#what if you’re grieving a person and place all at the same time?

[invisiblewashboard]

Yesterday I dropped my children off with my mother so that I could run some errands on my own. I am usually not granted this privilege, and I planned to take full advantage. For me, that looks like completing my tasks as quickly as humanly possible, getting some food from a drive-thru restaurant, then merely driving around aimlessly for a while.

Foolishly, I decided to drive past my childhood home and the surrounding areas.

For those of you who do not know, my childhood home was only recently purchased by a large company who is bringing loads and loads of infrastructure to my hometown. I understand the inevitability and necessity of such things, but that does not mean I have to like any of it.

I drove past the place where my home used to stand; the home my father designed. The home that I still have the blueprints for. The home he built with his own hands, exactly how my mother asked for it to be built.

After he died, it was hard for me to be in that house, even though that is often exactly where my mother needed me to be. It was as if I were standing inside my father’s mind, seeing every design choice, from the plethora of right angles, the symmetry and sharp, modern design as reminders of him, reminders that he should still be living in this house, providing for my mom and my little sister.

What was harder than being in the house was saying goodbye to it forever in January when my mother moved out. I cried more than perhaps I should have. Because it’s only a place. It was only a house. But it was my house once upon a time ago. And I hated leaving it forever. I had dreamed of my kids having sleepovers at their grandparents in that house, of my dad teaching them fire safety and how to navigate the woods around them there. I dreamt of their dad taking them hunting on the land, of them chasing chickens and goats around the garden and yard, since we don’t live in a place that allows the keeping of livestock.

But none of that was to be.

Now, when you drive by, there is nothing. Nothing but empty land and a pile of fill dirt where the house once stood. The only thing left are memories.

I did not expect that as I was driving by I would see one of our neighbor’s homes being actively torn down. An excavator was smashing through walls, glass from the windows shattering everywhere, drywall, siding, insulation all being torn out. And for what, you ask? For a huge data center. For parking lots. For ugly warehouses and fences and gray, brown, and black things to replace the trees and endless fields that used to be there.

I should have turned around and gone to my mother’s to get my kids at that point but I did not. I kept on. I drove past what used to be my favorite place in all the world, a place I would go to seek solace from the teasing of my brothers, the annoyances of a sister 13 years my junior. It did not used to be accessible by road, but that has since changed. It used to be a meadow, one full of tall, tall grasses and wildflowers. Long ago it used to be a farmer’s field, so there were no trees, but I had to trek through the woods for the shortest path there.

It wounded me deeply to see what it’s become. The grasses and wildflowers have been torn up. All that remains are clods of dirt, yellow construction vehicles, the beginnings of a parking lot, and the framing of a warehouse.

I admit my stomach twisted and tears burned my eyes when I saw it. I used to sit in that meadow with my diary in hand, facing the sun as it sank down into the horizon, loving every moment of peace and quiet, knowing if I were still enough, the deer would come from the surrounding wood to graze under the last light of day, that if I were very lucky, a rabbit may dart in front of me before realizing I was there. Once the sun had fully set, the ceasing of birdsong meant it was time for me to go home. And I was never afraid. Even in the dark, I knew my way through the woods well and it never took me longer than twenty minutes to come through the woods, into the clearing of my backyard.

No one will ever have the chance to experience the joy that meadow brought ever again. Because it’s gone now.

And my heart it just a bit broken over it.

[samthestrangerthingsfan]

Out of The Woods

pairing: Eddie Munson x Reader

summary: Seven years ago, you got more than you bargained for, and you're determined Eddie will be none the wiser.

chapter warnings: swearing, sad reader, talks of pregnancy, eddie doesn't look good here babes.

a/n: guys--GUYS. We're launching our first series! I'm so excited to bring you the feels and squeals with this one. Please enjoy this little prologue!

Prologue: Before It All

October 31st, 1986

Pamphlets and flyers litter your dorm room. Pastel colored brochures full of information that encourage you to ‘weigh your options’ and ‘make smart choices’.

Gone are the dutifully written class notes and calendar full of exam dates. Instead, new phone numbers and doctors appointments are written in their place.

“Pick up. Please, please.” You beg the universe through the receiver of a baby blue phone; it’s cord was wrapped so tightly in your palm that spiral indentations began to form on the soft skin.

There’s a tell-tale click of the answering machine on the other end, and a familiar voice temporarily drowns out your thoughts.

“Yeah you’ve reached the Munson's,” Wayne’s recording was gruff, not at all like the kind man you’d known since you were fourteen. “We ain’t home so, leave a message.”

We.

You're silenced by a high-pitched beep ringing through your ears, followed by a robotic voice.

“Answering machine full. Goodbye.”

The hollow feeling in your chest expanded. Then the call disconnected, and you were sure the phone would shatter from the sheer force it was slammed down with.

What had you done? What hadn’t you done? Why did he abandon you?

Questions that you'd turned into riddles—searching and hoping to figure out the answers to. But rhyme and reason no longer mattered, not anymore. The unfortunate truth of it all was really quite simple:

Eddie Munson no longer wanted to be a part of your life, and he certainly didn’t want you in his.

He’d made that abundantly clear two months ago. He’d used you--in more ways than one; ruined and tarnished every memory you had with him. The boy you’d known for so long, the one who knew your most guarded secrets and traumas, had abandoned you.

Worse than that, he left you grieving.

Grieving someone who was still walking and breathing and living on the same planet as you. Mourning a person who was going about their days as if nothing had changed.

Now? That couldn’t be further from the truth.

Years of friendship replayed in your mind, searching for signs and clues that could have told you he wasn't who he lead you to believe.

But there was nothing.

Eddie had been you're fiercest protector, he risked his own safety-on more than one occasion-to keep you out of harms way. No one knew you better. If we're being honest? You had loved Eddie Munson, and for a time, you were sure he loved you too.

Until he didn’t.

Until he broke all of the promises he made to you.

When he’d let you leave without a goodbye. Watched you cry and beg for an answer as to why he cut you off after…after that night.

You knew it would change everything--naively, you hoped it would be for the better.

But change comes in whatever way it wants too.

Your change is the little life growing inside of you. The one Eddie will never know about.

If he could throw you away this easily, you’d never be able to trust him with something like this. Never allow him to break this baby’s heart the way he broke yours.

This was your last attempt. Calling on fate to determine if Eddie would even be allowed to know about the little person you'd made together. When he'd ignored your call yet again, you'd had your answer.

It’ll be hard—harder than anything you’d ever dealt with back home in Hawkins. You’d have to forget that place and the people in it; leave everything behind if you wanted to give this baby a chance.

Does that make me any better than Eddie?

"Fuck him." The tears on your cheeks were wiped away on your sleeve. You’re doing it to protect someone you love.

And so you forgot.

You forgot Hawkins, pushed it to the very back of your mind and the basement of your heart. If you thought about all the people you’d left behind, your resolve would break.

"Us against the world, hm?" the melancholy wasn't lost on you as you rubbed your tummy.

Life will go on because it has too. Because nothing in this world matters as much as he or she does. You can do it. For them you're convinced you can do just about anything.

Even if you're doing it alone.

[thesuperiorrobin]

𝐒𝐨𝐫𝐫𝐨𝐰 𝐥𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫 ~

Pairing: Damian Wayne x reader

Word count: 1.5k

Warning: Angsty?? Hurt with little/to no comfort maybe? Happy ending???? Not proofread

Damian always made promises to you and he fulfills them no matter the cost. He just wants to see you happy. He would make them when he had to go away for a few days, sometimes weeks, for a mission.

“Promises you’ll come back?” You would always ask.

He would always reply the same—his pinky stretched out towards you, a soft reassuring smile painting his lips “to you? No matter the cost beloved” a promise that was sealed with pinkies linked together and lips pressed softly against one another.

Have you ever loved someone so much that you plan your whole future together? With the other person going along and adding their own details to your make believe shared life?

That was you two, sharing those thoughts under the stars, holding each other in a comforting manner.

Surprisingly—Damian thought of the perfect wedding, a combination of both cultures, both big families together in one big room—dancing, laughing and chatting up a storm over the loud music that plays. The thought of having your first dance together as a married couple made him feel—ecstatic. Yeah, a perfect wedding for both of you.

What was a happy thought of him planning a beautiful day turned sour.

Because the day of the funeral was held about five days after his death, on the property that belonged to Bruce Wayne, right next to his grandparents. A private invent that was considered a nightmare.

Yet even when you're standing right in front of the grave, with his name engraved into it, you still think it’s just some horrible nightmare, one that you should have woken up to the moment you heard the news. That day it was cloudy, as if the universe had known when it had lost another soul, grieving with you in the process. That’s the only thing you could remember, everything else was much of a blur, the memorial, his burial—all of it until this very moment.

You find yourself alone, everyone else gone—they don’t have the heart to pull you away after giving their condolence. The tears are no more, your cheeks stain with them . There’s a painful feeling in your heart as your eyes follow the curves of his name on the stone:

In loving memory of our lovely son, Damian Al Ghul Wayne.

it’s hurts to much and all you could do is stare at the dirt. The sigh you let out is shaky—you’re trembling in your spot.

As more time passed, the more the sky got darker and darker with Grey clouds—the sound of soft thunder striking down followed by the wisp of rain soon after. It’s not long for the rain to thicken. But you didn’t budge, you couldn’t—cause if you did you wouldn’t have the heart to come back, not wanted to bear the pain anymore. The rain leaked through your coat at some point, wetting your clothes underneath as it sticks to your body along with your hair, wet down and sticking to your neck, cheeks and forehead.

You could hear the sound of heavy footsteps behind you—then a warm heavy hand was placed on your shoulder. The rain seems to stop and when you look up and there’s an umbrella placed over your head, a hand holding the curved handle. Your eyes up the hand and arm of the person. There, Bruce stands beside you with tired red eyes and a sadden smile, ones that seemed forced.

“Let’s get you inside with the others” you wanted to say no, but the words wouldn’t leave your mouth as his arm finds itself behind your back as he leads you away from your loved ones grave. You take one last look at his grave, before it’s gone for good.

It only took one look for him to understand, nodding as you leave the older man’s side.

Alfred and Titus follow you closely. They stand by your side waiting for you to open his door, and once you do they wait until you enter it first.

Damian's bedroom has never been so…quiet.

Usually when you come over there’s normally the soft sound of his TV or his favorite music playing in the background. But there’s nothing. His room is no longer bright, the only thing keeping it dim was the light from outside. Beds undone, a couple of his clothes are scattered everywhere, and his desk is covered in his painting materials.

It's like time had stopped all together in his room. It’s funny because he was never the type to be a messy person, he probably didn’t have time before he was sent away.

Titus, that sweet big dog, rubs his nose up against your palm—whining as he does so. You make your way up against his nose and up his head—gently scratching it as Alfred jumps up into your arms. You catch him with ease. The big Great Dane leaves your side for a moment and you don’t think much of it. With the cat still in your arms, you’re scanning the quiet cold room.

Up until your eyes land on a spot in his room—the walls filled with nothing but pictures. A closer look and it’s pictures of you and him—with a handful of them also being him with his family or his pets. Tears threaten to spill once more—you try to hold them back.

But you're unsuccessful.

A few of them fall down the fat of your cheeks. Every picture holds a memory. Ones you and him held dear in your hearts. Something hits the back of your leg and you let out a small ‘ow’. Alfred jumps out your arms as you look down, eyes blurry as you blink the tears away. Titus stands below you right by your feet with a thick book in his mouth. The Great Dane nudges right up against the back of your thigh. Titus was such a smart dog, maybe smarter than other dogs around the world.

He does it one more time until you take the book out of his mouth sniffling away your tears as you do so, clearing them up with the somewhat wet sleeve of your coat, very faint teeth marks cover the back and front of it. He wants you to open it, that’s what you think and it’s probably right. You find yourself sitting on the ground, back up against the wall with your legs crossed over one another. The big dog lays beside you, head on the fat of your thigh while the cat finds its place on top of Damian’s bed.

You’re hesitant to open it and you don’t know why. Few minutes of silence and fighting with yourself about it—with a single sigh you open it. The first page is blank but the next one and the following aren’t. It was his sketchbook. One that he would try to hide from you because it would make him embarrassed if you had ever laid your eyes on it. His words not yours. Damian was amazing when he came to his artistic side no doubt about it.

Every page filled with sketches, every space taken up by them and Arabic language beautifully written on the corners of most pages. It wasn’t a surprise when you saw your reflection on paper. Actually, most of them were of you. Others might find it weird, but to you it was something that made your heart pound and your face feel warm. Maybe that’s why he didn’t want you to see it.

Flipping the page one last time, you find a small paper folded in half in the small crease of the book. You think it’s another drawing, so imagine your surprise when you unfold it and it's written later.

Addressed to you from Damian. You recognize his hand writing with every cursive on every line.

‘I’m never good with affection, I would like to apologize in advance despite being together for two years’ you find yourself smiling. Something you haven’t done in days ‘I’m not good with words either, so I hope you find this letter to be of use. Grayson told me I should do something for our third year anniversary—seeing as we both haven’t done anything special for the two previous years. With you being my first I, myself, am not very good at any of this and you know that. But I’ll try for you. Remember, not that long ago when we would talk about our future together under the bright stars? It’s a little ‘sappy’ as Todd would put it but I hope it becomes true in the near future. Grayson and Drake told me not to worry about it as much, because they are both ‘sure’—hinting at our future like they know something. And I think they do. Secretly I know Grayson is already planning a wedding. It was the first thing he did when I told him about you. He cried when he found out he was the first to know, but don’t tell him I told you. Words can’t describe how much you truly mean to me, they can’t describe how much I…..’

that’s where it ends. He never finished the letter. You wanted to yell at the letter, but doing so would make you look like you’ve lost your mind. Not that you have already. All you could was cry—trying your best to hold back loud sobs but they came out choked out instead. The letter is covered in droplets of your fallen tears as you crumble it under your grip, holding it close to your chest.

The book is long forgotten.

Maybe in a different life things could be better for the both of you.

Schools literally start’s TOMORROW 😭

Buts it’s my last year, graduate of 2024😋 (I’m a senior without a drivers license 😞)

[val-cansalute]

PICKING UP THE ———- PIECES -———

ch.3 - 18+

cw: smut below the cut, mdni, cunnilingus LOOOOOOL, fingering, tribbing… but, like, some dirty talk 😥 idk ppl… idk… still got like three chapters left 🐺 proofread but not very well cuz i’m gonna fall asleep

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ch. 6

If you squint hard enough--

“Yep, it’s fixing up pretty nice, kid.”

-- you can just about make out the flecks of dust flickering in the influx of honeyed light through your windows.

“Not swollen anymore.”

And you can watch them flutter gently in mid-air, never quite meeting the ground.

You could watch them forever. Just sitting here, just like this, just like them, basking in the gentle warmth of the sunlight, the hazy sound of the nurse woman’s voice, suspended in the incessant grip of your pathetic melancholy.

“You should be fine to be back up on your feet now. Should try getting some fresh air soon.”

Her voice comes back into focus immediately.

There are stages to grief – so they say. But, to you, it feels more like a whirlpool of every emotion you’ve ever felt that you’ve been stuck in for what seems like forever, only growing in ferocity as time passes.

Been stuck in the same stage for a while. Been feeling like some external force has just been dragging your body to places day to day, not fully aware of what’s going on around you. And, as you said, soon as you can walk again, you’re out of here.

Are you even allowed to grieve a person you slaughtered?

“Yeah. Will do.”

That’s the signal. A week or so and you’ll be gone.

Do you have a plan? Do you need one? It’s not like you’re running away. You’re leaving – just, without telling anyone. You’ll just pack your shit and… go… where?

Roam?

It’s morning, the light that follows the storm-ridden, long, harsh hours of night, and the eery stillness of the snow blankets the earth now, though it was once pummelling towards the ground in malignant winds.

Ellie had woken up before you, and quickly ensured that wasn’t an issue by seemingly putting all her power into each step she took and object she lifted and aggressive sniffle or violent coughing.

What a pleasant way to wake up.

She quickly rushed off to the stables, thanking you for letting her stay the night, and once she was gone, you realised that there was an odd air of domesticity in your interactions now. You weren’t sure how to feel, so you sat in silence for a moment, until a knock interrupted your thoughts.

Without a lock to keep the pests out, the nurse woman quickly ended up inside your house, nagging you about your refusal to open the door as she looked at your ankle.

Everything happens for a reason, you suppose, since you came to the realisation that there was nothing binding you to this place any longer.

A few minutes pass, moments obscured by the depth at which you sank into your thoughts, and the nurse is helping you lull your trembling left leg into taking a step forward, when a harsh gust of icy wind envelops your skin. The door slams shut.

Ellie seems to be fond of making annoying entrances when it comes to you.

You inspect her movements curiously as she shakes the snow off her boots from over your shoulder, wondering why she’s back but not feeling even a sliver of disdain.

Eventually, she looks up to meet the pair of you’s eyes and clears her throat bringing her gloved hand to the nape of her neck to scratch.

“Hey,” she breathes out, to which you nod before carrying on with your miserable attempt at walking again, though you’re tentative to Ellie’s every movement from behind you.

The sound of that familiar creak tells you she’s sat down on your shitty mattress, and a small sniffle tells you… well, nothing.

You try to turn your focus back to the nurse woman whose eyes are trained on your leg, a smile gracing her lips when you make it back to the bed smoothly.

“There. You’re all set, kid, just keep it moving and you’ll be back to normal in no time. I’ll come check up on you in a day or two, alright? I’ll, uh… leave you two be, then.”

You hum half-heartedly, still slightly cotton-minded, watching her leave and the door close before you turn to look at Ellie looking back up at you.

“You’re back?”

With a mischievous smirk, she reveals a small jar from the side pocket of her threadbare backpack, stuffed with pure weed,

“Yeah. Thought you might want some of this.”

You take a seat beside Ellie, her eyes lingering on your every movement before you look up and meet her gaze.

“Where’d you even get that?”

“Hmm, I’ll show you next time we’re together on patrol. Here, take this.”

She hands you a blunt and you look over it cautiously, trying to mask your lack of experience and simultaneously ignore the blush of your cheeks induced by Ellie’s somehow sustained smirk.

She takes a lighter from her pocket and brings it to the tip as you hold it between your pursed lips, silently beckoning you to go ahead.

The warmth fills your chest; a pleasant wave of tingles overcomes you, like your insides turning to fuzz, and you let go, watching the smoke dance upwards and dissipate in the air separating you from Ellie.

You pass it to her, taking note of the way her lips wrap around the same place yours did moments before while your high already settles in.

Lightweight.

Maybe that’s why her eyes seem to pierce with excruciating intensity now. You look down instead and toy with the frayed end of your tattered jeans.

“You know what I realised?” she murmurs, taking another puff before continuing,

“You’ve been here for, what, half a year now?”

“Mhm.”

“That’s… actually kind of a long time. But you still act the same as you did when you first arrived.”

“Do I?”

Ellie breathes out and passes you the blunt, nodding. Your eyes don’t leave her lips.

“Yeah. Still… you know.”

“Yeah, well… I just don’t really get along with those people.”

“Those people?”

You look up and Ellie’s got a shit-eating grin plastered across her face as you jump to your own defence.

“Woooooooooo-”

“Wha- I- I didn’t mean it like that!”

“-ooooooooooo-”

Her voice is muffled by the contact of her face with the pillow you bombard her with.

“Ow! Fucking… Asshole.”

You chuckle, taking a long drag before muttering, your voice barely above a rasp,

“Bet you don’t like that, huh?”

The mattress shifts beside you as Ellie moves closer. You don’t look, but you can hear the playfulness in her words.

“Yeah, actually, I don’t.”

Silence overwhelms the room, the slow infiltration of hot smoke which now lays thick in the air rendering you too fuzzy to speak. Your fingers brush Ellie’s calloused ones as you pass her the blunt, dragging your dilated eyes to look into hers, still appearing somewhat sober.

“You dont mean that about me though, right?”

“Hm?”

“You know… The thing you said before. That you just don’t really get along with most of the people here. Cuz we get along pretty fucking well.”

Before you can hide it, you face breaks out into a grin,

“Why, would it really upset you if I meant you too?”

“Oh, fuck off.”

There’s a gentle buzzing in your chest that develops into wholehearted laughter before you realise it, contagious to Ellie, whose own lips give up trying to repress the smile playing on them now.

“I just mean… I know there’s not many people… as awesome and cool as me here, one could say, but-” she continues before you cut her off,

“-Butt-”

“-But, I don’t know, we’re kind of friends, right?”

“… One could say.”

“Right.”

“Right.”

Now, your heart’s racing and there’s a growing ache nestled between your legs, because the sight of Ellie’s own legs spread as she falls back to lean against the wall is not for the weak.

And you… You are weak.

“Unless you keep looking at me like that.” Her words rip through the warmth of the silence so you realise you had gone silent as you shamelessly stared.

“What?”

“You’re staring. Think you got a little something there too,” she leans in to wipe the imaginary drool at the corner of your lip but you sluggishly swat her hand away.

“Fuck off, I do not. And I am not.”

“Oh, yeah?”

