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awfcspencer · 3 months

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Marry Me || leah williamson x reader

leah williamson x reader

prompt: Wedding are supposed to be happy, right?

warnings: angst, commitment issues, self doubt

a/n: this was actually a dream i had last night and it flowed out of me when i woke up ha.

You had a big heart. You knew you could love someone unconditionally. You thought you could love someone forever.

But your commitment issues always took the hardest and final blow. Whether it was everyone leaving you or rather you always leaving, commitment just didn’t seem on your horizon.

It stemmed from your childhood, an absent father that only came around when it was beneficial for him. Every few months or so he would come back into your life, insisting he had changed, insisting he wanted a relationship with you. He would make his rounds every week, and then one week, he would “forget”, brushing it off as he promised he would be there the next week. The next week you would patiently wait outside your home, bag-packed, and eager to share what had happened through the week at school with him. The sun was out shining when you went outside, but now the sun had set. The time he was supposed to pick you up had long passed as you finally accepted he wasn’t coming. Thankfully, your mother was always there to pick up the pieces of your heart, sobbing quietly into her chest. But once again, every few months, you would fall into his trap every time without fail.

Every single time you opened your heart, your father broke it into a million tiny pieces. In your small little bubble, it just seemed no one would ever really stay. Each time you would get your hopes up, and you vowed to never let someone make you feel that way ever again. Closing your heart off due to fear. The fear that someone will come along and eventually leave you. Everyone always left. And if they didn’t, you would leave, unwilling to wait until the presumed inevitable happened, that they would leave. It seemed easier in your head to do the damage to yourself rather than someone else do it to you.

A string of late-night hookups and situationships that left your heart empty and your cheeks stained with tears. Leaving your home in Manchester to North London for a new journey, something different, someone different. Hoping to finally settle down. Get that white picket-fenced house, a wife and a few children, and maybe even a golden retriever to really put the icing on the cake. You longed for some stability, someone stable, tired of running.

———————

Leah wasn’t just another girl, she was different. Leah had come into your life at a pinnacle time and changed you forever.

A late night at a downtown bar where the two of you got to know each other. She had sat down at the barstool right next to you even though the bar was nearly empty. Small conversations that turned lengthy, finding an oddly weird comfort in the blonde. You didn’t want to leave, but the morning was on the horizon and you had work in the morning.

“Alright Leah, I am going to head out. It was lovely to meet you.” You told her on the first night you had met her. Handing the bartender your card as he cashed your tab out.

“Wait! Here put your number in my phone so you can text me when you get home.” She replied, sliding her phone towards you.

It was an odd concept for you to understand. If she had wanted your number, why didn’t she just ask for it?

“I don’t get it? Text you when I’m home? If you wanted my number Leah you could have asked.” you questioned, cheeks red with embarrassment at clearly not understanding what Leah was playing at. Confusion is definitely in your eyes and Leah could tell.

“Yeah so I know you got home safe, so I don’t have to worry all night that a pretty girl like you didn’t make it safe and sound home with not a hair out of place.”

Your hands brush ever so slightly as you hand her phone back to her after putting in your number. It finally registered with you, Leah wanted to make sure you got home safe. It might sound sad, but no one had ever told you to text when you got home, and no one had ever stayed long enough to care to ask. You never let anyone get close enough. You knew deep in your bones that Leah was different, you could just tell.

Every Sunday night you would casually stroll into the bar and Leah would be there, sitting on the bar stool next to yours. Every single time she was there, she never missed a Sunday. Each night you would talk until the bartender had to kick you guys out. You found yourself falling for the blonde, she was funny, she had a real passion for something, and she was also just recently out of a rocky relationship. It was like a match made in heaven. She was someone you could spend forever with, someone who maybe wouldn’t leave.

One Sunday night, Leah had asked you to join her for a date, and slowly but surely you found yourself opening up with Leah. You told her about your fear of commitment, your fear of ultimately being alone. She vowed to do her best to never make you feel that way. Proving every day that she was here to stay. Your relationship with Leah blossomed and every single day you woke up, you chose to be with Leah.

