night.

Kenma kept breathing heavily due to his exhaustion from his high, feeling his eyelids growing heavier.

“Fuck, wish you were here.” He whispered to no one, hoping it could reach you.

He just felt so, so fucking lucky. Not only were you everything he asked for, your university was also ridiculously close to his place, so you didnt live far either. It was as if everything was perfectly set up for you to get together.

He’s a logical man, he wouldn’t be hopeful if the probabilities of you being together were low, but each day he was growing more and more impatient.

He didn't know if he was doing the flirting thing right, but he assumed he must be doing something right since you agreed to go out with him a couple of times over the few weeks of knowing each other.

Over text you could talk together so much, no conversation was boring with you. But he spend the entire evening of your first date just staring at you in awe. You honestly looked better up close than in your pictures, he didnt know that was possible. He could tell you were a little nervous since you talked about everything and anything that came to mind. Your constant chatter was endearing, revealing your anxiousness in a way that made him sheepishly smile. It was clear you were trying to fill the silence, and he found your efforts adorable.

Thankfully, when you talk you’re not that in touch with your surroundings, so maybe he got away with staring.

Lying down in his bed, he smiled a little at the memory. He drifted off to sleep, knowing he’d get to see you again tomorrow. The thought brought him a sense of calm as he finally succumbed to his exhaustion.

Kenma has always been observant of people, a skill that served him well during his high school volleyball days. Old habits die hard, and his keen observation hasn’t faded. But now, it’s working against him as he watches you wrap your lips around the coke bottle, his eyes fixated. It makes him wish he were that bottle.

You noticed his eyes lingering.

"Ken', are you okay?" you asked.

"Hm? What?" he replied, caught off guard.

He invited you to his house for a date night, away from the crowds. The past few times you went out together, you were stared at due to his presence, and he noticed it made you a little uncomfortable. He knew exactly how that felt. Back in high school, he had even bleach-damaged his long beautiful raven locks just to avoid standing out. Though he's an introvert himself, he eventually got used to the public attention fame brings and learned how to tune it out. But he understood that it's not something everyone can easily adapt to. He wanted to ensure you felt at ease, so inviting you to his house seemed like the best way to enjoy each other's company without any unwanted attention.

"You were staring, Ken," you chuckled.

The way you said his nickname was smooth and sweet, giving him chills. Your seductive voice held him utterly entranced.

“Can’t help it. You’re too pretty.” He said, leaning down to peck your lips.

You shared a few kisses, both gentle pecks and passionate ones, but it never went further than that. You didnt know each other long enough for it to go further than that.

You smiled against his lips and he swore his heart skipped a beat. You don’t know what you do to him. He was completely and utterly at your mercy, like putty in your hands.

He knew that if someone who knew him well, like Kuroo, saw him interacting with you, they wouldn’t believe it was the same Kenma.

He surprised himself, honestly. Kenma wasn’t used to being this gentle; he was more familiar with hearing his friends call him a bit intimidating or too straightforward. Though he wouldn't admit it, he kind of enjoyed leaning into his scariness. He also really enjoyed making fun of his friends, if he didn’t throw shit at Kuroo at least once it’d be a bad day. He took particular delight in finding the perfect moments to attack in his monotone voice, and Kuroo was often his favorite target.

Honestly, you couldn’t believe that the guy taking you out, showering you with gifts and compliments, taking photos of you when you asked, and offering to help you with everything, was the same guy famous for his streams being the definition of chaos. The contrast was striking, and you wondered if you’d get to see both sides eventually.

"Ken? Should we clean up and watch a movie?" you whispered softly, your face just inches from his.

"Mmhm," he murmured, his voice low and warm. "How about I wash the dishes while you pick out a movie?" His eyes lingered on yours, a small smile playing at the corners of his lips.

You shook your head, "No, I'll do it. You paid for the food."

He smiled, appreciating your gesture. "Alright," he said, leaning back a bit. "But next time, it's my turn to clean up."

With a playful nod, you headed to the kitchen, feeling his gaze follow you.

He snickered, enjoying the view as you walked away.

Kenma often found himself questioning whether his opinions of you were merely a romanticized version he had created in his mind, or if you truly were that perfect for him. He couldn't help but wonder if his feelings were clouding his judgment, making you seem even more flawless than you actually were. The way you made him feel was undeniable, but he often pondered whether his perception was influenced by his own desires and hopes.