Suddenly, the way her eyelids lay heavy over her forest green eyes, scleras tinged pink, becomes almost hypnotic, addictive.

“Yeah.”

So much so that you almost choke on your words.

“I think you are.”

Like you’re going to suffocate, unable to inhale steadily as she leans closer for the billionth time, clearly searching for the same relief you are, and her breath gently fans your lips.

“Think you’ve been staring for a while…

Think you want something real bad, huh?”

That pounding heartbeat, the shaking of your hands, this feeling is akin to fear. It’s almost terrifying how bad you want it, so you turn away and bring the blunt to your mouth again, forcing her to watch you breathe the hot air into her anticipating, flushed face. She closes her eyes, and then opens them, to see you looking right back with parted lips.

Finally, she places a gentle touch to your cheek, gracefully wrapping her other hand’s fingers around the weed in yours and flicking it into the nonexistent world surrounding you carelessly, closing the distance between the two of you once and for all.

There is a gentle sickness in the wetness with which your tongues dance against each other, and it is exhilarating in a way that makes you forget everything; in a way that makes the only thing echoing in your mind the intoxicating sound of lips smacking and Ellie’s deep groans into you, warm saliva coating the skin around your mouth.

For once, there is no reluctance in the intimacy you provide, and it has proven to be the most effective antidote to your problems yet.

Amid the rapacity, Ellie’s lips wonder further, engulfing the skin beyond, that which is your jaw, up to your flushed earlobes, and it’s so near, so tender, that it overwhelms your brain, heightening your high to unchartered altitudes. You can hear her every movement and every moan - feel it stronger than anything you’ve ever felt before, as her hands roam across the expanse of your body and settle on your tits before gently circling your nipples so that your hips buck into her shamelessly.

Ellie takes note of your sensitivity, half-lidded eyes looking into yours drunkenly as she makes her way to your chest, gliding her tongue around your raised nipple and gently pulling on the other. Your body is like a furnace, aching for her with ferocity. She knows; she burns just as bright.

Ellie’s hungry, desperate to taste you, to indulge in every drop of your flavour and savour it. So she’s sucking on your tit with such fervour, leaving a trail of spit as she wraps her lips around the other, that you find yourself pushed back against the pillows, yearning to just rip the fabric of the shirt that still rests at your collarbone right off of you.

Instead you lay still, letting the overcoming take you, and watch her with fascination, raking shaky fingers into her bound, auburn locks.

She moans into your skin at the touch and you can feel it in your pussy, the way it drips for her. Lucky for it, she makes her way down, one hand still groping desirously at your tit, the other ghosting over the waistband of your pants subconsciously. God, you need it, a thousand times over and then a million over again.

Ellie’s at your hipbone, infuriatingly close to where you need her, and you’re trembling with anticipation, squeezing your eyes shut.

“Fuck… take ‘em off…”

She smirks up at you dazedly, and you resist the urge to shove her head back into you,

“You want me?”

“Yes, fuck… Ellie, please.”

She hooks her fingers into your belt loops and pulls them down without further question, dragging your underwear down too, almost fast enough to not notice the wet spot in them.

Almost.

Her relishing the sight of the fat jiggling as her hand slaps your tit and you jerking forward juxtaposes the lazy kiss she presses to your swollen clit, hands moving to your thighs as she pulls you closer.

“You’re so fuckin’ hot.”

Gently sucking the bud into her plump lips pushes a breathy moan out of you in grateful relief and, as you grind against her tongue, she runs the tip of it teasingly up your weeping slit so that you’re reduced to a picturesque masterpiece of nothingness above her, with your head thrown back and your mouth hanging open, sweet whimpers trailing out, and your glistening chest displayed beautifully.

And the way you rut your cunt up against her, aching to feel her tongue deeper, aching to have her inside, makes her thrust against the pillow like a dog in heat for some semblance of relief, friction. You want to be the one to give it to her. Each husky groan pushes you further, the vibrations against your cunt sending you to heaven and back.

Ellie’s mouth is the fucking greatest, the swirl and suck a godsend to your clouded mind, with its focus streamlined to your pussy, so you moan deafeningly when two rough fingers slip into you and pump in and out of your viscous walls rapidly.

The sound of her slurping fills the room, and it is filthy, pornographic, but you’re moaning and twitching against her regardless, your pussy clenching tight for her, squeezing and pulling in her digits ravenously.

Soon, embarrassingly soon, your hips jerk, overwhelmed with delicious, warm ripples of pleasure throughout your body, and your eyes roll back as you tense and cum in her mouth for what seems like forever, but she holds you down, her lips and fingers never letting up.

Your sweaty figure is hunching over, stomach tensed and caving in, resisting the stimulation to your sensitive clit, with the hand laced through her hair now pushing her away despite the fact that you love it. Her eyes are closed and she’s wholly immersed in your essence and your whimpers, lapping at the slick pouring out of your pussy greedily with a gentle shake of her head between your quivering thighs.

A moan of your name and she’s up, humming in devious satisfaction, and giving your fucked out face a pussydrunk grin, your milky cum painting the lower half of her face so it glistens stunningly.

She shoves her fingers into your open mouth, muttering a quiet, “Fuck,” through laboured breaths as you suck on them, tasting yourself. Before she can go back in, pulling them away, you reach out to her desperately and smash her lips against yours again, pussy throbbing simply because she exists, as she lets out a small noise in shock but quickly moves in tune with you.

Between breaths, you help her take her clothes off, hugging her to your exposed chest, your heart pounding readily. There’s nothing you want more than to feel every inch of her on you completely, and the feeling of her hugging you back with just as much hunger makes you hot.

Slowly, you watch the string of slick connecting her pussy to her underwear dwindle as you pull them further down her legs, listening to the sound of her panting loud into your ear, and feeling her hair gently grazing your flushed cheeks.

Ellie pushes your left leg up and slots her cunt against yours so you can feel her hot skin moulding with yours, throwing her head back at the obscenity of the squelching noise it creates.

“Fuck, baby, it’s so wet, you’re so wet, all mine,”

“Ellie, oh my god.”

Slow movements turn into feverish humping, the sound of your wet cunts slapping each other reverberating and she leans over and places her forehead, wisps of hair stuck to it via droplets of sex sweat, against yours, breath fanning your lips. You strain to push yourself up for a second and peck her lips which she leans into quickly, like she’s been waiting for it.

You can feel your climax building up, intensified by the sight and all consuming sensation of her ramming into you, and the quiet whispers of,

“Fuck, love your pussy so much, gonna fuck you so good, mmmh, ‘s all mine, gonna fuck you senseless”

She keeps going, and you can feel everything so much clearer than you ever have before, each squelch and pull, panting into each other like you’re tempting each other to kiss each other again and she gives in, with the grip she has on your thigh concentrating.

It’s so graphic, so dirty and desperate, and you can’t help but give into the the feeling of the coil tightening in your stomach before snapping completely, your cum splattering over Ellie’s viscid thighs because she’s close and avid, eager to cum on you.

She can feel it building up as she grinds against you tenaciously, watching you writhe beneath her. Ellie moans gutturally , fingertips digging into your hips and the plush fat of your ass to hold you in place as she gets herself off,

“Fuckin’ take it, baby, know you can, gonna c-cum-”

“Yes, Ellie, oh my fucking-”

“-Fuck, gonna cum all over you, an’ you’re gonna fucking take it, yeah, mm-”

One last time and her hips are stuttering against yours before she collapses on you, chests rising and falling with heavy breaths into each other harmoniously.

The contact of your clammy skin against hers is comforting, and you lay there until the heat of sex settles and the potent scent of weed dissipates, and is replaced by the cold bite of the winter air that weasels its way into your room once more.

Until it starts to feel cold.

And then the fog clears and your mind spirals down from the passing high, opening the guilt’s floodgates. There is nothing you can do to calm the storm gathering in the confines of your rib cage; you clutch the sheets for stability.

Not even the gentle graze of her fingers up and down your arm can relax you, or the warmth of her sigh into the crook of your neck. Though you cannot understand it, there is panic and it is omnipotent.

Then Ellie’s movements halt abruptly and she jerks up from the bed,

“Fuck, oh my god, I completely forgot,” she jumps up, and you watch her get dressed in a flurry of fabrics, just as loud as the last time she got ready here.

You can’t focus; your chest feels tight and you’ve done something very, very bad but you don’t quite know what. Somehow, you manage to make out from what she tells you before rushing off and abandoning you in your resounding culpability, that there is a small get together at The Tipsy Bison tonight that she promised to help out with and that you are invited.

Lucky you!

She makes her way back to you on her way out, and you can tell she’s unsure how to approach you when you recall it, though in the moment your mind is swarming with wasps and you cannot form a coherent thought.

She pulls your shirt down over your tits and places a somewhat insecure kiss to your cheek, mumbling, “See you,” with a small smile, and then she’s on her way.

…

You sit up and stare at the floor in the silence, trying to swallow; the guilt, and the confusion. It’s painful to not understand, rummaging through the contents of your brain to make sense of that sickening feeling in the pit of your stomach, but for some reason you can’t find anything logical and, yet, you stop thinking you fucked up.

It hits you, and you throw your clenched fists over your eyes, rubbing furiously and desperately, the thought of you getting fucked like a dumbass while Soren lies dead miles away up north. You have no right.

It’s raw and visceral: your gasping for air and dry sobs, no tears coming up because you’ve been all cried out for a while. You just feel choked up, empty, and nauseous.

Still hyperventilating, you practically hurl yourself across the room to your bag, pathetically grabbing shit with shaky fingertips and shoving it in.

It’s time to go. Away from the people. Away from the noise. Away from the tumult. Away from any reminder of the joy you do not deserve.

an - this one’s long as fuck… i feel like i decay when i write smut, IVE BEEN AVOIDING STUDYING, DOING WORK, AND GETTING READY FOR A WEDDING BY WRITING THIS, creds to cafekitsune for dividers

[elliesbelle]

nobody compares to you

chapter 4

pairing: ellie x reader

synopsis: you're in your junior year of college and at a party, you run into the girl who broke your heart: ellie williams. despite the time it took to reset your life, will you risk a broken heart again for her?

content warnings: modern college au, cursing, angst, dealer!ellie, also toxic!ellie kind of, mentions of marijuana, sexual speech and content, brief mention of straight girls experimenting with lesbianism, toxic family relationships, lesbian situationship, descriptions and mentions of death & grieving, depressive episodes, cheating if you squint but it's more betrayal than cheating really?, bad driving for like two seconds, description and mention of vomit, minors do not interact

word count: 7k

chapters: one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven, twelve, thirteen, fourteen

series masterlist

my masterlist

i have a ko-fi if you like my work so much that you feel compelled to tip me ♡︎

the "nobody compares to you" spotify playlist

Freshman Year, Early Spring

“Are you coming to Jess and Els’ later tonight?” Dina asked, snuggling your pink stuffed bear and laying upside down at the head of your bed with her legs outstretched to the ceiling. 

“Hmm?” You said, distracted. You were rummaging in your messy drawers, trying to find the other pair of a sock you were currently holding in your hand. 

“Ellie said she wants to do a post-midterm celebration with a movie night, which just means we’re gonna watch some lame old sci-fi movie that she and Jesse picked out.” 

“Maybe,” You said, tossing the sock into the other contents of the drawer, giving up. “Can’t stay too late, though. Raf is picking me up really early in the morning tomorrow.” 

“Ooh, can I finally meet The Hottie Cousin Rafael in person?” Dina said, dropping her legs and turning onto her belly to face you. 

You rolled your eyes and said, “You have Jesse, Dina.” 

She shrugged and said, “I bet Hottie Cousin Rafael wouldn’t make me watch lame movies all the time.” 

“Raf is far nerdier than Jesse is, I promise.” 

“If he’s as hot as he looks on FaceTime, his hotness will cancel out the nerdiness.” 

You scrunched up your nose in disgust at Dina’s thirsting after your de facto older brother. 

“I’m not the best judge, but Jesse’s not not hot.” 

Dina laughed. 

“I’m telling El you said that.” 

Your cheeks flushed as you said, “She’ll just say the same thing!” 

“All men are basically ugly in Ellie’s eyes. She’ll say, ‘Jesse’s the uglier version of a walker from The Walking Dead’ or some shit like that.” 

You giggled, knowing that was probably true. 

“Do you have to leave early for spring break?” Dina whined. 

You gave her a sad smile. 

“Sorry, D. You know how my mother is.” 

Dina groaned and, pointing to the plushie she was holding, said, “Barbie Bear, when will you come to life at night Toy Story-style and finally horrifically murder this awful lady?” 

“Dina!” You exclaimed, grabbing your pink bear from her. “Don’t you corrupt Barbie Bear! She is an innocent soul!” 

“Oh, she’s been corrupted already,” Dina said, snatching Barbie Bear back. “I’m sure she’s been a witness to the deplorable things you and Ellie have gotten up to in here.” 

“Dina!” You squealed once more, blushing furiously and hiding your face behind your hands. “She and I have not!” 

“Oh please,” Dina rolled her eyes. “Ellie comes back to her and Jesse’s place the morning after spending the night here with the same cocky ass look that Jesse has after we fuck.” 

“Oh my god—” 

Dina cackled and you giggled nervously. 

“So are you two officially together now or—?” 

“Who, me and Ellie?” You asked. 

“No, you and Jesse.” Dina said sarcastically, throwing Barbie Bear at you. 

You caught the bear at the last second, laughing as you climbed onto your bed with her and handed the plushie back to her. 

“Shut up!” You giggled. “But, umm. I’m not really sure what we are, if I’m being honest.” 

Dina groaned and said, “Ugh, you’re both useless!” 

“I’ve only had one real girlfriend before!” 

“So has Ellie!” 

“Then ask her instead!” 

“Oh, I have.” Dina said, raising her eyebrows. 

You perked up suddenly. 

“Wait, what did she say?” 

“Oh my god, can you two just have the talk already?!” Dina groaned, exasperated at her friends’ incompetence. 

You blushed harder than ever. 

“I just… I just don’t know if she feels the same way I do.” 

Dina rolled her eyes. 

“You’re the first person she texts every morning, and mind you, Ellie hates texting. She will spend an hour in that stupid Jeep of hers in the parking lot outside until you get home from class just to hang out with you. Three of her five hoodies are somewhere here in your room right now. Tara told me that you’ve sexiled her at least twice already.” 

“We have not!” 

“Honey, she literally spent two separate nights at mine and Astrid’s because you and Ellie were over here—” 

Dina made a circle with her right thumb and pointer finger and repeatedly inserted her left pointer in it. 

“OH MY GOD—” You screamed into a pillow. 

Dina was over the moon teasing you as you grabbed your blanket and hid underneath it. 

“I need to offer to do her laundry for two weeks or something,” You said, your voice muffled from beneath the covers. “I’m the worst roommate ever.” 

Dina chuckled, saying, “Don’t worry, she likes you and Ellie together. Just maybe shoot her a warning text before you two wanna scissor, or whatever you lesbians do.” 

“Oh please, like you and Ellie never did anything together.” You said, emerging from underneath your blanket. 

“Okay, first of all,” Dina said, putting up one finger. “Ellie and I kissed once at our sophomore homecoming dance, and that was just to make Jesse jealous.” 

You chuckled. 

Dina put up a second finger. 

“Two, it was like kissing a cousin, so that obviously resulted in zero sexual scenarios whatsoever from that point on. I have never once been compelled to call Ellie ‘daddy’ ever in my life.” 

You screamed into your pillow once more at this. 

Dina put both fingers down and put her middle finger up. 

“And three, I have had gay sex with women before, but they were both also bisexual and there was no scissoring involved!” 

You were laughing uncontrollably now with Dina attacking you with Barbie Bear. 

“Okay, okay!” You giggled, attempting to shield yourself. “Why are we talking about scissoring again?” 

“Because!” 

One hit from Barbie Bear. 

“You are avoiding!” 

Another hit from Barbie Bear. 

“My questions!” 

A third hit from Barbie Bear. 

“About you!” 

An additional hit from Barbie Bear. 

“And Ellie!” 

A final hit from Barbie Bear that landed on your face. 

You snatched your stuffed animal away from Dina before she could swing it once more, pulling it away from her reach. 

“Okay, no more abusing me with Barbie Bear!” You said.

She chuckled. 

“And…” You started, serious now. “I’ve never experienced this before. I’ve had one real girlfriend, which was a high school disaster.” 

You sighed. 

“I briefly saw that one girl Adriana at the beginning of the year before we both realized she was just a rebound to my ex. I’ve hooked up with a few other girls since, and I was even Rebecca’s first lesbian college experiment kiss before she realized she was just straight.” 

Dina was sitting straight up now, staring at you intently and listening attentively. You pulled Barbie Bear into your chest. 

“Ellie is… she feels different. Something in my heart just yearns for her. She makes me feel like I must have done something so great in a past life that her just being in my life is the reward. She makes me feel forgiven and understood and—” 

You paused your Ellie sermon when you made eye contact with Dina, who was looking at you with a soft expression. 

“Sorry!” You threw your hands up apologetically and proceeded to cover your face with them in embarrassment. “I sound like a 12-year-old experiencing their first real crush!” 

Dina chuckled and pulled your hands away from your face. 

“No, you don’t. You sound like someone who Ellie deserves to have in her life, someone who sees her fully and appreciates all the good and bad. She’s gone through her own fair share of romantic and sexual bullshit too, and knowing that she now has you?” 

Dina placed an affectionate hand on your cheek. 

“I know that I don’t have to worry anymore.” 

“Dina, you’re gonna make me cry right now.” 

Dina leaned back into your pillows, laughing. 

“You started it!” 

“You sounded like you were giving away a bride!” 

“Wow, not even officially together yet, but somehow you’re already getting married.” 

You groaned and flopped onto your back. 

“I love her, Dina.” 

“No shit, babe.” 

After the talk you had with Dina, you both went over to Jesse and Ellie’s dorm room. Even though Jesse was a sophomore and Ellie a freshman, they were somehow able to convince the campus housing department to let them room together after both their roommates dropped out during the first month of classes. 

The “lame old sci-fi movie” that they’d picked out turned out to be Jurassic Park, which you’d already seen several times, courtesy of your nerdy older cousin Rafael. Dina was playfully criticizing every little bit of the movie to tease Jesse, who was taking her critiques to heart. As the couple were lovingly bickering with each other on the floor, you and Ellie sat on her bed underneath a blanket. 

You leaned against her shoulder while she was tracing patterns on the palm of your hand. Though she was concentrated on the movie, she would habitually give you a kiss on top of your head, sometimes following with her nose nuzzling your hair. She’d not said she loved you so far, but gestures like this felt like her way of saying it. You felt warm and content and the happiest you’ve ever been in your life. 

After Jesse convinced the rest of you to watch the movie’s sequel (as punishment to Dina for talking through the first), you’d made up your mind to change your spring break plans. 

You were still planning on returning home for the break, but since Ellie, Dina, and Jesse were spending the weekend on campus and not returning to their hometown until Monday, you resolved to at least spend more time with them. You knew that two weeks of spring break didn’t seem like a long time in the grand scheme of things. But the thought of being away from your friends whom you loved so deeply, but especially from Ellie, hurt far more than it did when you left home for college in the first place. 

And after your talk with Dina earlier that day, you’d also decided to be honest with Ellie about your feelings for her before you briefly went your separate ways. You knew that maybe it wasn’t the greatest timing to profess your love for the girl of your dreams right before zero physical contact for fourteen days. But Dina helped you further realize the affection you had for Ellie, and you knew you couldn’t go home without letting her know. You also figured that if all went wrong, you could always use the two weeks to save face before returning to campus. 

During the scene with Jeff Goldblum and Julianne Moore’s characters are hiding in a trailer from the T-Rex parents, you texted your cousin Rafael. 

A minute or two passed before he responded. 

You reply immediately. 

Three text bubbles loaded for a second before two texts appeared. 

You felt your cheeks burn. 

You could almost feel your cousin chuckling through text.

You breathed a sigh of relief and gratitude.

You smiled, your heart full and thankful for your favourite cousin. 

Jesse whooped and Dina squealed as she pulled you into a tight hug when you told them you were leaving in two days instead of the next morning. Ellie didn’t say much in the moment, but you felt a glow of happiness radiating from her at the news. When your friends had settled down and continued the movie, Ellie pulled you closer to her and wrapped her arms around you. You leaned into her embrace as she silently decorated your neck with kisses, resolving to call your mother tomorrow morning to break the news. 

You never made that call.

You awoke to your phone buzzing angrily underneath your pillow. Discombobulated, you didn’t fully perceive your surroundings. You’d fallen asleep on Ellie’s bed, still wrapped in her arms. Jesse and Dina had eventually migrated at some point in the night to Jesse’s bed and were sound asleep. You saw that Ellie had plugged your phone into her charger after you’d fallen asleep. Stroking her hair lightly as she slept, you looked at your phone to see it was your mother calling. 

Before accepting the call, you’d seen that you had 7 missed calls and 4 voicemails. You groaned. Was your mother really that upset? 

You didn’t seem that alarmed until you saw that only 6 of those calls and 3 of those voicemails were from your mother. One of each was from your uncle, Rafael’s father. 

Why is Uncle calling me? Did she guilt him into guilting me to come home?

Sighing, you finally accepted your mother’s call. 

Ellie, Jesse, and Dina all awoke to you screaming. All three were at different levels of disorientation at first, but upon seeing your shrieking figure having fallen to the floor, they all rushed to your side. No one seemed sure what to do at first, other than trying to stand you up (to no avail) and ask what was wrong. It was Dina who snapped into sense first, noticing that you were still on a call with your mother. 

She picked up the phone, rushed through an introduction, and worryingly inquired what was happening. Ellie and Jesse watched as her mouth fell open and her eyes widened with shock. She listened to your mother for a minute or two before bringing the other two into the loop. 

Your cousin Rafael was killed in a hit-and-run that morning. Since he was no longer tasked to bring you home that day, he made impromptu plans with old college friends to meet up for an early morning coffee. He was crossing an intersection on the way to the café when a car decided to run a red light. He died on impact. 

Your spring break was consumed completely by black clothing, floral wreaths of white lilies and roses, and an overstocked fridge of homemade food that your family barely touched. You saw no happy faces, only red eyes and quivering lips. You were torn out of the blissful bubble of your college life into a waking, familial nightmare. 

Rafael was your first cousin and not your brother. But it was as if at birth, he claimed you as his sister and the rest was history. 

Everyone who knew either of you was aware of the sibling bond you’d shared. He was the most important person to you for the first 18 years of your life. More than your parents, more than any other family member, more than any of your friends. Saying that he was your best friend was an understatement. 

The two weeks back home with your family were a black haze. You remained locked up in your room for the majority of the time, and when your presence was required, you spoke only when spoken to. You alternated between fits of sobbing and near-comatose states. 

Your only comfort was your uncle, Rafael’s father. You never knew your parents to give genuine love and affection, so you grew up seeing your uncle as a parental figure. Even as he raised Rafael alone as a single father, he often took you under his wing and provided you with a place of home away from your parents’ house. 

Your parents, especially your mother, were preoccupied with putting on the show of a broken family to sympathizers. It was your uncle who made sure you continued to eat and drink every day. He was the one to give you the gentle push to leave your room for the funeral, knowing that you’d one day regret not going. He even spoke to your friends on the phone when you’d stopped responding. By the end of your spring break, Dina had his personal phone number so she could call twice a day for daily updates, which she would promptly share with Jesse and Ellie. 

Unlike your mother, your uncle placed no blame on you for his son’s death. He knew that the one true person to blame was the careless driver in the car that hit him. But your mother was a different story. 

In those last few days before you needed to return to campus, your mother enlightened you with her true feelings. 

She had decided your “selfishness” in inconveniencing your family was what decided Rafael’s fate. If he had been on his way to pick you up from college, he never would have been crossing that intersection. According to her, you’d placed insignificant people you’d known for less than a year over your own family. 

If you were a weaker person, you’d have crumbled under her accusations. She was quite skilled in twisting the truth to her point of view, and she was skilled even more so in making people believe the worst of themselves. But Rafael and your uncle raised you better. You may not have been the most secure person growing up, but they made you feel loved. 

Despite your mother’s malice, you were grateful for her outburst. It snapped you back into reality. Your fury at your mother reminded you that Rafael would not have wanted you to give in to her guilt. 

You knew that his death was not your fault. Of course you were still grieving, but you loved Rafael so much that you would not allow your mother to force you back into a state of living death. Your uncle made sure of this when he drove you back to campus. 

The few hours drive to your dorm, you and your uncle had the most intense and intimate conversation you’d ever had with him. You bawled, you even smiled and laughed a few times, and you talked about the future. It pained you to watch him drive away, the last real living connection you had left to Rafael. 

You may not have been the depressive zombie you were at the news of Rafael’s death, but you no longer lived blissfully in your college bubble. Still, your friends remained sympathetic and loving as you dealt with your grief. 

Ellie remained just as caring and affectionate, at least at first. She made sure to spend all her free time with you to make sure you weren’t left alone to spiral into your depressive thoughts. She didn’t try anything sexual with you and made sure to respect your mourning boundaries. She even set an alarm every week to make sure you were on time for your video therapy sessions (your uncle set you up with a therapist to make sure you remained stable). 

To the outside observer, your grieving process was progressing naturally and healthily. You barely missed class, you still saw your friends on a regular basis, you weren’t bursting out in tears (or so most of your friends thought). No one else felt the need to worry about you more than they had to. 

Except for Dina. 

Having lost her parents at a young age, it was mostly her and her older sister taking care of each other. Part of why she grew to be so close to Jesse was because his parents were family friends who helped them out when their parents passed. 

Dina has dealt with great familial loss before and she saw the signs of someone barely keeping it together. 

That’s why before your freshman year ended, Dina invited you to stay with her and her sister for the summer. 

Summer Before Sophomore Year: Jackson 

Calling your parents to let them know that you weren’t coming back home for most of the summer was a difficult conversation. Your mother threw a fit and your father chastised you for upsetting your mother. But with encouragement of your friends and your uncle (who promised you that he’d ship essentials from your parents’ house to Dina’s as soon as he could), you eagerly accompanied Dina, Jesse, and Ellie to their hometown of Jackson. 

After just a few days in the town, you understood why the trio have remained friends since childhood. The community in Jackson was small but very tight-knit. Everyone knew each other and it seemed unusual for people to leave. They treated each other like family, and you envied the comfy, homey feeling the town radiated. 

Dina’s sister Talia wasn’t around very often, consumed by her full-time job. You didn’t fully understand what she did for work, only that it had something to do with computers. The few times you were actually able to spend time with her, you enjoyed seeing the repertoire between her and her younger sister. Though ten years older than Dina, they treated each other like peers. You saw how Dina grew to be such an emotionally mature person. Talia accepted you with open arms, fulfilling the role of big sister the entire time you were there. 

On the third day of your stay, you finally met Joel. He was Ellie’s adoptive father who took in Ellie at a young age. Though they were not biologically related, you found yourself often chuckling over how similar the two were. 

Ellie’s foul-mouthed behaviour mirrored that of Joel’s, which was a welcome contrast to your parent’s curt and strict speech. He told stories of his past, many of which involved him getting into all sorts of trouble. Though he seemed to have grown out of it, you saw that impulsivity and temperament in Ellie today. 

He was a kind, old man, and you saw why Ellie admired him so. You also noticed just how much he loved Ellie as if he’d birthed her himself. You found yourself desiring the kind of parent Joel was. You had your uncle throughout your childhood, of course, but you still had to go home to the cruelty of your parents at the end of the day. 

Joel seemed to be aware that Ellie dealt back at your university. It was through him that Ellie actually knew her plug. This old pal of Joel’s, Eugene, was originally her (and Dina’s and Jesse’s) dealer back in high school. When they’d graduated and started attending university, Eugene introduced Ellie to an old contact who grew not far from campus once she started dealing. Joel would roll his eyes and scoff any time the topic of Ellie being a dealer came up, but he genuinely didn’t seem to mind as long as she was smart about it. 

On nights when Dina and Jesse were both busy, you found yourself spending the evening at Joel’s house. He was very keen on having you over for dinner often, complaining that Ellie was a very boring conversation partner. You bonded quickly over a number of things, such as your mutual love of coffee (to which Ellie rolled her eyes, claiming that a simple hot chocolate was far superior to that “burnt shit”) and being Ellie’s impulse control. 

About nearly a month into your stay, Dina was picking you up from another dinner at Joel’s and Ellie’s place to walk you back to her house. Both waved you goodbye at the front door (not before you gave Ellie a peck on the cheek) and watched as you and Dina linked arms and walked into the streetlight-lit darkness. 

Once you and Dina were out of their sight, Joel put his hand on Ellie’s shoulder. 

“Come on, kiddo. We need to talk.” 

“I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about, old man,” Ellie exclaimed, throwing her hands up in the air and leaning into the living room couch. 

“Ellie.” 

“Joel.” Ellie said, mocking his serious tone. 

“That girl is so in love with you, and it’s plain to anyone who sees y’all together.” 

Ellie crossed her arms, saying nothing. 

“And it’s as clear as day that you’re head over heels for her too.” 

Ellie scoffed and said, “Don’t assume shit, old timer.” 

“I ain’t assuming anythin’. I know you, and so do Dina and Jesse.” 

“You’ve been talking to Dina and Jesse behind my back?” 

“Now, hold on there,” Joel said, taking a seat at the lounge chair next to the couch Ellie sat on. “They were just tellin’ me about what y’all get up to at that big university, and we just got to talkin’ about you. There weren’t no secret meetings or anythin’ conspirin’ like that.” 

“And what did those two have to say?” 

“That y’all have been basically joined to the hip since y’all met.” Joel said, leaning back. 

“That’s not true—” Ellie began angrily. 

“Look, kid, no need to be pitchin’ a hissy fit. I’m just relayin’ what those two have been observin’. But since y’all took her home, apparently you’ve been actin’ a tad different towards her.” 

“What does that mean?” 

Joel sighed. 

“Ellie, this girl was all you talked about nonstop that whole year you were up at that school. I already know the girl’s favourite colour and coffee order just from the phone calls we had.” 

“I did not talk about her that much.” 

“Yes, you did. There’s no point in denyin’ it.” 

Ellie glared. 

“Now, I wanna know why it seems like you’ve changed your tune on her.” 

“Really, ‘changed my tune?’ Man, you’re getting too old.” 

“Don’t go changin’ the subject. Now, I can see how you’re still clearly sweet on her, but there’s somethin’ a little off. Like you’re holdin’ back from her, or somethin’ like that.” 

“I’m just not a people person, Joel, and you know that.” 

“Doesn’t matter. Ellie,” He leaned forward, placing his elbows on his knees and looked directly at her. “Do you love her?” 

“Come on, man—” 

“Ellie.” 

Ellie met Joel’s eyes and saw that he was waiting for a truthful answer. She exhaled, took a beat, and responded. 

“I don’t love her.” 

Joel sighed sadly. 

“Thought I taught you better than that, kiddo.” 

She looked away, saying, “We’re not even dating.” 

“Does she know that?  

“She’s not stupid.”

“That’s not what I asked.” 

Ellie stood up, exasperated. 

“Why does any of this matter, Joel!” 

“Because that poor darlin’ just lost her own kin, so if you’re fixin’ to break her heart, you need to stop stringin’ her along.” 

“I’m not doing anything!” 

“I like this girl for you, Ellie. She’s got a kind soul that somehow blossomed past her upbringin’. She brings out the best in you, even if you try to hide it. She thinks the world of you, kid, bless her heart. Don’t do somethin’ you’ll regret.” 

“I haven’t done shit!” Ellie yelled, standing up from the couch. 

“Daggum it, stop actin’ childish and listen to what I’m sayin’ here, Ellie.” 

Ellie stormed out of the room without another word. 

After the conversation she had with Joel, Ellie began acting distant towards you. It started with the little things: keeping her hands in her pockets while you walked around town to avoid holding your outstretched hand, no longer inviting you over to dinner at Joel’s unless Dina or Jesse planned on coming along, no more public displays of affection and very limited tenderness in private. 

Dina was right in her assumption that you were barely holding it together. The anxiety as a result of Ellie’s behaviour, on top of your grief over your cousin’s death, began unraveling you. 

Your late-night talks with Dina became less and less. You began sitting next to her or Jesse more often than you did Ellie. Dina would walk in on you completely spaced out and it took several minutes to get a verbal response out of you. 

Dina and Jesse were sure that if you came back with them to Jackson, being around the presence of those who loved you as opposed to people who resented you would ease your grieving process. They didn’t, however, predict that Ellie become a hurdle to your progress. And they certainly did not predict Ellie’s idiotic actions that followed. 

“I thought we were having a movie night,” Jesse said, eyebrows furrowed. “I brought DVDs.” 

Ellie chuckled, saying, “You know there are these things called ‘streaming services’ now, Jess.” 

“Hypocrite. You and Joel have stacks of DVDs of every action and sci-fi movie ever made in your living room.” 

“What can I say, I’ve gotten with the times.” 

“Like hell you have.” 

You, Dina, and Jesse were all bunched up on the pull-out couch in Dina’s basement (where you were residing for the summer). Jesse was messing with the TV’s remote to find the right input while you and Dina were snuggled up underneath the same blanket. Your tired eyes watched as Ellie pulled her flannel on and rolled her sleeves up, revealing that fern tattoo you loved so much on her right forearm. 

“Who the fuck is more important than us, anyway?” Dina said, frowning. 

Ellie chuckled again, saying, “We hang out almost every day, D. You’ll survive the night.” 

“You’re not coming back after dinner?” 

“We’ll see, but don’t wait up.” 

Your eyes then fell down to your fingers, fiddling with a loose thread on the blanket. You haven’t spoken out loud once tonight since Ellie’d walked in. 

“You’re banned from our friend group now. You may reapply in 3-6 months.” Dina said, flipping Ellie off. 

“Literally one dinner, drama queen.” 

“Where are you even going?” 

“Rivers Café.” 

You didn’t notice how Jesse’s and Dina’s faces fell. 

“Gonna be late, so see you guys later.” Ellie said, walking up the stairs without a second glance. 

After a beat or two, Jesse spoke. 

“What the actual fuck.” 

“Jesse—“ Dina began. 

“I love her, but god damn it.” Jesse got up and started shuffling through the DVDs he brought. 

There was a palpable tension in the air for the rest of the night. An old martial arts movie was playing, but none of you were paying much attention. Nobody said anything, besides a comment every now and again from Dina noting how unrealistic some fighting move was. 

Ellie didn’t come back to Dina’s that night. 

Two weeks before classes started, your things were packed to return to your parents’ house. You didn’t want to leave, but you needed to properly prepare for the start of your junior year. 

Dina was watchful and clingy before you left, constantly letting you know that the first thing she was going to do when you all returned to campus was hunt you down for a coffee date. Jesse would chuckle at this, saying that he’d probably see you when she dragged him along to it. 

Dina’s sister Talia said goodbye to you three days before your departure, needing to leave for a brief business trip the day before. She pulled you into a very tight hug, telling you that you were always welcome in their home and to feel free to tag along with Dina during any school breaks. 

You had a last dinner at Joel’s the night before you left. He made you and Ellie a simple pasta dish, which you learned was his late daughter Sarah’s favourite meal. He and you shared a sweet and intimate conversation where you both opened up about your shared familial losses. He told you about Sarah and you talked about Rafael. You understood why Joel was so protective over Ellie, having lost Sarah when she was only 12. You were happy that Ellie had someone like that in her life. 

Surprisingly, Ellie had offered to drive you home. You were starved for her attention, so you happily accepted. You offered for her to stay in your parents’ guest room for a night so she wouldn’t have to do so much driving in one day, but she said she didn’t mind. You felt disappointed, but you also didn’t want to subject her to your parents more than you had to. 

Dina and Jesse were the ones who waved you off (Joel sent his regards with Ellie when she came to Dina’s place to pick you up). You reassured them both that two weeks was not a very long time, though you were partly saying it out loud to convince yourself of it too. Your hand was the last thing they saw, waving from the passenger’s window of Ellie’s car. 

As you drove away from the gates of Jackson, there was not much noise except an Aminé song playing in the background and the occasional bird call heard outside from the rolled-down windows. 

There was a heaviness in your heart that weighed more and more the further from Jackson you were. Though you didn’t grow up there, the locals were so naturally welcoming. Being there felt like coming home every day. It was a safe and healthy place for you to process your grief. You wished summer went on forever. 

After a little while of silence between you and Ellie during which you lamented on your departure, you began to feel the awkwardness between you two. She hadn’t said anything and it didn’t seem like she had any intention to. You shrunk in your seat and began fidgeting and braced yourself to say something. 

“Um,” You started. “Thanks for offering to drive me back.” 

“No big deal,” Ellie replied. “Happy to do it.” 

You could feel your heart beating in your ears. 

“Why’d you decide to?” 

Ellie shrugged. “Just wanted to be a good friend.” 

You winced. 

“Is… is that what we are, El? Just friends?” You asked meekly. 

“I mean, yeah. Of course.” 

You felt your heart drop to your stomach. 

Is this how she really feels? Has this how she’s felt the whole year we’ve been doing all this? Have I just been reading into all this wrong? 

You attempted to suppress a bubbling anxiety attack, trying not to hyperventilate. Ellie seemed to be content with the silence and said nothing. 

Trying to distract yourself, you whipped out your phone to text Dina. 

She replied almost immediately. 

After a few seconds, another text from her popped up. 

You chuckled silently, replying: 

Ellie noticed the sudden sound, saying, “What are you laughing about?” 

“Just Jesse.” You said. 

“Ahh” was all she said in reply. 

You refused to look her way, feeling like seeing her disinterested face would make you feel worse than you already were. 

You texted Dina, saying: 

Three text bubbles appeared before her texts popped up. 

You gulped, even more anxious than before.

You tried to ignore the nagging feeling that there was something else going on, something you weren’t privy to. You and Ellie were inseparable most of freshman year, even before you were explicitly doing things that regular friends didn’t do. 

What’s changed? 

Sometime during your internal struggle, you’d drifted off to sleep. You woke up groggy and disoriented, taking a moment to realize you were still in the passenger seat of Ellie’s Jeep. The sun was further west than before. You glanced at the clock on the dashboard. 

“How much further do we have?” You asked, voice raspy. 

“About an hour or so.” 

“Oh.” 

You’d been asleep for longer than you thought. Feeling guilty, you wiped some drool off your chin and yawned quietly. 

“I’m sorry for passing out on you.” 

“All good.” Ellie said. 

“Did I snore?” 

Ellie shrugged and you stopped yourself from letting out an incredibly audible and frustrated sigh. 

Five or ten minutes passed during which you were wrestling with yourself on making use of the rest of the time to confront Ellie. In the end, you decided that two weeks of this anxiety eating at you was not worth it. 

“Els?” 

She didn’t seem to hear you. 

You cleared your throat and said a little louder, “Ellie.” 

“What’s up?” She said, dryly. 

You took a deep breath. 

“What’s been going on?” You asked. 

“What do you mean?” 

You bit the inside of your lip. 

“I mean…” You began. “You haven’t been yourself lately.” 

“I don’t really know what you’re talking about.” 

“Ellie, come on. You’ve been… different.” 

She didn’t answer. 

“Jesse and Dina both agree with me.” 

Her eyebrows furrowed. 

“I don’t really appreciate people talking about me behind my back.” 

“We’re not!” You exclaimed. “We’ve just been wondering why you’re so distant lately.” 

“Just cause I’m not much of a talker doesn’t mean I’ve been distant.” 

You used to talk all the time with me. 

“That’s not what I’m saying, Ellie. You don’t seem to like hanging out with us, and you cancel on us half the time. You don’t tell us what you’ve been up to or where you’ve been.” 

You gulped. 

“Like that movie night at Dina’s place. You agreed to come over for a sleepover, and you came for five minutes then bailed on us and didn’t even tell us where you were going.” 

“Yes, I did!” 

“Not ‘til the very end! You didn’t even tell us who you were seeing!” 

“Why does that even matter?” 

“It’s not that, Ellie! It’s just that you’ve been elusive and secretive, and I don’t like it!” 

“Well, that’s not really my problem, is it?” 

Her words pierced your heart and it took everything you had to keep going and not break down. 

Is that what I’ve become now? Your problem, Ellie? 

“I guess not.” You said quietly. 

A few minutes of silence passed. You were fidgeting in your seat once more while Ellie seemed completely disinterested in further conversation. 

But you refused to go back with all this unresolved. 

“Who did you see?” You asked suddenly. 

“Excuse me?” 

“At that café. Who did you go see?” 

“Why do you care?” Ellie scoffed. 

“Why won’t you answer?” 

Ellie rolled her eyes. 

“It was just an old friend, okay? Jesus,” She said, irritated. “I have other friends besides Jesse and Dina.” 

“Who was it, Ellie?” 

“Her name is Cat! God, enough with the questions.” 

You froze for a moment until you finally murmured, “Cat, your ex-girlfriend?” 

“Yeah, I guess so.” 

“You guess?” 

“What the fuck do you want from me, dude?” Ellie cried, coming to a stop at a red light a little rougher than needed. 

You blinked. 

“What?” You asked quietly. 

“What?” Ellie repeated, angrily. 

“Why did you call me that? You never… You always—” 

You always call me “babe.” Or “baby.” I thought I was your baby. 

“Whatever,” You said, shaking your head. “I just don’t know why you’d see her. I thought you hadn’t kept in contact with her since high school.” 

“We reconnected over the summer,” Ellie huffed, slowly putting her foot down on the accelerator. “Didn’t realize that was a fucking crime.” 

Your mouth quivered as silent, betraying tears began to fall. 

“Am I a joke to you, Ellie?” You whispered. 

“What?” 

“Am I a FUCKING joke to you?” You shouted. 

Ellie froze, almost swerving. She’d never heard you raise your voice this way. 

“I thought… I thought I meant more to you. I thought that we had something. What the fuck did I do wrong? What did I do?” 

Your right hand was wiping tears away while your left was clutching your stomach tightly. You felt like you needed to hurl. 