He mentally shook his head—no, that’s not how his mind operated. Kenma was to his core, a realist, often setting himself up for disappointment by meticulously analysing every detail. There was no idealized version of you in his mind; it was simply you. He couldn’t find any flaws because, to him, there genuinely were none.

He knew sooner or later he’d have to officially make you his. The thought of it made his heart race with anticipation and excitement.

The fact that you were still technically available made him simmer with jealousy, despite the unspoken understanding between you that you were unofficially exclusive. He knew he needed to change the 'unofficial' part, though.

He didn't know what got over him, but something compelled him to go after you. An irresistible urge surged through him, driving him to follow you into the kitchen.

You were washing the last plate, completely lost in your thoughts, when you were suddenly brought back to reality by the feel of two hands gently gripping your waist and a head resting on your shoulder. The warmth of his touch and the closeness of his presence sent a shiver down your spine, pulling you out of your reverie. His breath was soft against your ear, and you could feel his heartbeat against your back, grounding you in the moment.

“Well, hello there,” you chuckled, your voice light and amused, hiding your nervousness.

“You smell so good,” he murmured, his voice muffled against the crook of your neck. The warmth of his breath tickled your skin, sending tingles through you. His arms tightened around your waist slightly, pulling you closer as he nuzzled into your neck. You could feel the steady rhythm of his breathing and the gentle press of his lips against your skin.

You giggled in response.

“I’m almost done with these. Did you pick a mo—” you were suddenly interrupted by his grip tightening on your waist, bringing you closer, followed by the sensation of wet, lingering kisses being placed on the back of your neck.

“Kenma, what are you doing?” You asked, your voice firm and low.

"Whatever you want me to. If you want, I'll stop," he replied matter-of-factly, his breath warm against your neck. His hands remained firmly on your waist, but he eased up slightly, giving you the space to decide.

You paused.

"I want... I want more."

Kenma's eyes lit up. "More?" he echoed quietly, a spark of excitement and anticipation in his voice. His grip on your waist tightened once again, his lips hovering just above your skin as he awaited your next move, eager to fulfill your desire.

“Mhmm,” you nervously replied, still gripping the plates. Your heart raced as you felt him grin against your neck, anticipation building with every second.

“Well, if you want more, I'll give you more,” Kenma murmured, his voice low and full of promise. His hands slid up your sides gently, and his lips resumed their trail of kisses along your neck, making your heart race even faster.

His hands slid under your shirt, over your bra, an action that made you set the plates down in the sink gently. The feel of his touch sent a sense of calm through you, and you leaned back into him; an action that made him smirk against your neck.

He played with the textured lace of your bra, his fingers tracing the delicate fabric as if asking for permission to go further. You nodded, neither of you making a sound, the tension between you too much to make a sound. His fingers, encouraged by your silent approval, continued their exploration with more confidence.

He stopped at the hook of your bra, bringing both hands to unclip your bra in one swift motion.

The ease with which he did it made you wonder how much practice he had. His fingers moved so skillfully, it seemed almost instinctual. But don't worry; it was just a fluke. Even he was surprised by it. In reality, he was navigating this new territory with as much uncertainty as you were. The chemistry between you made everything feel natural, even though his heart was pounding just as hard as yours.

When your bra was completely off, with just a little bit of hesitation his hands approached to cup your breasts. His touch was tentative at first, fingers lightly tracing over them as if he were memorizing every curve.

"Fuckin' perfect perky tits." he mumbled against your neck, almost as if he were talking to himself. His breath was hot against your skin, and the words came out in a hushed, reverent tone.

You could only giggle in response.

He pulled one hand out from under your shirt, cringing as the sudden cold air hit his skin, a stark contrast to the warmth you provided.

With one hand still drawing circles around your chest, he brought the other one in front of you, his middle and ring finger just before your mouth. His silent request was clear, so he eagerly waited for you to part your lips.

"Say it," you said, a sudden confidence overcoming you.

"Hmm? Say what?" he replied, his voice tinged with curiosity and anticipation.

"Say what you want me to do," you commanded softly, challenging him to voice his desires.