“You don’t look at me anymore. You don’t touch me. Why did you start talking to her again? Why wouldn’t you talk to me? Was I not fucking enough?” 

There was a pause before Ellie spoke. 

“You’re not my girlfriend. I have no obligation to you.” 

You felt as if the world disappeared from underneath you and you were falling. You were no longer in the passenger seat of Ellie’s car. No, you were plunging into a dark abyss, the same one that your friends had saved you from falling into when Rafael died. But here you were anyway. And it was Ellie who pushed you in. 

Before you knew it, Ellie had pulled up to the curb of your house. The sound of her engine turning off snapped you back into reality briefly. As you unbuckled yourself, you realized that on top of a plain black tank, you were wearing an unbuttoned flannel shirt that Ellie’d lent you. You tore it off and threw it to the floor. 

Before Ellie could even move, you were out of the car and pulling your bags out of Ellie’s backseat. By the time Ellie unbuckled herself and got out of the driver seat, you had all your bags in hand and ready to trudge up your parents’ driveway. 

You felt you probably looked ridiculous: tears and snot running down your face while you struggled with several heavy bags. But you didn’t care. You needed a wall between you and Ellie immediately. 

“Look—” Ellie started, taking a few steps. 

You dropped your bags and started towards her. 

“Fuck you, Ellie Williams.” You spat. 

“Fuck you for lying to me. Fuck you for leading me on. Fuck you for letting me fall in love with you. Fuck you for breaking my heart.” 

Ellie stopped in her tracks. 

“You... you—” She began, but her voice caught. 

By the time she found her voice again, you had already picked your bags up and hauled them to the front porch, keys already in your hand to unlock the door. She almost called your name out and yelled for you to wait, but you had thrown your bags through the threshold so quickly and disappeared almost immediately after them. 

Ellie jumped at the sound of the front door slamming. 

The second you had closed the door behind you, you leaned into one of your mother’s decorative urns and vomited.

author's notes:

is barbie bear based on an actual stuffed bear i own and is named barbie and is that a picture of her in the icon at the beginning of the fic? no

i was SO so nervous to post this omg, cause not only is this a long ass chapter, but i wanted to make sure to give proper explanation to present day events. i hope i did it justice! lmk what y'all think!!

writing a flashback chapter was so fun?? might do at least another one at some point

also i meant to mention this in a previous chapter, but reader's cousin rafael is actually based on an older cousin of mine (who has the same name but we all call him by a nickname) who actually has a similar-ish relationship with me as reader does with her cousin (he and i are only a year apart tho and reader & her rafael are several years apart), but dw my cousin is still alive sdklfjslsldkfj

btw pls notice that rivers cafe is an actual place in the games hehe (so was ruston coffee in the last chapter)

oh also if you have ever been sexiled before, i am so sorry and you will see heaven as reparations (i on the other hand will not as i have been a sexiler myself oops)

taglist: @lonelyfooryouonly, @elliesinterlude, @sawaagyapong, @peppesgirl, @iconsoft, @maybeidohaveadhd, @ellieswifee, @valiantllamapersonpony-blog, @nil-eena, @echostinn, @uraesthete, @softbunlvr, @cherriessxinthespring, @amitycat, @chrissyfishywissy, @yevheniiaaa

[oddinary4bts]

November Sun | jjk

☆summary: whenever he breaks, the november sun shines on him. and jungkook chases you across the sky - but you've gone some place he can't reach you now.

☆pairing: Jungkook x reader (I genuinely don't think the gender is ever mentioned? please let me know if it is so I can adjust this here), mentions-ish of Namjoon x reader

☆rating: 18+ (minors DNI, it deals with heavy themes)

☆genre: grief au/funeral au?, exes au, angst

☆warnings: angst, like. Just angst. OC is dead and Jungkook is grieving her. Curses words, very light mentions of sex, flashbacks of moments when jungkook broke. mentions of christianism (the funerals are held in a church), mentions of alcohol, jealousy. Namjoon is a broken man as well

☆word count: 3.7k

☆a/n: I started writing this tonight because I was sad and then just realized I won't have the strength to look back on it ever again so I'm posting it even tho it hasn't been beta-ed, and even tho the person that makes my moodboards is unavailable rn. Idc. It needed to be out of my system, and now it is.

☆a/n pt2: I know this piece is extremely heavy. If you ever need to speak, please reach out to me. My blog is a safe space for every single one of you <3

☆☆☆☆☆

                The church is a tall building. Grand, elegant in its simplicity, though it cuts against the blue sky up above in stark lines, shaped like a prison.

Jungkook thinks life has become a prison a while ago.

It’s a mystery, why your family chose this space for your funeral. You never believed, never practiced. Is it a betrayal to mark your passing in a space that feels so unlike you?

Jungkook thinks it is.

He sighs, chases the heaviness away the same way the clouds chase themselves in the sky up above. He doesn’t know how the sun is shining in the blue expanse of the sky. It’s November, yet the day is warm, the sun is blindingly glowing. It feels like a crime – how can the sun shine in a world deprived of your existence?

Jungkook doesn’t want to know.

Only knows that he’s watched from afar the people that gathered on the front steps. Chatting, heads hung low and shoulders bent forward. He heard sniffles, he heard laughs, and he just waited for everyone to go in to get closer.

Jungkook doesn’t know why he was invited. Why someone from a distant past figured he would need to be here, to share his grief with people that could understand.

Though Jungkook thinks no one can understand.

He remembers you, in all your glory. His first love, when he had been a stupid college kid who didn’t know what he wanted in life. You were two years older, and now... and now one day he’ll be older than you. Because you've stopped aging, you came and went like a moment in time, when he'll still be here for who fucking knows how long.

He chases the thought away with a long inhale, holds the air in knowing that it’s choking him up before he lets it out on a sigh.

You were beautiful. A star that walked the Earth, only to return to the night sky above far too soon. He had loved you dearly, in his own twisted way. Had tried to be what you sought, what you needed, until he had realized he was never going to be enough.

Would you still be alive today, if he had fought harder?

*****

                “I’m not doing this,” you said. “I’m so fucking done with your indecision, with your fear of commitment.”

Jungkook scoffed. “Please, you graduated and now you think you’re so high above me. Get down from the fucking horse, Y/n, it’s not going to bring us anywhere.”

He’d said the words hoping that they would hurt you. And they did: he saw you physically recoil as if he’d punched you. As if the words had been a physical blow, and not just letters of the alphabets shaped into words and sound, into arrows to pierce that beautiful soul of yours.

“Maybe I don’t want us to go somewhere anymore,” you replied after a quiet moment of breaking hearts.

“I didn’t mean that.”

“I know.” You sighed, slightly shaking your head as your eyes fell to the floor between you and him. “I know, but I mean it.”

“Please,” was all Jungkook thought to reply.

“You say please all the time,” you told him. “You beg me, and for what? We always circle back to fighting, to hurting each other.” You paused, and though you were avoiding his features he could see you blinking back tears. “Maybe we aren’t supposed to be together at all.”

“Don’t say that,” Jungkook warned. “Don’t you fucking say that. I love you. Isn’t that enough for you?”

“I love you too, Jungkook,” you answered. “I’ve loved you since the first day I met you at that stupid party last year.”

Jungkook felt the tear rolling down his cheek, felt the gravity pulling on his heart until it was shattering on the ground.

“Then why stop now?” he asked. “Give me time, Y/n. I’ll graduate, and I’ll be able to move in with you, and to provide for you and give you everything that you need.”

You sighed heavily, finding courage to finally meet his gaze. At the stark finality shining behind your pupils, Jungkook’s knees weakened. His whole fucking body weakened, ready for the blow.

For the end that was coming for you and him like a car barreling down a dead-end street.

“But I’m tired of waiting,” you answered. “I don’t want to spend my life waiting around for someone.”

“I’m still in college, I just can’t move in with you right now…”

“I know, Jungkook. I know.”

He wanted to fight. Wanted to tell you to stay in his dorm tonight, and to never leave again. But he could tell that you were already gone.

So he steeled himself. Readied himself to let you go even though you were the blood in his veins.

“I’m holding you back, aren’t I?”

You wiped a tear on your cheek, blurring behind those in his gaze. “You are.”

He choked on a sob, hiding his eyes behind his hand as if that would stop the breaking. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault,” you reassured him. “We just aren’t at the same place in life anymore.”

An empty silence surrounded you, so loud Jungkook could hear every beat of his heart in his ears, could feel the walls pressing in.

“I don’t want you to go,” he softly said.

“I know,” you murmured. “I…” You choked on a sob, and it took you a moment before you managed to continue. “I’m sorry.”

He laughed, a sound so devoid of joy he wondered if he’d ever feel happiness again. “Please don’t be. You’re allowed to want more.”

“I wish I didn’t.”

Anger rose up on the horizon of Jungkook’s conscience, and he pushed it away. He refused to be angry at you, refused to put the blame on you when you made it clear that you wanted him to move in so long ago, and he disregarded it without even once thinking about it.

“I’ll find you again,” he promised, voice strained and heavy with emotion. “I’ll graduate and find you.”

You stepped closer to him, gently cupping his cheek. “Go find someone that loves you for what you are, Jungkook.”

“And you don’t?”

“I don’t want you to settle for someone that asks too much for you,” you explained, renewed silver lining your eyes. “Find someone that loves you for who you are, right now.”

“Fuck that,” he choked out, and he pulled you flush against his chest. “Fuck this nonsense. ”

“I’m so sorry,” you cried against him.

“Don’t be,” he reassured you, though he was crying too. “Don’t be. Give me a few years. I’ll have it all figured out in a few years.”

*****

                The priest at the front of the church is going on and on about something that Jungkook doesn’t care to listen to. It’s impersonal, nothing like you, like the vibrant girl he remembers. So he lets his memory guide him to you, where you’re awaiting him. Your lips on his, your hand running through his hair. Your own hair catching in the wind that time you’d gone hiking, and he’d believed being at the top of the mountain with you felt like he had won in life.

Or that time you’d driven on the coast, windows down, screaming the lyrics to a song he can’t listen to anymore. Now the song is haunted by ghosts of a past he never learned to let go, perhaps because for months after the breakup he’d kept the conviction that he’d find his way back to you. He’d believed it the same way he believed the sun would always rise in the morning. A simple truth of nature, that nothing could ever break.

Except a car accident, apparently. Because all it took was a car accident to wipe you off the surface of the Earth, to take your light and shove it into shadows, into darkness and a void so wide he knows he’ll never find you again.

But he’d believed he’d find his way back to you. Never let anyone in after you, for the months and years it took him to graduate because he always knew he’d find his way back to you. You were his silver lining, the finish line at the end of the race. On a November day, just as sunny as today, Jungkook reached that finish line.

He did find you again, only you never knew.

*****

                Jungkook had never felt so light before. Like he had grown wings, like he was soaring in the clouds up above. Though the sun was out, the weather was cold, wind running cold fingers through the lapels of his coat until he found himself shivering as he made his way to the flower store.

He’d get the biggest bouquet for you, and then he’d head to where he knew from a common friend that you lived now. It was Saturday, and he hoped to catch you unaware, to catch you in the middle of cleaning your apartment the same way that you cleaned it back when you were dating.

The image of you, with your hair pulled back in a high ponytail as you danced around instead of sweeping the floor shone in his mind, brighter than the star in the sky above.

He bought the flowers, heart beating fast in his chest. Because it was time. It was finally time to go home, to tell you that he did everything he said he would, that he changed and now had a job that could support what you both wanted. He wanted to ask you out, and in his dreams you had been answering yes every single time since he had decided to go see you.

His heart fluttered as he gently rested the flowers on his passenger seat, careful not to damage them. Memories floated to him, and a smile grew on his lips as he remembered you, screaming out the window that day you had driven along the coast. You had stopped to watch the sunset in the waves, and he’d kissed you stupid on his back seat until every single inch of your skin knew about his love.

He couldn’t wait to create new memories with you.

He drove carefully, enjoying the warmth of the sun now that he was safely hidden from the wind. You actually didn’t live too far from where he did now, and soon enough he parked his car near your building. He got out of the vehicle, almost running to the other side in his excitement to grab the bouquet on the passenger seat. When it was safely tucked in his hand, Jungkook shut the car door, locked it, and started walking to your building.

He didn’t even know which apartment was yours. He believed fate would guide him, and so he crossed the street to your building, trusting the universe for what was to come next.

He heard your laugh before he saw you. Love swelled in his chest, and he wondered if you were laughing because you’d seen him, because you’d known that he’d come back for you.

And then he saw you. The wind was ruffling your hair, which he assumed had prompted the laugh. Your eyes were closed, hands struggling to push the wild strands behind your ears.

You were more beautiful than he remembered. Shone brighter, with the same stuff that stars consisted of. He was struck for a moment, watching you with his bouquet hoping that you’d open your eyes and see him.

The world slowed down to a stop, and time halted, and Jungkook watched you, feeling at home for the first time in years.

The illusion fractured the instant someone else came into view, making him realize that you hadn’t been laughing at the wind. No, perhaps your laughter took root in the dimples gracing the man’s cheeks as he smiled at you, as he pecked your forehead before grabbing your hand.

Jungkook ducked behind a car, clutching the flower bouquet like a lifeline the moment that you turned towards him. Did you hear his heart breaking? Did you hear the mockery in the November sun rays – you’d broken up on a similar day, years ago.

Jungkook couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think around the shattering of his heart, around the blood turning to ice in his veins as he heard you speak to the man – Namjoon, he heard you call him.

He would have rather not known the name.

Still Jungkook drank in the sound of your voice, trying to shape it into the words he was so willing to hear you say today. It didn’t work, and soon enough your voice disappeared, leaving him in a deafening silence of wind and sun and the realization that after all, he had come back too late.

Perhaps he should have known that he'd be too late.

*****

                When Jungkook received the call last week, he’d sat outside in the silence until he thought his eardrums would start bleeding. He hadn’t moved, hadn’t breathed, hadn’t done anything other than to stare at the fading light of the sun.

He wonders, why is it that whenever he breaks, November sun is shining high above? As if the universe takes pleasure in his torment, in undoing him until he barely counts as a human being anymore.

He got pissed out drunk that night. Last time he had been as drunk was when he had found out you were dating someone new, that day he had come to find you.

And now he wonders, if he had approached you that day, would you still be dead today? Would life still have put you on that road with its drunk driver so that you could meet your end?

Or would you be laughing at some dumb comment he’d make, telling him that he’s stupid with eyes so full of love he wouldn’t be able to do anything else but agree with you?

It’s hard to tell. So, he doesn’t try to figure it out – he has an eternity ahead of himself to figure out how to live without you anyway.

Maybe in all his misfortune Jungkook actually had some luck. He’s learned to grieve you a while ago already, and perhaps grieving someone that still lives is harder than grieving someone that’s passed. He doesn’t know. He doesn’t think he knows anything. Just that, so far back in the past he should have said fuck it and move in with you. It was such a simple request, but he had been too young and dumb, and he’d forever live with the regrets of it.

If someone from your family notices his presence at the funeral, recognizes him from your shared past, they don’t say. Especially not as the end of the ceremony comes before he’s had a chance to really take in the picture of you, smiling, over there next to the urn with your ashes.

You’re ashes now. Everything that made you – your laugh, your smile, the way you carried yourself with that simple elegance – all of it is gone to be replaced with mere ashes.

He doubts they can hold the truth of your essence, but then again he doesn’t think anything can, or anything ever will again.

He blinks away the tears as they come, leaving the ceremony like a whisper in the wind. He doesn’t want to speak to your family, doesn’t want to see them coddling the man that you loved, that survived the accident when he should have been the one to go.

Jealousy and selfishness are ugly, Jungkook realizes. But it’s easier to hate the man that took you away from him, no matter how unknowingly he did it.

And Jungkook tried to hate you once. He tried hard, in the months after that fated November day, when you’d laughed to that man’s joke, smiled when he’d smiled that soft dimpled smile of his. He had tried, because hating you felt like it was the only way he wouldn’t hurt. But he still hurt – he still hurts.

All he’s been able to do in his life since you broke up is hurt, and he highly doubts he’ll ever feel differently again.

Perhaps he’ll grow numb. Perhaps he should have grown numb a while ago.

At least that’s what he’s telling himself days later, when he’s looking at the tombstone they picked out for you. The finality of your name and the dates, the ending, is unnerving. He wishes it was fake, wishes it was a joke, and that he didn’t spend most of his life loving someone that moved on to a new love in just a few years.

It’s been over a decade and he hasn’t moved on even a little bit.

He kicks the ground, mad at the leaves littering the ground where you’re buried, as if they’re sullying you. And as if laughing at him, sun rays pierce through the clouds up above, that dreaded November sun making an appearance when it should stay gone.

He allows himself to cry. To break down, to sit on the ground and curse everything and everyone that’s ever been between you and him. He curses his stupidity, curses the sun and the leaves and the etchings on the stone. He hates everything. Hates himself, hates you, hates the whole fucking universe for taking you away, for not giving him the chance to be with you.

That’s how Namjoon finds him. Jungkook’s tears have receded, and he’s just sitting there, an empty shell that once held love and laughter and your lips on his. He hears the scuffle of Namjoon’s steps, of his cane as he walks up the path.

The man’s features are grave when Jungkook can’t help but glance towards him, sees him ambling up the path with that cane, the only indication that he too was in that car accident. And Jungkook wonders if Namjoon knows about him. If Namjoon knows that he wasn’t the first man whose love for you was a bottomless ocean, one Jungkook has drowned in time and time again since you broke up.

Namjoon remains standing, and Jungkook remains sitting. Like there’s an understanding between them, and silence conveys more than words could. Jungkook doesn’t want to move, and Namjoon clearly doesn’t have anywhere to go.

Jungkook thinks the Earth has revolved around the sun at least once before Namjoon scrapes his throat.

“It’s hard to believe that she’s gone, isn’t it?” he speaks, deep voice carrying the weight of the universe.

Jungkook doesn’t deign reply as his eyes fill with tears, though he refuses to let them out right now.

Especially not in front of the man you loved after him.

“You’re Jungkook, aren’t you?”

The simple sentence makes Jungkook lose it. He hides his face in his hands, his whole soul bleeding out under the November sun.

“She told me about you,” Namjoon continues, and Jungkook is convinced he hears pain, tears and grief laced with Namjoon’s words.

What did you tell him, Jungkook wonders? Did you tell Namjoon that you should have waited for Jungkook, that you should have given him a chance to become what you needed?

“She loved you a lot,” Namjoon adds after a silence, and he chokes on a sob. “She never forgot about you.”

“Why are you telling me this?” Jungkook asks with that broken voice, raspy with disuse.

He hasn’t been able to speak since you died.

“You deserve to grieve. She loved and loved, and I wish it would have been enough for her to live…”

“Stop,” Jungkook begs. “Please.”

Namjoon falls silent, offering salvation to Jungkook, though Jungkook doesn’t know if he deserves it.

Would he have been able to offer salvation to someone in his position if the situation was reversed? He highly doubts it.

“It’s just…” he trails off when he finds words again. “You got fucking years with her. You got years of loving and-“ it breaks on a sob. “And you were fucking engaged.” Jungkook pulls at his hair. “You were engaged, and all I got was months. Not even a full year.”

“I’m sorry man,” Namjoon answers, voice so broken Jungkook wonders who’s suffering the most.

He doesn’t think it’s himself.

“Was she happy?” Jungkook eventually asks, once he can’t stand the silence hanging around. Once he can’t stand the etchings on the stone, the void in the universe that used to be filled with you.

“I made her as happy as I could,” Namjoon replies truthfully, his voice strained but not as pained anymore. As if he’s reached a conclusion, clarity filling his mind.

Not needing to hear more, Jungkook gets up, dusting himself off.

“Good talk,” he says, fighting against the next onslaught of tears, and then he’s storming off.

Storming away from you, from everything that you meant to him. And maybe the sun rays really are mocking him in that beautiful November sky, because Namjoon says, “I don’t think she ever truly was happy after you, though.”

Jungkook stops, convinced someone just stabbed him right in the heart. He doesn’t think the organ can beat anymore, doesn’t think he can live anymore. He just wants to be dust on the wind, to be forgotten, and to stop fucking feeling all the time.

“She was calling off the engagement,” Namjoon continues. “She…” Jungkook turns, and he doesn’t think he’s ever seen such agony as the one that graces Namjoon’s features right now. “She said she shouldn’t get married to me when she still loved another.”

Clouds pass in front of the November sun, and Jungkook remembers the smile on your face whenever you’d catch his gaze. He remembers the way you’d lovingly cupped his cheek even when you were breaking up with him. He still feels the ghost of your fingers on his skin as he holds Namjoon’s broken gaze.

He holds Namjoon’s broken gaze, unable to offer the man salvation. It might make him a monster, might make him selfish and jealous and everything that he finds disgusting about humanity. But Jungkook doesn’t care.

Not when he realizes that perhaps, perhaps he’s the one that you’re waiting for on the other side of the veil, so that you can rest in the eternity of afterlife together.

And perhaps, perhaps there’s some sort of beauty in the thought.

☆☆☆☆☆

I am crying and in pain and I am sending everyone that read this whole thing lots of love and if you need to talk just hit me up bc grief is a bitch and we hate her and I just wish I could take everyone's grief away

All rights reserved to @/oddinary4bts, 2023. Do not copy, repost or translate.

[abyssruler]

archons ft. reincarnation (part 2)

venti, zhongli, raiden ei x gn!reader

summary: it’s difficult to find a balance between grieving you and loving you, but somehow, they make it work.

word count: 5.8k

note: as requested by an anon, here’s part two of archons ft. reincarnation! a bit more lighthearted compared to the first part, but still plenty of angst around *side-eyes venti’s part* and i am once again being biased by giving ei the happiest ending

warning/s: spoilers for venti’s story quest, brief descriptions of past character death (reader), angst, read part one first for more context!

part one

VENTI

“What do you think of the Anemo Archon?”

“Lord Barbatos?” you ask, and Venti tries to ignore the way his heart leaps at the sound of his name on your lips, but it’s difficult to do so when you’re sitting there looking at his statue with the same wistful look you used to don as you spoke about freedom. It warms his heart to know that you associate freedom with him.

You turn your head away from the visage of the Anemo Archon, placing your hands behind your head and laying down the palms of his statue. The sight is endearing, once he considers how your roles have changed. Before, it was him who fit snugly in the palm of your hands. How the tables have turned. How he wishes it never did.

“I think he’s a bit overrated.”

Your words singlehandedly snap him out of his reverie. So absurd and surprising coming from you that a laugh escapes before he can stop it.

He knows he should probably be offended or something, but Venti agrees with you. He is a little overrated. Who knew sleeping for hundreds of years on end could make a person like him so revered? Perhaps Morax should take a leaf from his book.

“He is, isn’t he?” he says after his laughter dies down, watching you rest in the palm of his statue’s hands, as free as you always wanted to be. He wants to save this memory in a bottle and immortalize it for eternity.

“I didn’t really mean it in a bad way,” you explain. “I do like Lord Barbatos.” He tries, he really tries, but it’s difficult to keep his heart still when you say such words so casually. “I just think people shouldn’t only focus on him.”

His brows furrow. He didn’t think the people of Mondstadt only focused on him, there was Vennessa and—

“He led Mondstadt against tyranny, but he wasn’t alone, you know? Besides Vennessa, who else’s name is written in the history books who fought alongside him?” You turn to him at the end of your question.

He can tell you each of their names by order of birth, by order of age, by order of the time they died—but that isn’t what you’re asking of him.

Besides Vennessa, who else’s name is written in the history books who fought alongside him?

Perhaps this is another one of his failings as an Archon. How many does that make now?

Too much to count.

When he remains silent, you shake your head almost sadly. “No one. And I think that’s just a little unfair for them who died, only for the people they died for to forget them.”

He stares at you, your words echoing in his mind. And there’s a lump forming in his throat and something clawing in his chest to break free.

I remember! he wants to say, but the words are stuck in his throat. I remember you, I remember Amos, I remember Venti, I remember all of them!

But it would be unfair of him to reveal this to you when he vowed to keep you unburdened by the past. So instead, he lies down beside you, mirroring your position and watching the blue sky that you once longed to see two thousand and six hundred years ago. How funny, the way fate works. He never thought he’d get to watch the sky with you again.

“Maybe that’s why Lord Barbatos doesn’t come down to Mondstadt often,” he starts, voice uncharacteristically solemn. You turn your head to him curiously, but he keeps his eyes trained to the sky, because he might just break if he meets your eyes while speaking a truth known only to him. “Because he remembers, and maybe it’s too painful for him to see familiar places without the people he once knew.”

Only the sound of people below the statue can be heard after his brief explanation.

You’re quiet. Too quiet, that it almost makes him regret saying such words. Did he give out too much information? Was his voice too melancholic? Have you seen through the mask he wears and found out who he really is? (And is that hope blooming in his chest at the thought of you discovering his identity?)

But then you speak up, and your words relieve him as much as they pain him.

“Do you think he’s lonely?”

Is he lonely?

Yes.

“Maybe,” he shrugs, and it takes all he has to feign nonchalance, when all he wants is to collapse in your arms and never let go.

You shake your head fondly at his vague answer. “You seem to know a lot about Lord Barbatos.” Because I am him. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d have thought you were religious, Venti.”

Can he be considered religious if he’s the god of said religion? “I’m not though! Did it seem that way? Hehe, I guess I got you fooled.”

You crack a smile, he wishes the sight wasn’t so familiar. “Well, even if you were, I’d be the last person to judge you for it.”

Curiosity sparks inside him at your cryptic words. “And why is that?”

An embarrassed look crosses your face, and now he’s even more intrigued. He wonders… do you remember him, even just the tiniest bit?

And if you do, does he want you to remember him?

Yes.

No.

Maybe.

He’ll settle for a vague in between.

He scoots closer to you. You’ve got him curious, and now he’s never going to leave you alone until you tell him what it is. “Ohoho, is it an embarrassing reason? Is that why you won’t tell me?”

“No! Yes—I mean—” You sigh in defeat when you catch sight of the telltale look on his face that says he’s never going to drop this until you admit your secret. “Alright, I’ll tell you.”

Venti lets out a triumphant little laugh and moves closer to you, your arms nearly squished together with your proximity. He tries to focus on how warm you feel, to really ground himself in this reality where you’re alive and well and warm, not cold and limp and dying.

“So?” he prompts.

You take a deep breath like you’re preparing to go to war. He finds it amusing how worked up you are because of this, ignoring the familiarity of the sight from when you were actually about to go to war two thousand and six hundred years ago. Your warrior, you told Venti as you donned your armor and smiled like it wasn’t the last day of your life.

“Don’t ever tell this to anyone, but…” you trail off, and he leans close to hear what you have to say. “When I was a child, I used to have the biggest crush on Lord Barbatos.”

…

Venti thinks his ears must be deceiving him.

“Uh, could you repeat that for me?”

You groan, covering your face with your hands to hide your embarrassed look. “I, I used to…” You peek through your fingers and see the wide grin forming on his lips. “Ugh. I know you heard me loud and clear, Venti! Don’t make fun of me!”

He isn’t. He really, really isn’t.

“You had a crush—” on me.

“Yes, I used to! It’s weird, I know, but…” you sigh, gazing wistfully at the sky. “I had a dream when I was a kid. It’s a bit blurry now, but in that dream, Lord Barbatos was holding me in the middle of… a war, I think. I don’t really remember much, or even what he looks like or how I even knew it was Lord Barbatos—but the way he held me in that dream… it brought comfort to me whenever I felt alone as a kid.”

The look in your eyes is reminiscent of your dying gaze thousands of years ago.

He can’t breathe.

You’re saying something to him, but he can’t hear past the wind rushing through his ears.

You remembered. You had dreamt it.

The only time he’s ever held you back then was when you were dying in his arms, having just taken the form of his friend after watching him die. Cradling you in arms that feel foreign and strange to a wind sprite like him, but forcing his newly formed limbs to obey because he couldn’t—

He couldn’t let you die feeling like you were alone.

Comfort, you said. It brought you comfort to be held in his arms. In your last dying moments, he managed to bring you even the smallest sense of comfort.

And it’s like a weight has been lifted off his chest.

Venti rolls over, slinging an arm over you and burying his face in your shoulder. You’re startled, but you still reciprocate his embrace.

“Venti…?”

“This was supposed to be a date,” he says, voice muffled just the way he wants to hide the shakiness in his tone, “But instead, you’re talking about some guy who isn’t me.” He should be taken to the courts of Fontaine for saying such an awful lie.

You huff in amusement. “Are you really getting jealous of a god?”

“Yes.”

You laugh, smoothing your hand over his hair. He leans into the familiar gesture. “Well, don’t. It’s not like he’s suddenly going to come down from Celestia and steal me from you just because he heard I had a little crush on him when I was young.”

He won’t because he already has.

“He might though,” Venti says petulantly. “I don’t trust the guy.”

“He’s literally our Archon?”

“But have you seen his face? He looks extremely untrustworthy.” It should be illegal to have this much fun slandering himself. He can’t help it though, it’s the lightest he’s felt since the fall of Old Mondstadt.

“The statues don’t even have his precise features, but from what I’ve seen…” A sly smile forms on your lips. “I think he’s pretty cute.”

Venti laughs, ignoring the pinkness of his cheeks at the unintentional compliment. “If the nuns heard you call Barbatos cute, they might just crucify you.”

“Not if they crucify you first for calling him untrustworthy,” you quip with a grin.

“Then it’s a good thing they’ll never know.”

You turn your head to his statue, a frown forming on your face. “Do you think he’ll curse us? You know, for kinda making fun of him.”

“Nope!” A gust of wind comes with his voice. “Personally, I think he’d find it rather funny.”

“I hope so.” A breathtaking smile forms on your lips. “But if he does decide to curse us, at least we’ll be cursed together.”

He hopes you never find out how true your words are. How he’s cursed you just by the simple act of loving you. Knowing you though, you’ll only shake your head at him and say how you didn’t mind being cursed.

At least we’ll be cursed together.

Venti vows to tell you the truth someday, but for now, he’ll bask in the bliss that ignorance provides and remain oblivious to the storm brewing in the sky.

✧

He never did get the chance to tell you how much you meant to him.

It weighs on his mind, even after hundreds of years. He spent most of it asleep while the world changed around him, awakening every now and then to wander Mondstadt in the hopes of finding the barest glimpse of you, but all he found was grief as he walked through places you once occupied.

Hope was a dwindling thing in his chest.

Now here he is, standing below an awning to hide from the sun’s merciless rays, waiting for this era’s mode of transportation to arrive.

A series of frantic taps on his shoulder startle him. Turning his head, he finds himself face to face with an image that leaves him both relieved and anguished.

“Hi! Sorry to bother you, but my phone just died and I really need to call my friend for something important!”

At least we’ll be cursed together.

Well, Venti thinks, frozen in place as you look at him with wide, hopeful eyes, third time’s the charm, isn’t it?

ZHONGLI

You stop, glancing over your shoulder and narrowing your eyes.

“Hey, I know you’re out there! Come out before I call the Millelith on you for stalking!”

Silence. You scan over the area again, finding nothing but trees and the occasional bird landing on a branch. It could just be your imagination playing tricks on you, but you know there’s someone out there. You’ve felt them since you stepped into this mountain to pick herbs for a commission you got.

They don’t really have any malicious intent, or at least, you don’t think they do. You’d think a person following you would have bad intentions, but so far, they seem to be content with watching from afar.

There were times when it seemed like the wind suddenly picked up, coincidentally helping you from dropping the basket of herbs in your hands, but you decided to brush it off as nothing but coincidence. This is a mountain range after all, wind currents aren’t all that uncommon.

A part of you did wonder whether it was your stalker who did that, but what kind of stalker helps the person they’re stalking?

“Fine, if you won’t show yourself, then I’ll make you show yourself,” you mutter beneath your breath. A breeze brushes past you afterwards, somehow carrying the scent of qingxin and…almonds?

Weird.

You decide to ignore it and continue down the well-worn path leading to the foot of the mountain, keeping an eye out for your mysterious stalker.

Passing by an intersection, you pause as you see a hilichurl camp by the distance.

An idea starts to form in your head.

“Hey, you know, if you don’t show yourself, I might just walk into that hilichurl camp over there!” No response. “The mountain is so vast and big, I think I’m getting lost,” you say, feigning distress in your voice. Never mind that you’ve gone through this mountain enough times to be familiar with it.

Still nothing.

Well, they’re certainly stubborn.

You pretend to look between each path in the intersection with confusion. “Oh, I forgot which way I went from, how about I ask those hilichurls over there for some directions?”

Just when you think they’re about to appear in front of you, you remain standing alone, looking rather stupid for talking to yourself. You pray to all the gods and adepti that Hu Tao never hears of this incident.

Fine. It seems you’re gonna have to do this the hard way.

Your steps are sure as you make your way to the hilichurl camp. Maybe you’re being stupid and rash, barging into a hilichurl camp because you think someone is following you. What do you even expect your stalker to do after you put yourself in danger, save you?

Yes.

You don’t know where this sudden confidence came from, but a part of you just knows that they’ll keep you safe—even if it’s completely absurd to think of considering they’re, well, stalking you.

This is probably a result of eating so much of Hu Tao’s suspicious cooking, but hey, you’re here now and there’s no going back.

A harsh breeze blows past you, almost like a warning, ruffling your hair and nearly sending the basket of herbs in your hand flying in the air. Oh, now this is your stalker.

You can’t help the grin that comes to your face. Just a little bit more and they might finally show up. You take another step, the hilichurl camp within hearing distance, the samachurl looking up from the bonfire and into your direction—

And then a hand clamps around your arm and pulls you out of sight.

The world blurs around you, and you shut your eyes to keep away the dizziness threatening to overcome your senses. When you come to, you’re finally face to face with the person who’s been following you from the moment you stepped within range of the mountain.

A frown mars his deceptively young looking face. “You are still as reckless as ever.”

You blink, the words that you’ve been preparing earlier stuck to your throat as you gaze at this boy (not a boy, your mind supplies, but you can’t help but think of him as one) who is both familiar yet not.

“Do I know you?” is what you end up saying.

Your words seem to stump him. He averts his gaze, something heavy brewing in his eyes. You don’t know how you can read a stranger like him so easily, especially since he looks passive from an outsider’s point of view, but it feels like you’ve known him your whole life.

It’s strange.

The only people that have ever made you feel like this are Zhongli, the kind Madame Ping, and the Tianquan’s overworked secretary who used to bow in deference to you until you told her it was unnecessary and a little weird.

“…No,” he says after a few moments.

You place a hand on your hip, like a parent about to scold their child. “Then why were you following me, huh?”

“I wasn’t…” he starts but then seems to realize how much of a lie that is, since he’s been stalking you for the last few hours. “I only meant to keep you safe.”

“I don’t even know who you are,” you point out.

“Yes, I know.” And something about the way he said it seems almost… sad. Melancholic.

You tilt your head, wondering why a stranger like him being sad somehow matters to you. “What’s your reason for stalking me, then?”

“Stalking—” He turns to you with furrowed brows, his tone almost offended. “I was not. My… master, asked of me to keep you safe, and I am bound by my contract to obey his word.”

“Uh-huh, sure, and it sounds like your master doesn’t know I’m taken. So if he’s trying to win me over by sending people to stalk me, tell him it won’t work.”

He tilts his head curiously, the action almost eerily similar to a bird’s. “Taken…?”

“Yes, taken. It means I’ve got a partner, love of my life, that sorta stuff,” you explain, keeping your voice light like you’re speaking to a child.

Understanding seems to dawn on him. “I see, so it must be…”

“Must be what?” you prompt.

He shakes his head, turning away from you and beginning to walk down the path you abandoned earlier in favor of going to the hilichurl’s camp. “A slip of the tongue. You need not worry yourself over it.”

You hurry to catch up to him, careful not to spill any of the herbs in the basket. For such a short person, he sure does walk really fast.

“Oh, I haven’t asked you yet, but what’s your name? You know, so I don’t keep referring to you as stalker in my head.”

He glances at you from the corner of his eyes, watching the way you smile at him so casually. Had it been any other person, they would have been suspicious, would have interrogated him of his intentions, would have found the act of him following and watching them from afar disturbing instead of simply amusing.

(You are far too trusting. He wishes you weren’t, perhaps then, you would have lived longer a thousand years ago.)

“Xiao.”

“Xiao,” you repeat, finding the name flowing from your tongue much smoother than you thought it would. Familiar.

You grin at him and tell him your own name, to which he lets out a hum and says he already knows. You resist the urge to tease him for it, saying how much he sounded like a stalker just then.

For the rest of the trip down the mountain, you animatedly try to make conversation with him. He always responds with short answers, formal with a hint of softness lingering in his tone. You can tell that he’s trying to keep as much information close to his chest as possible, but that was fine, you have a feeling you’ll be seeing more of him in the future anyway.

When you reach the foot of the mountain, you bid him goodbye.

“Well, this was a fun trip, but I can handle myself from this point onwards.” Your hand moves before you can stop it, landing on the top of his head and giving it a few pats. You send him a smile, unusually soft and almost… parental. “Thanks for protecting me, Xiao.”

He nods stiffly, unable to look you in the eye even after your hand returns to your side.

“I’ll be going now,” he tells you before disappearing in a whirl of black mist and anemo.

✧

“He was weird, but also kinda sweet? In a strange I-just-ate-one-of-Hu-Tao’s-cooking kind of sweet, you know?”

“No, I do not,” Zhongli says, amusement evident in his tone. “I do know, however, that the gentleman you met earlier was an adeptus.”

You jaw drops, nearly dropping your cup of tea. “What?!”

He nods. “Xiao is quite an interesting fellow. I am sure you two would get along well.”

“Wait a minute…” You watch him suspiciously, eyes narrowed. “Are you the master Xiao spoke of?”

“I’m afraid I do not know what you mean. Why would an adeptus call a mortal such as myself his master?” He takes a sip off his own tea. “Hmm, this tea is truly worthy of its reputation. High quality indeed.”

“Stop trying to change the subject!”

“Haha, was I? I don’t recall doing such a thing,” he says, feigning ignorance. You glare at him. “Although, I do recall an interesting conversation I had earlier. I am quite flattered to be called the love of your life, if my acquaintance is to be believed.”

“So you are Xiao’s master!”

“I never referred to him as my servant, merely an acquaintance,” he rebukes.

You continue to stare at him with narrowed eyes, not believing a word of what he just said.

You’ve had your suspicions. The pieces have practically been spoon fed to you from the moment you met him.

His seemingly endless amount of mora. The timing of his so-called retirement coinciding with the death of Rex Lapis. The archaic way he spoke and his general knowledge of history that not even most historians knew of.

He had been calm, too calm, when Osial was released from his seal. Almost nonchalant if not for the way he held you so tightly until the skies cleared and the Jade Chamber fell from the sky. You’ve never caught even the slightest hint of fear in his eyes, but in that moment, it was the closest thing you’ve ever come to seeing it.

He’d made you wait outside of the Northland Bank as he did whatever he needed to do—finalize my retirement, he said—and when a lady covering half of her face came out, she seemed to look at you like she knew more than she let on.

“Be wary when dealing with gods and illuminated beings,” she told you cryptically, to which you’d looked at her strangely for.

“That’s a given, isn’t it?”

She had smiled coyly at your answer and bid you farewell, disappearing in a flash of flames like a witch from one of Mondstadt’s tales.

Then Zhongli came out to see you not too long after.

“Childe has told me that it is custom these days to take the person you admire out for a ‘date’. Would an afternoon drinking osmanthus wine be considered one?” And all thoughts about your previous conversation with the mysterious lady disappeared.

After that first ‘date’, you vowed to never again take another sip of that awful, awful drink they call osmanthus wine. But when he comes up to you, asking you to accompany him for another afternoon session of drinking, you find that you can’t say no.

It tastes the same as I remember.

What exactly does he remember? Was it a memory from a week ago—

Or a memory from a thousand years ago?

Maybe you’re looking too deep into it. Maybe everything is all just a coincidence. But you’ve always trusted your instincts, and your instincts are telling you that Zhongli is more than just the mortal man he says he is.

But then you look at him, see him sipping his tea without a care in the world, unburdened, and you can’t bring yourself to voice your suspicions.

So what if he really is Rex Lapis?

Whether he’s the Geo Archon or Zhongli or Morax, your feelings will never change.

In this life or the next.

You pick up your cup of tea and take a sip. “You know, I think I prefer osmanthus wine.”

He looks at you, curious at the sudden change. “I thought you disliked the taste? Your expressions made it rather clear.”

He was right, it did taste gross, but…

“Yeah, but you like it, right?” you say, staring into your cup and fighting the heat making it’s way to your cheeks. “So, um, if it’s for you, then I won’t mind much if it’s what we drink. It does taste a bit better these days.”

(“It makes me wanna barf!” you said, sticking out your tongue in disgust.

Morax stared down his cup. “I see. I apologize for making you drink it.”

You saw the look on his face and hastily backtracked. “I mean, I guess it’s not that bad. If I’m with you, then it tastes a little less gross.” To prove your point, you took a large sip and tried not to let your true feelings show on your face. “Mm, see? T-Tastes better now…”)

Some things change and some stay the same.

Zhongli smiles at the old memory and hopes you’ll remain with him longer this time.

EI

“You wrote a book for me?”

You grin, not a hint of embarrassment on your face as you slid the light novel across the table towards her. “Your Eternal Excellency seemed to like the book I suggested months ago, so I thought, why don’t I write something she’ll like? And so I stayed up many nights to finish this! It’s also a gift to show my thanks for the gracious gift you gave me last month!”

Ei looks down at the cover of the book. It is a depiction of her in a colorful kimono next to a person who looks eerily like you. Reading the title, she has to fight the blush that threatens to rise from her cheeks as she reads it.

Suddenly Woke Up To An Arranged Marriage With The Raiden Shogun!

Quite… unconventional. And long.

This feels like one of her devious friend’s plots.

“Did Miko ask you to write this?”