"Oh yeah? Okay then. Suck ‘em," he said with a chuckle, his fingers practically pushing your lips open. The playful command, combined with the gentle pressure of his fingers, sent a thrill through you. You parted your lips, letting his fingers slide in, and the taste of his skin filling your mouth.

He was still pressed up against your back, and throughout this entire exchange, it was the only time he was glad he couldn’t see your face. He knew he didn't have the self-control to hold back if he saw your pretty, pouty lips wrapped around his fingers like that. The thought alone was enough to drive him wild, but the feel of your mouth on his fingers, warm and inviting, was almost too much to bear.

Eventually, much to his displeasure, he had to remove himself from your mouth.

His sticky, saliva-covered fingers quickly slipped back under your shirt before you could notice. Meanwhile, his other hand traveled just below the waistband of your sweats, tracing the small bow on your panties.

With the fingers that were mere moments ago in your mouth he started gently tracing your nipple, slightly pinching it in the process, causing you to mewl oh so quietly.

He had to bite down on your neck to quickly ground himself. Hearing you make a noise, even if it was barely audible, for the first time had him battling every instinct to not pounce on you that same instant. The soft sound made him want to hear it more, and he struggled to maintain control, every fibber of his being yearning to give in to the moment. He was so hard it was aching.

He couldn’t help himself. While maintaining the rhythm of his fingers, he began gently grinding against you, unable to resist the overwhelming urge.

“Fuck, baby. I never knew it could feel this good, never felt this good with anyone. ” he quickly mumbled, his voice whiney, almost a whimper.

You couldn’t even process the new pet name, you were clenching around nothing and aching for attention too much.

You couldn’t even remember the last time you were touched like this. Kenma had his own struggles with love due to his fame, and although you were locally known at best, it didn’t mean you didn’t attract a bunch of insecure boys. Men who claimed they didn’t care about the online attention you received would quickly change their tune when they saw how many men were in your comments. Some even used you to boast to their friends about talking to you. As a result, every experience you had prior to this one felt completely one-sided. They didn’t care if you felt good or not, as long as they got off. Your last boyfriend couldn’t even make you come once in the entire three months you were together.

But Kenma was different. Kenma wasn’t insecure, and his feelings for you, although attraction based at first, were real now. His touch was filled with genuine desire and hunger, making you feel truly seen and wanted, craved even. The contrast was striking,and it made all those past experiences fade into insignificance.

“Kenma?” you said breathlessly, your voice trembling with anticipation.

“Mhmm?” he responded, his voice husky he continued to touch you.

“Please. Wanna come,” you pleaded, your need evident in every word. The desperation in your voice only fueled his own, making him more determined to bring you to the edge.

“Don’t have to tell me twice, pretty,” he said, his voice filled with urgency. The hand that had been teasing the edge of your cute panties slipped inside, his fingers skillfully finding their way to your most sensitive spot.

He paused for a moment as his fingertips brushed against your entrance. “You’re fucking soaked,” he murmured, a hint of awe and satisfaction in his voice.

“Maybe you’re doing something right, then,” you replied with a teasing smile, your voice a mix of playful and breathless.

“Maybe I am,” he teased back, a smirk playing on his lips as his middle finger began making gentle circular motions on your bundle of nerves using your own juices to lubricate it. It was so lewd. The sensation was like nothing you’ve felt before, making you gasp and lean further into him.

‘Fucking gamer hands.’ You thought to yourself.

As his fingers continued their rhythmic movements, you could feel the intensity building within you, every movement bringing you closer to the edge. Your breaths grew shallower, your heart racing as you surrendered to the overwhelming sensations he was creating. His other hand, still wet and playing around with your nipple, only fueled the buildup.

Kenma’s eyes never left what he could see of your face, watching every expression. You couldn’t meet his gaze, eyes closed in pleasure. If you could, you’d be terrified by the dark, feline-like stare he wore. His eyes were intense, predatory, and focused entirely on you, taking in every detail of your reaction. The sight of you, lost in feeling because of him, only spurred him on.

He could tell you were close.

He whispered softly in your ear, “Let go for me, pretty,” his voice a mix of command and tenderness. His assured yet gentle words urged you to surrender.

The rhythmic circles on your sensitive spot grew more insistent and you could feel the tension building, a powerful wave approaching.