You tilt your curiously. “Miss Yae? Oh, she didn’t! She was actually quite surprised when I sent in this novel for editing. Although she did say it was quite a fun read!”

So it was of your own volition that you wrote this. Well, she supposed she shouldn’t have expected anything less. Only you would be so bold as to write such a thing and have the confidence to come to the Tenshukaku to personally give it to her.

She feels something like amusement creeping up her chest. Five centuries and another five hundred years of being without you, but never once has she forgotten how daring you can be. For once, she is thankful that news have spread about her favor towards you. You would not have been allowed entry to the Tenshukaku by the soldiers otherwise.

When her silence remains even after you’ve finished regaling her with how many times you sneaked in to explore the Tenshukaku to gain some much needed inspiration, she sees the slightest hint of apprehension appear in your eyes. She decides to nip it in the bud before you can begin to doubt yourself and close yourself off to her.

“The title is… interesting. I shall be sure to read it during my free time.”

The smile you give her manages to light up the entire room. Or perhaps it’s the sunlight coming from the open shoji screens. Ei can’t quite tell with how mesmerized she is by you.

“I’m glad Your Eternal Excellency likes it!” you chirp, hands clasped in front of you like a prayer. “I especially made sure to give you the first ever copy made, complete with my signature and personal note in the title page!”

She takes the book in her hands, handling it like it’s the most fragile glass. “Thank you. I shall treasure this for all of eternity.”

And she means it. A book you wrote specifically for her? She is already coming up with ideas on how to make it last the wear and tear of time. Perhaps she can preserve this by placing it in her Plane of Euthymia…?

“It is the greatest honor to have Your Eternal Excellency treasure something I wrote!”

Ei frowns. There it is again.

Your Eternal Excellency.

She has never thought much of the way her people addressed her, but perhaps this is an era for new things. When you call her so formally, it magnifies the distance between you, how nothing is truly the same as it once was despite the familiarity of each setting with you.

She doesn’t want you to keep calling her such a lengthy title, and yet she doesn’t have it in her to ask of you to refer to her as Ei.

Because you do not remember, and she doesn’t want to force you to call her a name she isn’t quite ready to hear from you in this era. To hear her name fall from your lips without the same lilting voice you once called her with—Ei, you used to say, honey dripping from your tone with a smile reserved only for the reclusive sister of your god—it is too soon.

A thousand years without you, and yet it is still too soon.

So she bids you farewell, ignoring the gobsmacked looks of her retainers when they see the Raiden Shogun personally escorting a guest out of the Tenshukaku—a guest who is not even a member of the nobility, merely a humble writer and editor of the Yae Publishing House.

But that isn’t quite right either.

You are more than just your life in this period, you were a warrior and a servant and a lover and everything good Ei can think of.

She thinks the only reason you haven’t been granted a vision in this life is because your old vision still remains with her. The first vision she embedded in the statue right at the very top, as dull and lifeless as you once were upon your death.

When you wave to her goodbye instead of bowing—a custom that people from Mondstadt use! you told her—she decides to wave back, uncaring of the wide-eyed looks of the shogunate soldiers lining the entrance of the Tenshukaku.

✧

Ei sits down and reads your book.

What she reads is a rendition of your time together five hundred years ago, like something plucked from the recesses of her memories with only a few details embellished to stay true to this era.

She doesn’t get up until she’s read it twice and memorized each and every word and letter.

✧

When you visit the Tenshukaku a week after you gave her your book, the first thing she does is ask, “Do you remember?”

You look at her with surprise. “Pardon, Your Eternal Excellency?”

She gazes down the book lying innocuously on the table between you. “Your book… it is like a walk through the past. It fills me with nostalgia for a time long gone.”

Silence. She raises her eyes and watches you fumble for an explanation.

“Oh. Well, to be honest, I never actually thought it up!” You grin, a little sheepish as you look down to your lap. “I just kind of wrote what was in my dreams. They’ve always been strange as far as I can remember.”

Dreams.

Dreams.

Ah, so you do not remember after all.

Disappointment weighs on her, heavy and burdensome. She shouldn’t have expected much, has she not learned that expectation comes with a great cost? And yet, it is difficult to remember all that she has learned when you sit in front of her.

Sometimes, all she wants is to take you with her and stop the impending fate that befalls all mortals, and sometimes she has to remind herself that she can’t do that, because your ephemerality is what makes you so incredibly you.

She is about to say something, to apologize for her confusing words, but then you speak up again, trying to lighten the mood.

“And it’s really funny, ‘cause I used to call Your Eternal Excellency Ei in those dreams!” You laugh, not noticing the way she stills.

Ei breathes in, breathes out.

One, two, three times.

“Say it again.”

You blink, unsure if you heard correctly. “Huh?”

“The name—my name, say it again,” she tells you, careful to keep the desperation from slipping into her tone.

You part your lips, “Ei?”

Ei? Is it really you?

She shakes off the memory of your ghost. “Again.”

“Ei,” you say, more sure of yourself this time.

(“Ei,” you called her, voice stern as you watched her exhaust herself in training.)

“Again,” she asks, unable to hide the way her eyes shine with a sheen of unshed tears. They will not fall, she knows, but she still berates herself for her lack of control.

Your eyes soften, hands reaching over the table as if to hold her own—only to stop midway, remembering that this is not a dream.

What comes out of your mouth is a sound taken right from the past.

“Ei.”

(Ei, you used to say, honey dripping from your tone with a smile reserved only for the reclusive sister of your god)

She closes her eyes and savors the sound of her name. Five hundred years.

She was wrong. It was not too soon. It was too late.

Opening her eyes, she steels herself and finds the courage to do what she has been wanting to do from the moment she gave you that gift a month ago.

“Would you like to go out for a walk with me tomorrow? It is the season for cherry blossoms, and I have heard that the sight is quite lovely.”

✧

Suddenly Woke Up To An Arranged Marriage With The Raiden Shogun!

Chapter 2, Page 23

The Raiden Shogun looked at me and said, “I heard from one of my handmaidens that tomorrow is when the cherry blossoms will start to bloom. If it is not too much trouble, will you accompany me for a walk around the city?”

I stared at her, my heart skipping a beat, and when I gave her my answer, there was an exhilarated smile on my lips that couldn’t be wiped away for the rest of the day.

“I would love to!”

[lunarw0rks]

hi!!! i was wondering if you could by chance do something where the reader is a paramedic, and they lose someone for the first time on the job, and they come back home a wreck?

id like price, soap or ghost with it, i feel like they'd understand what it's like to lose someone and feel like it's ur fault 😭

maybe they would say "you did everything you could, sweetheart."

idk ill be going into this field and it scares me that this stuff happens so often

──── ꒦꒷ MAIN MASTERLIST ꒷꒦ PRICE MASTERLIST ꒦꒷

‧₊˚⊹ warning(s): established relationship, death/grief, patient loss, hurt/comfort, emt!reader, gn!reader ‧˚₊

‧₊˚⊹ word count: 875 ‧˚₊ | a/n: this is short & i don't like it.

WOUNDS | JOHN PRICE

Exhaustion was nothing new to you. Countless hours on your feet, making life-or-death decisions, subsiding every worry to the back of your mind, and only focusing on the situation in front of you.

Stressful, difficult days were part of the bargain. Even on a good day, you still find yourself sore and spent. But today wasn’t a good day.

Loss should be something you were well acquainted with by now yet weren't. The initial heartache of losing a patient was too forbidding to cope with, and there was no time to pause and reflect. It felt careless, unjust even, to move on to the next—live—person.

It happened fast, too fast, and then you were onto your next case. In some ways, the chaotic influx of maimed people helped to blur your reality; to keep you from feeling. It all hit you the moment you took your uniform off, staggering home with an expression as lifeless as the corpse being shipped to the morgue.

You twisted your key into the lock, greeted by a dim and empty house. No warmth, no ambiance — only you and your grieving thoughts.

You rested your bags on the entry table with a dead weight, tugging off your shoes with the same quickness. When your psyche ached, the same pains in your muscles seemed considerably worse.

The shower called you the longer it took your exhausted legs to walk the steps. A steamy, warm cocoon to scrub your skin raw; until the emotions withered. At least that’s what you hoped to achieve.

But grief was ugly. Worse, somehow, because you had to become good friends with it to succeed. As you lathered yourself in suds, you closed your eyes and let the water beat down on you.

In a way, you knew deep down that this feeling would ever entirely disappear. The first loss is always the worst, but so are all the rest you’re doomed to deal with. Inevitable and unforgiving, while all the rest of the world moves on.

John crept up the stairs, hearing the drone and patter of the shower head in the distance. He found it strange that you hadn’t bothered to light up the downstairs. The only bulb illuminating his path to the bathroom was the sconce in the hallway.

The golden light from the washroom lit up the rest of the wall, beams widening when he pushed on the door. You stood under the rain, head tipped back with a wincing expression. Your arms wrapped around yourself, as if to mimic a hug, and how your thumbs caressed your dripping skin to self-soothe.

The scene in front of him reminded him of shellshock, only with less gore and chaos, thankfully. Though you appeared tranquil, he nearly felt the waves of woe radiating off you with the steam. Something had happened, something forlorn.

He sidled ahead, placing his boots on the bathmat. Though the door ground when it opened, you didn't bother to open your eyes. You were lost in the turmoil of the day, retracing every decision you made — tirelessly wondering if there was a detrimental mistake.

From behind, Price pulled you flush against his chest. Despite how obvious he had made his presence; you were still startled at the feeling of arms wrapped around you. He made no sudden movements, nuzzling your head back against him for support.

You slowly craned your neck to peer at him, seeing him fully clothed and actively soaking from the shower. His eyes were soft and empathetic, nearly all-knowing of the ins and outs of demise. In a way, the Captain did.

"John, your clothes..." You muttered, as to displace the emotional spotlight.

Quickly, he shushed your weak voice, pressing his lips to your forehead. All those calls he'd made over the years — juggling proficiency for blood; his own, his men, even civilians. That aching, ever-persistent guilt that rattled him when he was alone too long. He knew it like an old friend.

You, a healer, should not. It wasn't fair, seeing you struggling to keep your mind serene. And your appearance — fatigued, weeping eyes and a body that told the harrowing story for you.

With a shuffle of your heavy feet, you turned to face him. "I lost one today." You whispered into the crook of his neck, leaning on him with your full weight.

"I know, love." His thumb brushed your cheek as if wiping away the tears that had already washed down the drain.

The corners of his mouth distorted into a conflicted smile — one of support and uncertainty. There was nothing he could do but be your shoulder, that much he knew. If it were him in your position, that's all he would want.

Your quivering lips parted, waterworks brimming on your irises again.

He could feel the slump of your posture, the contort of regret and guilt written all over you. "You did all you could, sweetheart. Everything you could." John stopped you prematurely before you could bash yourself over misfortunes out of your control.

It was hypocritical, the man he glanced at in the mirror carrying the weight of too many casualties.

But it didn't matter when it was you; this was his burden to carry.

a/n: this doesn't have to be emt/paramedic specific. it could be any kind of healthcare worker or medic.

⋆꒷꒦‧₊˚ divider cred. - cafekitsune ˚₊‧꒦꒷⋆

[saphira-approves]

Something something professional artist jargon something something insert art knowledge here—whatever I want to talk about the book covers

So you’ve got Eragon, with a 3/4 portrait of Saphira; she’s giving a benevolent side eye with almost a Mona Lisa smile, she’s got that gleam in her eye, she’s looking at you but not head on—listen, this was the whole reason I picked up the book in the first place when I was eleven, she was so clearly full of life and personality and I just really wanted to meet her. It’s a really good glimpse of her character before even opening the book. She’s engaging you, but also maybe judging you a little bit, and she has a lot of thoughts but she’s going to keep them to herself for right now, thank you.

We’re skipping Eldest for right now because I have a point to make. Shush.

For Brisingr, we get a perfect side portrait of Glaedr, the grumpy old man. He’s not even side-eyeing the viewer like Saphira does; he is eyes forward, goal-oriented, noble and regal and, unless you’re worth his time, not really going to bother with you because he has Important Business to attend to. He is The Last of the pre-Fall dragons, his Rider is The Last of the pre-Fall Riders, he represents a bygone era that will never fully be resurrected, but can still inspire the present to fight for the future; he is no longer fully his own dragon, but a Relic, a Memory, a Symbol. He’s not anxious about it the way Eragon or Saphira might be; he has grieved for a century, he couldn’t be anxious about it if he tried. But he knows that keeping his integrity intact is important, and so this is how he presents himself: Noble. Regal. The Survivor. The Last.

Fírnen graces the cover of Inheritance, bookending the original series by almost perfectly mirroring Saphira—and seriously, it is so satisfying to line the books up with these two at the ends. Though he’s got a 3/4 profile like Saphira, Fírnen is much more reserved. No Mona Lisa smile, no mischievous gleam in his eye; he simply looks at you, and you look back, and you wonder what he’s thinking. He is, in fact, a lot like Arya—anyone who’s read the previous three books up to that point and hasn’t been spoiled for the ending might be able to guess, just from this portrait, who the final egg would hatch for. It’s also a perfect expression for the Final Book, with the fate of Alagaësia and the dragons hanging in the balance: what world does this mysterious dragon emerge into? A war-torn apocalypse? A hard-won victory? What does his future entail, and thus, what do the futures of our favorite characters entail? You ask him so many questions, but all he will ever do is stare deep into your soul with his somber, too-knowing gaze.

And now for the main event:

My beautiful precious son, the red-scaled Thorn, staring you down from the covers of both Eldest and Murtagh. I have loved the cover of the second book ever since I first picked it up, and my appreciation has only grown with time; needless to say I was very excited when the Murtagh cover dropped, and I got to see both of my favorite characters in one place. For both of these, Thorn takes the same stance: a full-frontal combative position, looking You, The Viewer directly in the eye, daring you to judge him, daring you to get in his way. I’ve always had my own opinions about what lay behind this show of force, and the context we get in Murtagh does not disappoint. He may be terrifying, he may be the scourge of the war, but underneath all that, Thorn is terrified. He’s traumatized, he’s claustrophobic, his body is too big for his age; he is painfully young still, and yet treated like a dragon ten times his age because that’s how he looks. He’s also sweet, and playful, and cares so much about his Rider, and wants desperately to keep Murtagh safe and happy. Just like Murtagh, he hides all of that—the fear and the softness both—behind a visage of ferocity, playing into the fears and preconceived notions people have of him, warning enemies away so they can’t get too close to what will actually hurt him. He dares you to try. He’s terrified you will try. He will fight tooth and nail if you do try.

[girlboypersonthingy]

Could you maybe write a Sally Face One Shot, where Sal developed a huge crush on reader. But he thinks she doesn’t feel the same way. So he writes a love letter in which he puts no hope in, but then she actually tells him she does feel the same.

Does that even make any sense?😭

Yes…it makes sense and I’m weeping over this omggggg 😭😭😭 bruh this had me screaming and kicking in bed as I wrote it omfgggggg. Sal is pretty smart so I know this mf would write some pretty, thought out, poetic type shit

Notes: gn!reader, established friendship, friends to lovers trope

TW: none, just so fucking sappy and fluffy

Sal x reader- Sincerely Sally 💌

Dear (Y/N),

I want to start by telling you that you’re an amazing friend. I’m beyond grateful we’ve met. You’ve always made me feel so comfortable, so wanted, so important. No words could ever truly explain my feelings for you or the thoughts behind them, but I’m going to try.

Since we met, I’ve seen nothing but good in you and I think you’ve made me good, too. You make me feel good. You make me a better person. I don’t know who I’d be without you, but I know who I want to be now.

I want to be the one on your arm when we walk into a room.

I want to be the one you wake up to every morning and fall asleep next to every night.

I want to kiss you every time we say ‘good bye’ and every time we say ‘hello’ again.

I want to be the one you point to with a smile and say ‘him’ when talking to others.

I want to be the one to hold you when you cry.

I want to be the one to hug you when you’re excited.

I want to go every where you go.

I want to slow dance with you.

I want to head bang with you.

I want to paint with you.

I want to sing to you.

I want to hold you.

I want you.

I love you.

I’m in love with you.

And I’m sorry.

Sincerely,

Sally <3

Sal felt like a total loser while sneaking over to your place, which was just down the street from Todd’s house, and slipping the letter in your mailbox. He felt like he could puke just from writing the letter, there’s no way he could ever say these things to your face. He couldn’t help but hesitate, staring at the mailbox as his heart beat rapidly in his chest. ‘They’re going to hate me. I’m gonna ruin everything. What the hell am I doing?’ Sal thinks to himself, staying frozen in place for a good few minutes as thousands of thoughts race through his mind, shaky hands stuffed in his hoodie pockets.

He jumps a bit when he notices the light in your bedroom flick on through your window. He ducks his head and turns to leave, not wanting to get caught lurking around your house in the middle of the night. As he rushes back home, the panic begins to set in because now he realizes he left it…he left the letter behind. It was done. No turning back. He felt sick to his stomach and like he was already grieving the loss of your friendship.

Sal tip toes back in the house, praying neither Neil nor Todd would catch him sneaking in so late and ask questions. He trudges to his room, shedding his clothes before flopping onto his bed. Sal lays on his side and after taking his prosthetic off, stares at the wall for hours thinking about all the ways this could go wrong, all the ways you could reject him, every excuse and lie he could use later to act like it wasn’t even serious, like it was a dumb joke or something. Finally, after his brain had tortured him enough, he drifts off to sleep just before the sun begins to rise.

~next morning~

‘Holy shit…’ You think as you hold the piece of lined note book paper in your shaky hands. “No way…no way!” A giddy smile grows on your face as you clumsily drop all the other mail you had in your hands, besides Sal’s letter, on the ground and take off running for him. It was early in the morning and you were in pajamas still but nothing could stop you now. His house was not far at all and you were too excited not to immediately run to him and profess your love for him.

You and Sal had been friends almost as long as he has with Larry and Todd. You’ve slowly fallen in love with him just as hard as he has with you- the issue is that you are both dummies and think the other person sees you as a friend and a friend only. You’d find yourself dreaming of Sal, not knowing he was dreaming of you too. You’d absentmindedly doodle his name on piece of paper and blush, he’d find a strand of your hair on his shirt and smile so big under his mask. You two have been pining for so long but both so afraid to wreck the relationship you already have. Eventually, Sal felt like he couldn’t get anything done, couldn’t focus on his studies or the ghosts or even eating throughout the day. His brain was full, flooded even, with thoughts of you. He just had to get it out, he had to say it to you now or he would be haunted by it forever. Unbeknownst to Sal…you felt the exact same way.

Bouncing up to his doorstep with an uncontrollable smile on your face, cheeks aching and turning red, you knock on the door and ball your fists up out of excitement. Finally, Todd answers the door, smiling at you before greeting you. “(Y/N)! What are you doing here so early? We-“ “Sal! I-I’m sorry. I need to talk to Sal.” You interrupt, your crazy smile making Todd chuckle softly just as Neil comes up behind him. “Morning, (Y/N)! Sal isn’t up yet. He’s still-“

You weren’t trying to be rude, you adored Todd and Neil but you were currently completely 100% hyperfixated on the sleeping blue haired poet behind the door at the end of the hall way and you just had to see him immediately. “I-I’m sorry…” You laugh softly as you push past them, sprinting for his door, gripping the knob excitedly before swinging the door open. The sound of the door swinging back against the door frame stirs Sally from his sleep, making him groan and glance over at the doorway. Before he can react to you being in his bedroom, in your pajamas still with bed head and an adorable love sick smile on your face, you’re jumping into his blankets with arms wide open. As you practically belly flop on top of him, he huffs softly then chuckles, groggily blinking at you.

“Uh…morning…” He mumbles just before you place the folded love letter on his chest, giving him a small smirk. His eyes open wider now, his prosthetic eye not in its usual socket. Sal scrambles nervously to sit up more, his breath hitching in his throat. He was so half asleep for a moment there, he had forgotten all about the letter he planted in your mailbox last night. “Oh I uh….yeah uh-uhm-“ Sal can’t seem to move his mouth correctly, can’t focus his brain on the words he wants to say. And he just breaks down even more when he realizes you’re in his bed, still in pajamas with the cutest messiest bed head. He can’t deal with the cuteness and his gnawing anxiety…So you speak up instead.

“I love you too.” You smile sweetly before pulling yourself up closer to his scarred face and rubbing your nose against his. Sal lets out a whiny little hum as he lets his nervous hands very slowly move up to rest on your back, smiling like a sappy dork as he hugs you softly. He’s not sure what exactly he was expecting to happen after giving you that letter but this is most definitely the best case scenario. “Let’s just…fucking kiss already.” You say with a cheeky smile, eyes half lidded as you lean in closer. Sal sucks in a breath before letting his eyes close along with yours, pursing his lips out as his hands move up your arms and to your cheeks. His big palms caress your face so perfectly, his thumbs sliding back and forth over your skin as you lock lips, gently moving your mouths together as soft sighs leave both of you.