His free hand roamed your body, adding to the sensations. You felt completely surrounded by him—his presence, his touch, his voice—all combining to create an experience unlike any you had known.

As the intensity built, your breaths became ragged, your body trembling with anticipation. Kenma’s dark, intense eyes never left your face, capturing every expression and quiver of pleasure.

“Let go,” he repeated, his voice now a husky murmur, filled with urgency and promise. His touch and words were irresistible, and you finally surrendered, giving in to the overwhelming pleasure.

Loud whimpers filled the house as your muscles tensed from the sensation. The intense pleasure made it impossible to stay quiet, each sound escaping your lips adding to the excitement. Your whole body tightened, responding to the waves of ecstasy, leaving you breathless and trembling in Kenma's arms.

He finally turned you around, taking a good look at your face. His eyes roamed over your features, taking in every detail—the flushed cheeks, the parted lips, the dazed expression in your eyes. He smiled to himself, proud of his work.

“Was it good?” he asked, gently cupping your face. His thumb brushed lightly over your cheek, his eyes searching yours for an answer. Not that there was any doubt in his mind it wasn’t.

“Are you joking? That was the best one I’ve had in a long time.” you replied breathlessly , a satisfied smile spreading across your face.

Your arms wrapped around him and he followed suit. You stayed like that for a couple of minutes, you calming down from your high and him holding you through it.

His fingers gently stroked your back, a soothing gesture that further eased you into a state of complete relaxation.

“Ken?”

“Yeah?” he responded, his voice gentle and attentive.

“I’m on the pill, you know,” you said, your voice teasing but clear.

He grinned slyly, “Oh yea? And why are you telling me this?”

You stood on your tiptoes, gently pulling him closer by the collar. His eyes widened slightly in surprise, but he didn't resist, his breath hitching as you leaned in close. Your lips brushed against his ear, and you whispered, "Because I wanna go to your room so you can ruin me."

He hid his surprise and excitement, taking a step back. "Sorry, I don’t fuck strangers." He lied.

You were confused. "Strangers?" you echoed, your voice tinged with hurt and uncertainty.

“Well, yeah,” he said, leaning on the counter. “So unless you wanna be my girlfriend, it’s a no for me.” He smirked, watching your face change from confusion to realization.

The initial hurt faded, replaced by a mix of surprise and excitement. "Girlfriend?" you repeated, your voice softening.

“Mmhm.” He replied with anticipation.

A smile appeared on your face. “Oh, fuck you. I thought you were going to kick me out or something. Couldn't you ask like a normal person?”

He chuckled, clearly amused by your reaction. “Where’s the fun in that?” he teased. “So, what’s it going to be? Girlfriend?”

You rolled your eyes playfully but couldn’t hide your grin. “Yes, Kenma. I’ll be your girlfriend.’

“Good,” he murmured, leaning in to kiss you softly. “Now, about ruining you...”

You looked up at him seductively. “Gonna have to catch me first.”

Before he could process what you said, you quickly turned and ran to the bedroom, laughing.

“Don’t run so loud, you’re annoying,” he called after you, a huge grin plastered across his face as he followed you.

Kenma genuinely lost count of how many times he came in you that night.

𝕟𝕠𝕥𝕖𝕤 ↓。

a bunch of ppl requested anonymously for this to be a smut chapter, so I’m delivering lmaoo, you animals. (ILY THANK U FOR THE SUPPORT) Tags : @nazwrites-2002 @nishayuro @nnnyxie If u wanna get tagged in my next fic abt Suna or if u want a part 3 lmk <3

#kenma x reader #haikyuu #hq kenma #kozume kenma #kenma smut #kenma kozume #kenma kozume smut #haikyuu dumpster battle #haikyuu smau #haikyuu fluff #haikyuu smut #kenma fluff

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hana-no-seiiki · 6 months

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I’ve been stuck on this idea. Jinx reader with the batfam…I know you had it in your master list and I’ve been thinking about it for a while. Maybe when the reader was little, they doodled and made little trinkets like powder. So I’m thinking that the reader doodled on batmans tools. Kinda like how powder/jinx made their weapons with faces on them.

So maybe Batman and the rest of the boys were gone and reader snuck into the bar cave and started doodling on their masks and weapons.

And just another thought 😅

When reader is older, they become a vigilante, causing chaos for the fun of it but also doing it for good. They also move out when they were a kid, because maybe Batman called then a jinx (I’m really going for the arcane storyline 😭😭😭)

Maybe the batfam tries to bring her back, but she just kinda runs away laughing while throwing glitter bombs 😭😭😭

Just something I thought of

I don’t usually write reader as childhood friends with the guys here unless it’s cat villain (which is more like childhood rivals) so this is quite the change.

In my og storyline which i have semi spoiled and will spoil some more here : Jason and Jinx! Reader were part of a found family and Jason having a massive crush on reader gave them tools to make explosives they really shouldnt have. Which is kind of poetic knowing how he ‘dies’.

I’m not sure if this ask is platonic or romantic so I’ll just go with my preference, the latter.

this is just a little snippet since i started working on jinx reader again huhu wanna save the juicy stuff for that one

Jinx! Reader was known as the runt of the litter among Bruce’s adopted children. Physically weak, above average in smarts but nothing compared to the rest. The only thing they had going for them was their skill with firearms which Bruce heavily discouraged and admonished the practice of.

Jason and you bonded with rebelling against him. He’d often bring you out to abandoned arcades that you two would repair from scraps you found in the Batcave. Dude was down atrocious. He kept bringing you to missions purely because he couldn’t resist your face. Sure he was snarky at times, but your common upbringing made him more soft around you. (Sometimes he purposely puts you in situations where you’d get caught just so he can ‘save’ you. The way you hold unto him for dear life is…simply exhilarating)

But try as he might, he could never fill the hole you had in your heart. Your desire for a complete family. For validation. For Bruce to finally acknowledge your worth. For Damian to stop calling you a fucking waste of space.

You ended up screwing a mission so badly that you indirectly killed dozens of Gotham citizens.

Usually you would just compromise their positions during patrols but this was… this was something irreversible. Something that affected friends, families, actual living breathing people.

Bruce had a tight cap on his emotions, but he just couldn’t stop himself from taking out his anger, grief and frustration out on you.

Dick and Jason managed to pull him back before he could hurt you beyond a punch to the face, but the psychological damage had already been cemented.

You run away, running into Harley Quinn.

But instead of following the path my og jinx reader did, Joker wasn’t there to fuck with your head even further. So you sought to repay for your sins.

Still, the screams. The way Bruce called you useless, a jinx. The memories of being neglected and inferior.

Sometimes chaos was the only way to make it shut up.

#hns.txt💬#hns.ask💌#yandere #yandere x reader #yandere x you #yandere imagine #yandere fic #yandere core #yandere batfam #yandere batfam x reader #yandere batfam x you #batfam #batfam x reader #jason todd #jason todd x reader #yandere jason todd #yandere jason todd x reader #yandere red hood #red hood x reader

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floppydiskettess · 1 year

Text

VALORANT AGENTS REACTING TO THEIR S/O GETTING INJURED ON A MISSION

featuring - sage, killjoy, cypher, yoru, sova, gekko, viper

a/n : cyphers part contains a lot of angst and alcohol talk. i couldnt let it ALL be fluff 😋

✮~ Sage ~✮

literally the sweetest ever, but this doesn't need to be said

if its a minor injury, she will definitely be giving you a talk about being safer and how to prevent that from happening

"but what if it was something more serious? something even I couldn't heal? you must be more careful angel."

if her s/o was harmed badly, she would do two things.

one, she would immedietely drop everything and rush towards healing you, this woman will stay up all night trying to heal you and make sure that there is not so much as a scratch left on your body. she would definitely overwork herself but making sure you are alright is all that matters.

two, the second you are stable and resting, she is going to find out whichever enemy agent hurt you and fuck. them. up.

im talking full battle sage, she will have no mercy if the injury they caused was threatening enough.

she may excude sweet and kind energy but she is one scary lady when the people she loves are harmed

she knows exactly how damaged a body must be for it to be unfixable.

"I'm so sorry I couldn't be there my dear, but they won't be hurting you again."

she will be watching you carefully, even asking brimstone to take you off of missions for a short time or asking him to keep an eye on you.

she doesn't know what she would do if she lost you..