As his hands pull your face closer, your hands wander up and down his bare arms, legs tangled up in his blankets along with him now, you couldn’t help but let out a soft laugh against his lips. “I’m glad you finally told me…that letter was so beautiful.” You whisper, lips gently ghosting against his now. Sal keeps his eyes closed but smiles brightly. “I wrote 153 of those letters.” He confesses, face burning bright red. “No you didn’t.” You scoff, looking down at him, finding this fact hilarious and also adorable and flattering.

“Oh yes he did!” Todd and Neil are leaning in the open doorway. Oops…you got so excited you didn’t shut the door behind you when you ran in. “Proof!” Neil laughs out loudly as he points to Sal’s trash can in the corner of the room, overflowing with balled up pieces of paper. You laugh as you look over, Neil and Todd laughing along with you. Sal drapes an arm over his face, trying to hold back his flustered smile and embarrassed expression. “Stoopppp.” He complains before you’re standing and playfully glaring at the two boys in the doorway. “That’s enough teasing. Shoo!” You grin at Todd before shutting the door on them and turning back to Sal.

“153, huh? Wow. That’s some dedication, lover boy.” You climb back into his bed, sitting cross legged beside him. “Why didn’t you just tell me in person, Sal? Would’ve been way easier.” You scoot closer to him and run your fingers through his tangled hair. “Uh, I totally disagree. I nearly had a panic attack just putting that letter in your mailbox and then having to walk away from it.” A laugh rings out from you as you toss your head back. “Ha! So, What? You’re afraid to say you love me but not afraid of ghosts or demons or cults?” You taunt him before leaning over to rest your head on his shoulder, closing your eyes for a second. “You’re strange. And I love that about you.” You rest there with him for a moment before a fantastic idea hits you, making you sit up and gasp excitedly.

“Can I read the other ones too?!” Before Sal can answer, you’ve jumped up and ran to the rejected pile of love letters in the corner. “No! (Y/N)! No no nononononono!” Sal jumps up and runs to tackle you, his face blushing so red from his ears and down his neck. You laugh loudly as he wraps his arms around your waist and tries to pull you away from all the other embarrassing things he wrote and considered saying to you. “They’re…in the trash…for a reason!” He laughs and huffs as you you push forward, trying to reach even just one crumpled up piece of paper. “Pleeaaassseeeee?” You plead but your strength leaves you as Sal tickles you and has you cackling on the ground instantly.

And the next 10 minutes are spent wrestling with him on the floor of his bedroom while laughing like drunk idiots and occasionally pressing a kiss to the other’s lips. Eventually, you do get ahold of a few of the discarded love letter drafts and they are either like Shakespeare poetry type shit, or so fucking dorky and corny, full of puns and shit. Larry probably tried to help him with that one lol

[tojiscursedtool]

SFW Headcanons for Male!R being a normal person in the JJK world and just encountering Yuji every so often during normal day stuff and slowly becoming good friends with him.

୨ . ࣪ my best friend . ୨ . 🌅

Note ~ I sobbed at the end.. there’s your tragic ending though I hope you like it(*´-`)..(I screamed and cried.)

MENTIONS — Male!Reader, close friends with Itadori, Blood, Death of !Reader, shibuya incident mentioned, grieving, depression.

ִֶָ𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ🐇་༘࿐

— !YuujiItadori who meets you at a movie theater for another human earthworm movie! He thought it was cool to see someone around his age enjoying the same stuff as him since Nobara n’ Megumi were either too busy or didn’t want to watch a ‘weird’ movie like that..

— !YuujiItadori who makes sure to get your number so you guys can hang out more and maybe introduce you to his other friends!

— !YuujiItadori who calls/texts you daily to ask to hang out and even asks you about your day and what you did, sometimes when you were free he’d even offer to get you guy’s food, his treat!

— !YuujiItadori who considers you a best friend only after a short time of knowing him, you both know a lot about each other since the both of you would everyday and hang out with him almost everyday when you guys got the chance, you even hang out with his friend group too!

— !YuujiItadori who is a really nice guy and a great listener, if you’re having a bad day or need help with something he wouldn’t mind helping one of his best friends out. And if you were feeling bothered by something he’d insist you talk to him or at least let him listen to your struggles so he can try to cheer you up or help you out, you are his best friend after all that’s what a friend is for!（╹◡╹）♡

— !YuujiItadori who tries to get your mind off of hard things especially school, he wasn’t that bright but even if you needed some help with work or anything of the sort he sure would try!!…or use some cheating AI app and say some dumbass shit like “hey man..it gets the job done okay?” With a silly laugh.

— !YuujiItadori who tells you how much he appreciates you and how he likes hanging out with you A LOT, how you’re a chill guy and a funny one at that as well!

— !YuujiItadori who DEFINITELY made you both create a secret handshake only you two know about since you guys are such good friends!

— !YuujiItadori who would probably tease and pull a little prank here and there, nothing serious he would probably slap the back of your neck(not hard ofc!!), the ‘made you look!’ classic, play fight with you, etc. he would DEFINITELY steal a fry from you when you were looking and be like “woaaaaah..who did that..not me!! You’re definitely seeing things man..” as he’d do the crazy sign, you knew he was joking and he made you laugh so you never had a problem with him.

— !YuujiItadori who defends you if someone tries to start with you or is mean to you, he doesn’t like when people are rude to his friends, especially you. You both are close and doesn’t get why someone would be rude to you.

— !YuujiItadori who accepts and understands anything you are/do, he isn’t a judging guy. As long as you aren’t like those really mean judgmental bullies or just a strange weirdo he could care less. You’re his friend nothing would change that no matter how you are.

— !YuujiItadori who invites you over to his place so you guys can stay up late and eat a shit ton of snacks you both are sooooo gonna regret later..

— !YuujiItadori who invites you over to his place so you guys can hang out, play video games, and watch horror or scary movies then laugh about them later and make fun of each others reactions. He’d definitely wear some corny cheesy PJ’s of his favorite movie/video game, or wear a “I paused my game to be here” shirt as a joke..

— !YuujiItadori who rants to you about his interests and comics he’s into, like DBZ, Naruto, Bleach, Etc..he loves reading manga and you like listening about it you think it’s cool on how he knows a lot of characters and plots that are interesting to hear about. He even recommends you some stuff to watch/listen to and you both end up chatting about it for hours!

— !YuujiItadori who probably makes you guys wear matching shirts for shits and giggles, it would say some dumb or corny shit that would probably annoy you..not ACTUALLY annoy you but probably make you wanna punch his chest and question why you’re his friend sarcastically, he knows you enjoy being his friend and that you two are extremely close.

— !YuujiItadori who isn’t able to come with you on Halloween due to a mission he’s sent on but he doesn’t tell you that because he doesn’t tell you anything about sorcerers or curses since you can’t see or know about them..but implies you guys can hang out the next time he’s free! He uses the excuse that he has to help Megumi with some personal stuff and he’ll definitely hang out with you as soon as he can.

— !YuujiItadori who isn’t able to control the curse inside him, Ryomen Sukuna. As Sukuna is going on a rampage killing off innocent people and stuff like that he notices you, he knows you’re close to Yuuji..he kills you in the most gruesome way making Yuuji watch as his own best friends body was being sliced, punctured, beaten by something he SWORE he could control.

— !YuujiItadori who is finally able to get to be in control of his body but it’s already too late, you’re gone. Your body is cold and he’s ruined. You were his best friend, a guy he could go to for ANYTHING. He’d try to shake you awake and try to look around for a medic or anyone that could help but everything around him was either burnt to a crisp or dead. Gone. It was pitch black but the moonlight dimly reflected on your body and he saw all the blood..the wounds..how your lifeless eyes were looking at him even though you were dead.

— !YuujiItadori who has a complete break down, who curses Sukuna meanwhile Sukuna is mocking and laughing at him. Mocking the words you were screaming out as Sukuna killed you, “Itadori! Please stop! I thought we were..friends..what are you doing?! STOP!!” He kept mentioning the way you screamed and other gruesome details. All Itadori could do was scream and cry holding onto the corpse that was once your body full of life.

— !YuujiItadori who was depressed for days, weeks, and perhaps even months. He couldn’t get over you..he would seem less happy and when he’d see things that you guys would talk about he’d slightly tear up or frown. Remembering all the memories the both of you shared, how you would always talk to him and hang out with him. He’d miss the times you both would spend with each other.

— !YuujiItadori who would text your phone number daily until it went to green and not delivered, someone else had your number now and he was completely devastated. The one last thing he could contact you with was gone, he’d even try to visit your gravestone and try to talk about the good times you both had. How you were his bestfriend and how he missed you so much. How he wish he could do a better job at controlling that damned curse inside him. He swore on everything it would NEVER happen again.

⋆｡‧˚ʚɞ˚‧｡⋆

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Forget-Me-Not 3

Warnings: non/dubcon, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Characters: Loki

Summary: You return to your childhood home to put the past to rest.

Part of the Backwoods AU

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging.

You toss another can in the bin. The kitchen is littered with your mother’s addiction. Vodka bottles line the counter and beer cans sit in piles on the tile. In some, you find the putrid remnants of forgotten mouthfuls. You rinse them over the sink and fling them over your shoulder, listening to them land in the tall container.

The house rankles with neglect. The walls are layered in filth, the floor is unswept, and the couch is dingy. You shake your head and mutter. 

You’re reminded of the teen girl who trod through her mother’s mess every day on her way to the front door, her room her fortress; the only space she could claim as her own. That sacred stronghold she kept spotless in a measly grasp for an ounce of control. 

You drop another can in the sink and back away. You shake the stale dregs from your fingers and flee without a second thought. You stumble out onto the shady porch and gulp in air. Fresh, fertile, and free.

You sit on the highest step and hang your head. Your eyes flick over to the basket of flowers. Your foot twitches, wanting to kick it into the dirt. You sigh and tilt your chin up.

You’re sad but not for your mother. You know you should be. No one else will mourn her. They’ll all whisper about how she wallowed in her filth, how she died lonely and abandoned. But they won’t care. They won’t grieve her.

Neither will you. What they don’t say behind their hands is that she was rotten with the liquor. Bitter to the core. The bottle was her shield and her weapon. Her excuse to be what she was. Vile and venomous.

You don’t miss her, you pity her. You stand and face the house, your eyes tinge as you glare at the screen door. Splinters fill the dents in the frame and rust recedes from the hinges. The birds chirp louder and louder and all at once, the world is quiet.

Paralysed, you watch yourself run up the stairs and stop before the door. Twenty years younger but just as broken. Your shadow listens with her ear tilted. A man’s voice rumbles from inside and your mother croaks in return.

“She’ll be home soon,” she says before she sucks on the neck of the bottle, a loud glug bubbling from its depths. “Plain but quiet.”

Your lip trembles and you falter as if you’ve been struck. The teen girl turns to face you, she’s about to run but the door opens and she’s caught. 

“There you are,” your mother’s voice chafes in her throat, “we got company–”

You lunge forward to grab the girl before she’s dragged inside. It’s too late. Your knee hits the step and you shudder. How cruel were those village gossips, to warble about the girl but they never said a cross word about their own husbands.

Your stomach fills with bile as you push yourself to your feet. You won’t go inside. Not this time. You turn away and heave, swiping the tears from your eyes. You swear you can hear the girl screaming and sobbing as you walk away. Just like all the others who ignored her.

Your feet carry you without a destination. Water trickles noisily and lures you in. You sit on the overturned tree and watch the ripples lap over pointed rocks. 

You should burn the place down. A pile of ash is worth more than those stained walls. You look down at your hands and shake them out, as if you can shed the memories like snake skin.

Only one person heard that girl. Just the one but he turned out just the same. It was never empathy, only a trick.

Forget him. Forget all of it. You sat in that room, across from that doctor, and you did just that. You’re not going to let it back in.

A twig snaps and you sit straight, breath hitching as you search the shadows between the trees. The sunlight flickers through the leaves and the water reflects the world in warped lines. You stand and go to the river’s edge, looking down at yourself. Not a girl anymore, just a tarnished woman.

“Somehow,” the slither jars you but doesn’t surprise you, “I knew I’d find you here.”

You don’t answer him. You know that’s what he wants. For you to shake, to shriek, to do what you did then. To grovel for him to stop, to go away. Just there, on the riverbed, pebbles jabbing into your stomach, your face soaked with the cold water.

“Offer still stands.”

“I don’t want your money,” you say to his rippled reflection.

“Mm, but we both know you need it.”

“You don’t know anything about me,” you sneer, “you never did.”

He snorts, “I know a lot about you. I know how you feel, I know how you whine and beg and–”

“Are you so pathetic? You cling to the past like some desperate old man. This isn’t high school–”

“No, it isn’t,” he agrees, “yet here we are and hardly a thing has changed,” Loki struts along the river to its narrowest breadth and steps across, “you are still nothing, and I am still me.”

“A big fish in a tiny, dried up pond,” you spit as you sidle away from him.

“I am the same shark–”

You bend and grab a sharp rock. It’s big and thick and just holding it cuts into your hand. You spin and whip it in his direction. It just misses his shoulder as he sidesteps, plunging a foot into the riverbed. He snarls and kicks his shoe up, shaking it like a wet cat.

“Why would you do that?” He hisses.

“I’ll do it again,” you bend to take another stone, “I will bash your fucking face in.”

“Whooo,” he whistles and snickers as he crosses his arms nonchalantly, “she’s found her voice.”

“Fuck you,” you grip the stone and rear back your arm, “I won’t miss again.”

He tilts his head and his nostrils flare. His snakish eyes narrow and he clucks, “neither will I.”

You stand, locked in stalemate, waiting for the other to crack. He drops his arms, hands on his hips as he raises his chin defiantly.

“I waited twenty years,” he snarls, “what’s a little longer?”

He twists on his heel and hops over the river. You squeeze the rock as you watch him stride away. Arrogant and assured. You fling the rock and it bounces on the ground after his heels. He doesn’t look back as he disappears into the forest.

The beast might hide to lick his wounds, but he always comes back.

[igncrxntripley]

their secret weapon pt. 6

synopsis: The realization at what she’s done has finally hit Y/N, but her partners have mixed opinions on what to do next. 

tags: poly!judgement day, fem!reader, angst, minor violence (kinda, just to be safe), lowkey sad, more damian than the others

A/N: 🫢 eat it up babes

mentions: @babybatlover @ripleyswhore​

It had been almost a week since Y/N made it clear whose side she was on. She had avoided even thinking about Brooks and what she did to him at Monday Night Raw because her partners told her to move on, and she knew if she thought about him then all of their hard work was going to waste. They were all prepared for Y/N to grieve the life she was leaving behind to be their newest disciple, but all of them also knew it was going to be difficult. The question was, how long would it be until she finished grieving?

The Judgement Day was lucky enough to have the week off from any live shows so they were all able to stay home; Y/N needed that time away more than any of them so she could process what she’d done and how she was going to move forward. For someone who was normally outspoken and giggling with her partners, she’d been quiet and more reserved. She’d rarely left Damian or Rhea’s side the entire time they were home, but then she could barely sleep at night because it meant being alone with her thoughts. Her partners would often have her sleep in the middle since she was the smallest, but she would still manage to crawl out from their iron grips to clear her mind. 

Tonight was no different; when Y/N’s thoughts consumed her and took away the ability to get a good night’s sleep, she gently crawled out from the mess of sheets and limbs her partners created which resulted in a whine from Dominik. He immediately latched onto Finn who was on the other side of him while Y/N got dressed. 

She went into their gym, a place she’d been frequenting when she needed to clear her head, and immediately went for the boxing gloves and punching bag. It was no wonder she’d gotten better at striking in the ring with how often she was using it to cope. After turning on some loud music Y/N got to work and took out every ounce of frustration on the punching bag without giving herself much of a break. With every hit to the bag she switched focus to a different thought or person on her mind. 

I can’t disappoint them. 

I’m better than who I was before The Judgement Day. 

I need to let go of him but I can’t. 

I don’t deserve this opportunity. 

They would be better off without me. 

When Damian had woken up and noticed only three other bodies in bed rather than four, he woke up and decided to investigate. He heard the music as soon as he stepped into the hallway and was surprised that it didn’t wake up his partners; then again they all slept like the dead. Rhea could sleep through the apocalypse if it ever happened. 

Damian walked to their home gym and stood in the doorway, Y/N’s back to him as he watched her destroy the punching bag. He could hear her mumbling to herself, but he doubted she even realized he was watching. Just hearing her made Damian see the self doubt that was filling her body and he wanted nothing more than to make it better for her; he knew his partners felt the same, but they also had high expectations of her. Especially Finn. Even though she doubted herself and she still had room to grow, Y/N had continued to prove herself since she joined The Judgement Day. They were all impressed by her. But she still had a ways to go. 

“Not good enough…you’re better than the old Y/N…” she said in between strikes to the punching bag. Y/N didn’t even realize that she’d been crying, but after a certain point her grunts and heavy breathing turned into soft sobs. “Fuck!” She cried and fell to her knees on the floor. The weight of her thoughts and doubt had finally taken her down and she couldn’t do it anymore. Damian slowly walked over to her and kneeled next to Y/N as she sobbed. “Baby..”

Y/N looked up at Damian, unsure of how much he’d seen or heard but was still embarrassed that he’d seen any of it. “N-no.” She cried as he kneeled down next to her. She hated the sympathetic look Damian was giving her because she didn’t need anyone’s sympathy. She needed to prove to him and their partners that she was deserving of this opportunity they’d given her, even if she didn’t completely believe it herself. Damian shook his head and started to gently take the gloves from her hands. “Shh, mi amor. It’s okay.” He said quietly. It was still shocking how someone so big and tough, someone known as ‘The Punisher’, could be so gentle and caring. It was a side only his partners were lucky enough to see, and they felt incredibly lucky to do so. 

Y/N sniffled as Damian took the gloves off, immediately bringing her hot, sweaty body against his. His hug only made her cry harder; her body trembled as she sobbed and buried her face in his neck. “What have I done?” She sobbed into his neck. Y/N struggled with the pride, but also the guilt over what she’d done to Brooks and the side she’d chosen. “I-I know I need to let my past go but…but I can’t. I’m trying but I can’t!” Y/n cried and hugged Damian tighter. 

Damian held the back of her head and let her get everything out. She needed this; it was part of her grieving process, and he knew that. That didn’t mean it broke his heart any less listening to her cry. “No one said it was going to be easy, amor.” He said quietly. “Let’s get you cleaned up.” He stood up with Y/N in his arms, her legs around his waist as he turned the music off and walked with her to the bathroom. 

He sat Y/N on the edge of the bathtub and ran the water. “I heard what you kept telling yourself in there.” Damian said softly, holding Y/N’s chin between his fingers and gently tilting her head up to look at him. “You’re not a failure. I promise you that, princesa.” His heart broke at the sight of their group’s firecracker looking gutted and destroyed. Someone who carried herself with confidence was now riddled with self doubt; but Damian and his partners also knew with time, that was going to come back. She was going to grow into the best she could be with their help. But for now, Y/N needed their support while she continued to work hard. 

Y/N sniffled at Damian’s words and looked up at him with wide sad eyes, her shoulders slumped from exhaustion. “I want it all to go away.” She sniffled. “I ruined a relationship with someone I loved because I want to be better b-but at what cost?” She asked herself. Damian used his thumb to wipe her tears. “You did what you believed was the best choice. We’ve all had to go through this, and it’s going to get better.” He gently lowered her into the warm bath and she relaxed in the hot water, letting Damian clean her up. The two of them sat in silence as he wiped the sweat and tears from her body and face, and she’d been so exhausted that he barely remembered Damian lifting her out of the water and carrying her back to bed. 

The next morning, the four left Y/N in bed so she could get caught up on her rest while Damian told everyone what happened the night before. “She’s weak, Damian.” Finn said the next morning. While they were all sympathetic, the Irishman had other concerns. “We don’t have time to wait for her to get herself together.” Rhea rolled her eyes at Finn, as did Damian. “We don’t have time? Or you’re impatient?” She challenged. 

Finn sighed and pinched his eyebrows. “Both.” He admitted. Dominik looked up from his video game at his partners. “We told her it wasn’t going to be easy. We need to work with her, Finn. Not make things worse.” Finn bit his lip as he looked at the other three in the room. “Or we continue to test her loyalty.” He wasn’t going to let this go; he was going to continue testing Y/N until she proved she was truly committed to The Judgement Day. “And if she can’t be loyal to us? Then it’s time to move on.”

[am-i-interrupting]

Stalking Shadows | Vox x Alastor’s Child— OATSH

Summary: Alastor has a problem with your choice in company. You have a problem with his problem.

For @aliceneedsphalis or somewhat inspired by one of their prompts.

“Oh, he’s not that bad,” you said.

You’d been listening to your father for the last couple minutes, maybe even an hour, rant about how Vox’s new company was beginning to take away listeners or rather, they were selling more televisions than radios now.

“Oh, yes, people muddling their brains into mush is something to be unconcerned about,” Alastor said, sarcasm coating his every word.

You have him a deadpanned look before rolling your eyes. “It’s not that and you know it. People just like seeing things that they ain’t ever—“

“Have never,” he corrected.

“—seen before. What’s the big difference between watching something on a television and going to a theater?” you asked. “People are just watching other people act out a story.”