☻︎~ Killjoy ~︎︎☹︎

she blames herself, how could she not? she designed most of the stuff...it must be a error in her inventions.

she will work night and day trying to figure out what happened. was it a weapon error? did the gun she designed for you malfunction? oh no was she to blame for anyone elses injuries?!

it would take a lot of reassurance for her to calm down. after all, this wouldn't have happened if she had been more careful...right?

"Mein gott...you scared me. I thought I lost you schatzi..."

she is going to be by your side after sage discharges you from her infirmary. expect lots of physical affection (if your comfortable with it.) and care.

she will treat you as if you were glass about to break. you will not be doing any chores while you recover.

oh you need to work on a mission report? its already finished and submitted. you are hungry? she would cook a lovely meal her parents would make her when she was sick. (with the help of some other agents...shes probaly not a great cook lets be honest..)

"KJ...Sage gave me the all clear! I can do it!"

" Nein nein! You are going to rest mein Häschen! I don't want you straining yourself!"

♖~ Cypher ~♖

if you get injured, be it minor or major. this man will WORRY.

he already lost everything, he cannot lose you either. if he did...he would have nothing.

when sage showed up at his door covered in blood and bruises. he knew something went wrong.

you told him you were going on a small mission. just an in and out radianite extraction at an abandoned lab. he had no reason to worry...right?

when he heard what had happened, he was devastated. what was supposed to be a quick mission turned out to be a setup. what makes it worse? you were alone at your site.

he will be thinking the worst. what if you...? if he had only done a more detailed check on the lab...maybe he could have protected you. but he didn't. he feels like he failed.

you spend weeks in the recovery bay, lying unconcious.

he spends those weeks without you in his lab drinking the memories away and trying to figure out what happened.

he just cannot function with the thought of losing you at the back of his mind at all times.

he knows he was caught when viper appears at his doorway with a concerned glare and a solemn looking sage in tow. he can't remember most of it, but viper was worried? about him?

soon he was also transported to sages infirmary. getting put on nutrients and oxygen. it was obvious he was not taking care of himself without your presence

when you wake up, he would be right there cradling your cheek with his hand. his mask nowhere in sight. all that matters was that you were safe now

"يا حياتي..i was so scared i lost you"

he will never forget his past, but he looks forward to his future with you.

can you tell i like cypher guys :)

☁︎~ Yoru ~☁︎

do not even get me started on this man

he would be extremely angry.

but is it at you, the others, or maybe himself?"

upon hearing the news, he would immediately check on you. seeing your unconcious body just makes something in him snap. the thought that someone had done this to you...he plants a soft kiss to your temple, before storming out of the infirmary.

for the next few days, he would lash out at everyone around him. sage came around to bring him some food as he had not left his room and he just...lost it.

he wasn't even sure who he was yelling at, who he was blaming for what happened. poor sage looked petrified and the others seemed to gather the idea yoru didn't want to be talked too right now.

with no word from anybody about your condition, he lay down on his bed and cried numbly. every night he would teleport into where sage had kept you to heal. he would sit in silence staring at your asleep face before always kissing your forehead goodbye. in hopes that somehow, you would wake up.

he went to your room and grabbed some sweaters of yours, every night he slept with them for comfort, clinging onto them as if they were going to leave him too.

when you wake up, he won't care about keeping his mysterious "badass" persona up. he will be at your side holding your hand and crying.

"please be more careful 私の日光...i don't know what i would do if i lost you."

when sage discharges you, he will be glued to you. he will simple little things for you (such as opening doors for you.)

his love language is definitely acts of service

if you teased him about this though, he will never admit to it.

he will be doing simple things such as cooking meals, cleaning up, and helping you finish any work you have

he is so domestic

he may not be super outwardly affectionate, but with each small favour he does for you he is putting all of his love into it.

𖦹~ Sova ~𖦹

sova is literally the most caring boyfriend...like ever..

if its a minor injury, he will treat it (if sage and skye are off on a mission).

he will definitely lightly scold you, not to be mean! just because he hates seeing you hurt and in pain.

"ангел. please be more careful next time..you know i hate seeing you upset."

if it was a major injury though, he is relatively the same.

he isn't scared to cry infront of the others, when he gets the news that your mission went south he was crying into sages shoulder.

he would stay with you the entire recovery. sage had to keep kicking him out at nighttime but eventually she realized she couldn't stop him. she simply would bring meals for him whenever he would forget to eat.

he would sit and tell you about his day, how the missions were going, even the silly schenanigans that the younger agents were pulling

"yoru tried to get revenge on phoenix for his prank but it went so bad ангел. he entered his rift and jumped out to scare him, but reyna happened to have just been passing by! she was absolutely livid родная. i have never seen our dear riftwalker so terrified!" he chuckled

when you woke up, he was still there lightly snoring against the chair sage had brought him.

when he woke up, he was thrilled, his eyes immediately lighting up like a childs

"have you been sitting here the whole time?"

"of course my dear. as if i would leave you."

߷~ Gekko ~߷

as the newest agent, he hasn't known you for very long. your relationship was coming up to a few months old but he hadn't told you how much he loved you yet.

so naturally, when he heard you were injured he was terrified

he knew this job was dangerous! he just never thought it would be you getting injured...he also never really thought of anyone getting badly injured

he was training with harbour when he overheard a mission going wrong...a mission you were on.

he would rush to the infirmary overloading sage with questions about you

"Sage!! Finally...que pasó?? Neon told me something happened on the mission?!"

Appariently, you had gotten caught in a fight with the enemy Breach and he hit you with his aftershock.

He didn't know much about Breach, but he knew that man had quite a bit of strength in his abilities (being like...bionic you know?"

After some skillful and strategic convincing (pathetic and annoying begging) Sage agreed to take him to see you.

When he caught sight of you lying in the bed staring up at the ceiling, he let out a big sigh he didn't even know he was holding.

"Mi sol! Oh mierda I was so worried! What happened?"

He would be sitting patiently listening to you explain what happened. All while staring at you softly.

"Shooottt...sounds like you had a busy mission! I am just happy you made it back cariño."

☠︎︎~ Viper ~ ☠︎︎

if you were minorly injured, it was probably from tinkering with her poison vials and one leaked onto your fingers

after hearing your grunt in pain, she turns around and her eyes widen, rushing towards you.

"Idiot, I said not to touch anything!"

she swears under her breath before wiping it away and rubbing some sort of cream onto your hand

"Honestly..who would touch something containing poison WITHOUT protection?"

her biggest fear? her poison causing you harm.

so what if a mission were to go wrong and you happened to step into a bubble of her poison?

it was a genuine wrong place wrong time situation. she had a poison bubble deployed and sitting on the ground, as she activated it she looked up to see your frame walking overtop of it.

she shouts to get you to move, but you don't hear her in time. next thing she knows, you are on the ground out cold with green and purple lines all over your face.

she quickly would call for backup, holding you tight but trying to avoid the chemical burns.

when she is back to safety, she rushes to sage's infirmary with your barely warm body in her arms

unfortunately, the poison had seeped into some open wounds you had. causing it to spread throught your body. viper leaves sage alone to do her job, pacing back and forth outside.

she knew how strong her poison could be, but she also knew how strong your body was. you would survive. you had too.

after a few hours, a tired sage walks out and nods, signaling it went well.

viper rushed into the room and immediately looked at your sleeping face, wincing at the fading bloodshot lines on your face.

"i'm so sorry love..please wake up soon"

she would wait by your side holding your hand and occasionally planting soft kisses to the back of your hand.

she knew you would be ok, but she couldn't help but feel bad that her miscommunication and carelessness caused this to happen to you.

when you wake up, she would be whispering soft apologies into your ear

"i promise...you will never feel this pain again my dear."

a/n : holy shit guys!!!! this took a while!! i spent a good 4 hours writing all this JDJSBSJSKSKSN its probably cringe im sorry

but yeah! i tried my best to write this with a gender neutral reader in mind but in some of these its definitely a bit more fem reader leaning! also i do not speak any of the languages spoken in this so if i made a mistake or used something wrong PLEASE let me know so I can fix it!!!

#valorant headcanons #valorant x reader #yoru x reader #viper x reader #sage x reader #sova x reader #cypher x reader #gekko x reader #killjoy x reader #valorant #valorant x y/n #valorant x you #y/n not used #but its implied #headcanons #ooc post #valorant fanfiction

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