“It’s not the same and you know it,” he said, spitting your words back at you. “Going to the theater means leaving the comforts of home, watching a creation of a story that may be said word for word the same but will always be played out differently. The television encourages sinking further into your home, grounding you to a spot that you can’t leave lest you miss something and will always be the same. At least with the radio, you can enjoy it from any place.”

“Uh-huh? And you’re sure there’s not something else going on?” you asked.

Alastor was prone to monologuing when in the comforts of either of your homes but even this had been excessive. His monologues were normally more spaced out than this.

It’d been nearly a year since Vox came into your afterlife and your father had been none too pleased. In a way, you understood but in others you didn’t.

Yes, Vox was taking up some of your time. You went out together to walk the town, get dinner, go to random places or you’d set him up on meetings. However, your time had not been solely taken up by Vox. You saw him planned in person perhaps once a week. Outside of that, you didn’t see him much at all. You still saw your father nearly the same amount. It honestly felt hypocritical of him to complain without actually complaining when at least you told him where you were going. He did not always give you the same courtesy and disappeared for days if not weeks at a time far more often than you’d like.

“What else would there be?” he asked.

You grabbed his hand and used it to wrap his arm around your shoulders as you gave him a hug from his side, both arms around his waist.

“I know you don’t like when things change without your permission—“

“Which is precisely what this is.”

“—but I had a life without you in it. It’s not your fault that you weren’t there for it and I don’t blame you for not being there. But, I did have to learn how to be happy without you. That doesn’t mean I’m not happy with you and it doesn’t mean that I want you to go away. However, Vox was one of those people I found happiness with. A lot of happiness, so just don’t be so hard on him, please. You don’t have to like him, just stop talking like you want to kill him. Okay?”

Silence.

You squeezed Alastor’s torso harder and leaned back, pulling him with you. “Okay?” you asked again.

“I will make an attempt,” he said, sounding like it hurt him to get the words out.

You released him. “That’s all I want.” You placed your hat on your head. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going.”

“And where to exactly?”

Just this once you decided to give your father a taste of his own medicine. “Out.”

You left the house briskly. You had few big plans for the day. You mostly just had small errands. A couple things some of your contracted souls had asked for and not much more.

You went to Trinket’s home to repair her roof, damaged from a recent chase that spanned several districts. You visited Fable and brought them lunch as they were still grieving from the extermination passed a few months ago now but they still didn’t smile like they used to.

You had noticed several times a movement of shadow as you walked and specifically chose a very well lit pathway as a result to at least make it harder for him to spy out of spite.

That is, of course, when you caught site of Vox. He was dressed in a blue, short sleeved button up with a belt that matched and black pants. He looked very. . . relaxed as he strode through the streets of your district.

Of course, not everyone who lived in your territory was contracted to you and while he was one of them, it was nice to see him like this.

Then he saw you and a smile stretched across his face. You waved at him. He came over.

“I wasn’t expecting to see you today,” he said.

“I’ll say it’s a bit ironic that I see you so soon as hearing so much about you,” you replied.

“Well, I hope they were good things.”

“Coming from my father? Never, but he rarely has good things to say about anyone so don’t take it personally,” you told him.

“Ah, still hesitant?”

“Resistant is the word I’d use. He’s not much of a sharer.”

“Unfortunate for him, neither am I but for you, I’ll make an exception.” He smiled more when you rolled your eyes. “May I accompany you wherever it is you’re going?”

You caught a glimpse of a moving shadow. Light spots that looked to close to eyes over his shoulder. Fine, you could be petty as well but you were going to say yes either way.

“Please. I don’t believe you’ve met Ziggy yet unless you’ve been seeing others behind my back,” you said.

“I would never dream of it.”

The two of you began to walk side by side together. You used the swinging of your hands to hide the gesture that caused the shadow to be swept away with the wind.

[angelstate]

“Millionaire's Shortbread And a Grieving Heart”

Conflicted!Soap x InLove!Reader

Like a dog without an owner, Soap can’t help but linger around you, seeking the comfort of a home he lost a long time ago, and he knows you shouldn’t be used as an outlet for his solitude and hidden misery.

But if there is something you do spectacularly well is remind him of the warmth of the sun on his skin on a summer afternoon, standing in front of his mother as she wraps a towel around him, drying his wet body from being on the pool for too long, quivering from the cold wind hitting his skin, it’s a very specific feeling.

You’re nothing short of special so it only makes sense for you to be the embodiment of the feeling a memory he didn’t know he missed caused on him, you are comforting in a way he can’t seem to fully understand.

You don’t hold it against him either, welcoming him with open arms and a smile every time he comes around, seeking that same feeling over and over again, never being able to be apart from it for too long, or otherwise he would go mad.

He trusts you with his heart, he knows it’s the only place secure enough where there will be no harm made to the most fragile part of him, you are stability, you are comfort, you are love. and isn’t that one of the only things most humans can’t seem to get right? there must be something about you that is so remarkable to be forged into the angel you are.

“I read about Scottish pastries the other day” you commented suddenly, breaking the silence that had formed between the last 30 minutes, moving your eyes from the TV to him, a smile on your lips he could only compare to catching a glimpse of what heaven looked like, pure and so undeniably beautiful.

“yeah?” He can only bring himself to mutter that, too mesmerized at the way your face reveals every emotion crossing your heart, a laid-out map for him to know every piece of you with one simple look if he wasn’t dazzled by the pristine state of it all of course.

you hum in confirmation, turning to look away from him for a moment, searching for something on your phone, looking a bit desperate, like the information you were trying to find would disappear if you took another second “Do you like millionaires’ shortbread?” you ask, a recipe of said dessert on your phone screen as you showed him.

There were a lot of emotions linked to said pastry, he remembers his grandmother serving it during breakfast, sneaking into the kitchen, and stealing a piece when he was supposed to be asleep. He remembers his mother, sweet as she was, packing his father a big piece for him to eat his lunch with before he went to work.

He never really ate it after his Grandmother passed away though, no matter where he went the pastry never tasted as sweet, as rich, and as delicious as the way that sweet older woman who raised him made it, it was a shame really, he wished at times the taste could’ve been generic but still nostalgic, to be able to find the memory of his grandmother in every bakery but he never did, he guessed he was bound to slowly forget the taste of motherly love he was granted when he was a kid.

“It’s alright..” he responds simply like there’s nothing attached to such pastry, he doesn’t find the importance of telling you about him, you know enough about him to know that regardless of the emotional connections he had with certain things, he was never one to share those which had turned from happy to sad.

you hummed once more, moving your phone to be close to you once more, scrolling through the website you were in, you didn’t seem to mind the undertone of coldness in his voice, used to understanding when he wanted to drop the subject or not go into debt.

He knew you had questions forming in your head, a sense of curiosity, wanting to peak being the curtains that hid his reasons, memories, and pains of his theatrical personality, you were as discreet as an elephant at that sort of thing, but he was aware you held no malice behind the interest you tried to hide out of respect for his privacy.

“I was thinking about baking it” You only speak after two minutes of silence, and for a moment he wished the silence had extended for long enough that he forgot entirely the context of the conversation, to not have a clue and therefore not get his feelings twisting inside his heart they way they were now, a mix of nostalgia and sadness washing over him, but swallowed the feelings as soon as they came.

“you should, Bonnie..is a pretty good pastry” he decided to not interfere or shut down the obvious desire you had for baking something from Scotland, he guessed it was to get closer to him, and who was he to deny you of such thing when you’ve been nothing short of lovely to him no matter the circumstances.

You had caught him in a vulnerable place, he wasn’t going to deny that much. you didn’t know the important dates in his life besides his birthday and the anniversary of when he became part of the 141, you were clueless as to why today out of all days, the pastry on your hands wasn’t appreciated in the slightest.

Why he couldn’t look at you with appreciation was unknown to you, but that didn’t stop you from approaching, a neatly cut and expensive-looking pastry you had talked about baking 3 days ago, he knew you enjoyed baking, the act of cooking something for the people you love. and he knew you had pure intentions, you always did, but this wasn’t the moment to be pure, today wasn’t the time to let you into his heart no matter how much he would've enjoyed the company.

“I brought you-” your words get cut off rather quickly by him, the softness of your voice dying in your throat as he avoids looking at you, focusing on whatever weapon he had in his hand, cleaning it with a dirty rag you doubted was doing any actual cleaning to the object.

“Not right now Bonnie” he spoke, his voice holding no energy or joy as it usually did, he never seemed to be so against being by your side, always being the one following you around, the mere fact you had to be the one to find him today had already made you worried.

and you stand frozen in your place, his room was always messy but cozy, but today that feeling was nowhere to be seen anywhere, the fourth walls felt claustrophobic and eerie, like an itch on a place you can’t scratch, uncomfortable enough to feel like crying you hummed taking two steps towards his desk and setting the plate with the pastry softly on the surface, a fork next to it so he could eat when he wished, now not being the best moment to linger and press for him to try the dessert you made.

Johnny was difficult to read much to your dismay, like the universe full of things that no one had ever discovered, you doubted you'd get to be one of the lucky people who would ever discover something about him because despite knowing each other for years there was still a feeling of not knowing one another in ways comrades should have.

You were close and constantly around one another but there was a sort of distance neither of you ever cared to walk to be fully friends, it’s a weird situation to be constantly chased by Johnny and at the same time never being fully the thing he’s chasing at all.

like a dog who loses his focus on his toy and decides he would rather chase the butterflies around him before returning to the only thing that can never go away from him, bound to stay whether she likes it or not.

“See you later” she muttered so softly she doubted he heard her at all, although she would rather go unnoticed by the man who wanted her to be gone the moment she stepped into his room. God, love makes people weird.

You must have done something horrible to him, truly horrible because the next time he saw you he had no words or attention to give you even though you had been patient and understanding of his weird mood the other day.

and you thought very deeply about what you had done, said or even wrote about in your diary, anything to understand why he was behaving like you were nothing but a room he could walk in and out of without ever caring what he abandoned time and time again.

“did you not like the pastry?” you asked with bravery and a bit of anxiousness in your chest, after being ignored for 3 days, craving a closeness you weren’t owed by him, you had finally decided that it was too much for your heart to be away from him any longer, wanting at the very least a clarification as to what you had done wrong in the first place, a reassurance than maybe he just realized he wasn’t keen in being your friend, any sort of closure, even if it was fake and forced to not harm your soul and heart more than it already was.

“You didn’t disgrace a Scottish God so all is well lass” he joked, of course, he did. chuckling at his own words while you could only look at him, waiting and waiting for him to expand, say another thing that wasn’t borderline mocking towards your worry and anguish.

“did you like it then?” you press, wording your thoughts in another way, still indirect. God, maybe the bravery you claim to have was fake, but you wished nothing but to go back to normal, and if faking being a confident woman was the path to take then you would do it gladly.

“it was good” he replied, looking away from you like you had stopped existing in the room, an invisible being being ignored, how fucking stupid and true that statement was to the situation you were in. it was more than good, though. To him, it tasted like home, like hearing a soft and playful scolding from his grandmother when he stole a spoonful of cold caramel from the pot, like the sun filtering through the curtains of his childhood home in the countryside, warmth and inviting, nostalgic and heartbreaking.

how were you able to recreate yet another unique and familiar feeling of home went past him, the way you recreated the taste of his grandmother’s pastry was something as amusing as magic to him, completely clueless as to how you had done it yet refusing to ask questions, knowing some things weren’t meant to be known no matter how much you craved the knowledge.

He hated how much he loved you and the warmth you emitted without even realizing the importance it held to him to be bathed in it every chance he had, how sometimes it overwhelmed him on the anniversary of his grandmother’s death, and how it brightened his mood on his birthday, you had the ability to manipulate his emotions and yet were so blissfully unaware of it.

It seemed to be a curse and a blessing knowing you and having you close all the time, lingering around him as much as he did you, a magnetic pull neither of you could escape even if your sanity depended on it.

“I’m glad, I uhm…I’m sorry if I did something bad to upset you the other day…I honestly didn’t mean to do anything” and you speak after what seemed to be an eternity of silence, like being placed on the purgatory and then pulled out of it only to land in heaven.

you sound sorry, as you often do when you are not able to bend over backward for people who often don’t deserve it, but you’ve always believed that Johnny was one of the few men who was deserving of your best efforts, of the apologies you muttered more often than not, the softness and gentleness in which you carried yourself to never make people feel threatened but welcomed in your presence.

he felt sorry for making you feel this way, and he wasn’t a complicated man, one who held grudges the way Ghost did at least, he still held anguish and anger a lot and you’ve never been the source of it, or the place he discarded those emotions, knowing it wasn’t fair to make you a victim of his pain no matter how much he would’ve love to pure the good and the ugly onto you so you knew him fully.

“you did nothing wrong lass, just caught me on a bad day, s’all” and he explains simply something that wasn’t simple at all, how can you put grief and love into words, separating the two nouns and give them different meanings when they were the same thing at the end of the day, he loved the mourning and he loved the life on your face.

you understand as much as you can, as much as your mind will let you while your heart breaks because it wasn’t lost on you the clear way he was trying to evade you but not the topic, you were the problem and you hadn’t even meant to be it.

You wished he didn't have bad days, that every morning he woke up on the right side of the bed, that his coffee always stayed warm, that his pillows remained cold and soft, that every meal he ever eats is flavorful and hot, that his winter nights are spent in the warmth of his bed and that his summer days were spent sitting under a tree, the shade salvaging his skin from the harsh sun rays shining towards everything unable to escape them.

You have so much good in your heart, so much to give and never thinking of receiving something in return, finding pleasure and solace in simply helping others, dedicating your time and effort to people while you rot in unsolved problems that are long overdue and dragging you backwards while you try to move forward.

“I think I did disgrace a Scottish God” you say after a minute of silence and palpable tension, Johnny hums, sounding confused and he turns to look at you for a second, eyebrows furrowed as he studies the expression on your face, you look distraught to say the least, like you had tried to pet a stray cat and it ran away from you.

“did you?” he asks, humoring your words even though you had no joking tone, sounding more so sad and guilty at whatever it is that now sat heavily on your shoulders, shrinking you into a small animal with nowhere to escape its predator, he prayed not to be the source of your sorrow.

“I changed the recipe..so if it tasted bad you can just say so..should’ve just stuck to the instructions on the website” you explained, sounding apologetic, sorrowful, and unmistakenly guilty of something that wasn’t even a problem to him, maybe you had a different look on it, maybe you hadn’t liked the taste and felt guilty thinking that he hadn’t too.

“I liked it lass” he replies with a chuckle, shaking his head like he can’t believe you could ever think or even be able to create something he didn’t like, you weren’t capable of such a thing, everything you did flourish richly, like an angel healing every broken thing into the world with only a small touch.

“tasted like the one my granny made when I was a wee lad” he confessed what, to any normal people would just be a small piece of information that they would never think about again, but you weren’t just any person, no. you were an angel so therefore any memory who held love you cherished just as equally, even if it wasn’t yours.

and you think what he revealed to you to be a sort of call from heaven, a piece of him being gifted to you and only you for the moment, of course, you know better than to think you’re the only one aware of this information but it’s nice to dream, to fantasize that out of all people, he decided you were the best one to confide in.

“Is that a good thing?” you ask, so unaware of what it meant yet also knowing that it must be special enough for him to feel the need to somehow have you around and yet wanting you far away from him.

in that way you are the same as him, grief is a heaviness that one carries so strongly that it becomes suffocating when someone comes into your life and resembles something you missed so much, like memories are brought back to life and you can’t decide whether you wanted them to stay that way or bury them all again, fearing that they would be ripped away from you a second time. Life isn’t kind. “I would say so, yes” he replies and you nod, like a stray dog with nothing left but to accept whatever it can receive from the people who continuously lose and gain attention towards her. You won’t mistake him for someone as low as that, but it’s the feeling that it gives when he looks at you like you had been one of the reasons his grandmother was no longer by his side.

“That's nice…” you hum after your words, trying to find a distraction somewhere in the room, but like the earth to the sun, your focus always gravitates around him, catching glimpses and warmth from every piece of his you can get, even if it brings you to a boiling point.

Johnny is not one to admit his faults, not directly at least, he isn’t the best with words when it comes time to bear his heart to people who clearly deserve to be let into that place of him. but it’s hard at times, people around him die, and you aren’t one who is directly at risk, which makes him think he has more time to waste, but if isn’t death that will pull you away from him then it probably will end up being him who unknowingly does, the process had started along time ago.

he had to be thankful for your resilience to abandon people even if it isn’t healthy for you to stick around for so long, he should be thankful for a lot of things, that’s what he believes, but if saying sorry was hard, then it became an impossible mission to confess how much it meant to him your desire to stay by his side even when everything screams at you not to.

so he decides to stay silent, something he really shouldn’t do in this type of situation, with a person like you, who he had become aware hated the loudness of miscommunication and he, who hated the serious words that he often was forced to spill from his lips, always willing at the end, but deep down he felt tired of being professional in mundane situations.

“Let’s forget anything happened, yeah?” you suggest like the angel you are, embarrassed enough to not want to poke whatever it was that now distanced you from him, and it’s not unusual the weird look on his eyes and the chuckle leaving his lips, acting nonchalant and like nothing is serious with you, but still feels out of place, like this time it shouldn’t be there.

“good idea lass” he replies to your suggestion with a disguised open heart, he feels at ease knowing that at the very least, even if you don't understand him still decided to set your heart into accepting the lack of context and choosing to rather hold onto the peaceful feeling that was at the very least, not be ignored by the man in front of you.

One step at a time as your mother said, there is no rush in meeting people and falling in love, it takes time and dedication to enter someone’s life and be allowed to stay, and you're a patient woman, a kind-hearted person who would stop the world if it meant to give mere seconds to save the life of another alive being.

Johnny appreciates it more than he lets on, and he isn’t like Simon, he doesn’t pretend the effort isn’t there or doesn’t acknowledge it, he does, being attentive and caring, returning to his roots of following you around like it’s his life mission to be your companion.

It’s not an easy life the one the two of you have, but he can make time, he can drop the energized need to fight and make everything better in the world to take his time and fall into your arms, thinking of you more often than not, carrying you in his chest, seated next to his grandmother.

who he believes, would’ve loved you as much as he loves the taste of the pastry that connects you with his childhood memories, an ever-lasting emotion that sticks into the roof of his mouth like the caramel from the millionaire's shortbread.

[maddithefangirl]

Tears (Azriel x Reader)

Warnings: I was sad while writing this so...

Prompt: “You’re the reason why I believe in love, you know?”

a/n: This is therapeutic for me to write so I don't really care how bad it is lol. I wasn't able to write any of the sequels I've been working on but I was able to write this so here you go!!

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The tears would not stop flowing. Today was the anniversary of the day that you left the Hewn City and fled to Velaris as a refugee. Also, the last time you would ever see your mother. You loved your mother more than anything in the entire world, but she hadn’t shown you that same love back. She was a kind female, but she expected the world out of you. That wasn’t always possible, so when she took out that anger on you, you fled. 

It was a spring day with a light breeze seeping through the windows. You lay on the lounge chair with a book opened in your hand, but you couldn’t bring yourself to read it. Your mind had left you long ago and then the tears started to fall. You didn’t even know why you were crying. Was it because you missed her? Maybe, but she wasn’t good to you so why should you miss her? What really was happening was you were grieving that old life you used to have. 

Hours passed and yet you remained, frozen. 

As you sat in your chair staring out the nearest window, the door opened and closed. Unbeknownst to you, your love was searching for you throughout the townhouse you shared. He had been one of the first people you met when you finally made it to Velaris. He had held you for questioning for days before deciding you were not a threat to then give you living quarters in the shabbier places in the city. 

He couldn’t stop thinking about you after that, so he came to check up on you monthly always with a bouquet of flowers in his hands. Usually yellow tulips until one day he showed up with red roses and asked you on a date. 

Since then, the mating bond had snapped into place and you accepted it with no hesitation. It was like he was the one who personally saved you from the Hewn City. 

Now, he stood in front of the doorway staring at you trying to access the scene before him. He saw you on the lounge chair with the book in your hand long forgotten. He could have sworn you were a statue with how still you were until he heard a sniffle. That got his senses on alert. 

“My love,” he spoke softly as he rushed to your side. 

You were unchanged as you continued to stare out the window. All that could be heard was a choked sob that wracked your system. The dam had broken with his presence. He grabbed your jaw and brought his eyes to yours. 

He sighed, “my love… what is it?”

You did nothing but cry and hugged him. Tears found home in his tunic as you rested your head on his shoulder. He was everything to you. That ache in your heart that your mother had left you was perfectly filled with him, your love, Azriel. His wings encapsulated the both of you together in time. This is what you needed in this moment. A hug from the person who loves you the most in the world and accepted you for who you were. Someone who wanted to be there for you. He was so incredibly special to you, and nobody could take that away from you. 

After a while, the tears stopped and you were finally able to look up into his eyes. You felt all of his love seep into you all at once. All you managed to say was, “You’re the reason why I believe in love, you know?” 

He smiled. There was nothing stopping the unconditional love that he felt for you. He knew your past and knew what wounds your mother left on your heart, but he was going to be there for you. Always.