Maybe you could finally commit.

You would give Leah the Earth, all she had to do was ask.

She was patient with you whenever you would get in the mindset that eventually everyone leaves. It was hardest on away match days where you would get so much anxiety that Leah would never return that you would need to be calling or messaging Leah at all times. But Leah was perfect, always knowing how to calm you down and say the right things.

“I will be home in 14 hours Baby and I promise we will do nothing when I get back, spend the whole day on the couch if you want to.” Leah spoke to you over the phone on FaceTime as you couldn’t fall asleep for the second night in a row without the crippling fear that washed over you when Leah wasn’t around to give you a proper cuddle and metaphorically fight away the rocky feelings in your brain. Her voice was always so comforting.

“Go to sleep, baby. I will be here when you wake up. I love you, always.” She could tell by your dark eye bags that you hadn't been sleeping. Sleep consumed you as you were out like a light in a mere few seconds. And when you woke up, Leah was still there on the phone. She proved day in and day out that she was there to stay.

After a few years of dating Leah, you knew when she would subtly drop hints of something she wanted.

It was casual at first. Leah mentioning flowers she thought were the most beautiful, flowers that would best be accompanied by a long lacy white dress that you had seen in her most recent website searches.

“Oh I just love peony flowers. You know I read that they can symbolize romance, good luck, and long marriages.” She stated out to you as you passed by the flower shop on the way to the store. You hummed in agreement, continuing your walk. Blatantly ignoring the tension in your stomach when you thought about the subject of marriage.

She would strategically leave her computer open on tabs that you knew she was looking at venues on that could hold enough people that each of you knew. Pretending to quickly close them whenever you came around.

Leah asking small questions at dinner or right before you would go to bed about ring sizes or themes that would make your head spin.

“I would just love a summer wedding, like Mamma Mia style. Near the beach with colorful decorations with close friends and family. Doesn’t that sound nice?” She said one night when the two of you were cuddled in bed.

“Sounds beautiful Lee.” The pit in your stomach didn’t go unnoticed. Wrapping yourself deeper into Leah’s arms as you tried to sleep away the anxiety. To hopefully get rid of the sickening feeling you felt.

You knew Leah wanted to get married, even more, she wanted to marry you. Anyone else would desperately jump at the opportunity to be with someone like Leah. Someone so caring. Someone so patient. Someone so compassionate.

You knew it was getting close when she advised you to get your nail painted and hair done. The time was coming. Leah having whispered conversations on the phone and spending more time on her computer researching.

And you should be happy right? Leah was simply the most wonderful person you had ever met. She was everything you wanted and needed. You could see yourself being with her for the rest of your life. But why did the thought of marriage scare you so bad.

Maybe it was the fact that marriage was a commitment.

Maybe it was the fact that in the back of your mind that if you were to marry Leah, you no longer had a way out.

It terrified you. Leah didn’t deserve someone who looked at marriage so poorly, I mean your parents separating definitely had an affect. Leah deserved someone who would love her endlessly, not that you didn’t, but someone who could full heartedly commit to her. And inside yourself, you didn’t think you could.

Right before Leah left that morning, you made sure to hug her extra tight and give her a long kiss. Savoring each second, because you knew already knew that it would be the last. You were leaving.

You had to leave. You had too. You couldn’t bare the thought of trapping Leah, or maybe the thought of her trapping you. Forcing yourself to believe it was best this way. Leah would be happier this way. Everyone always leaves. But this time, you were leaving Leah. The logic only made sense in your brain.

“Baby I am only going to be at training for maybe 2 hours.” She laughed into the crook of your neck when you simply couldn’t let go of the defender. You tried your best not to cry, it would make everything hurt more. The smell of coconut and vanilla filled your nose as you buried yourself into her. You would never forget her scent.

“I will miss you, always.” You said into her chest, hiding your emotions with a solid tone. A deeper meaning in your words that thankfully Leah didn’t pick up on.

“I will miss you too. Goodbye Baby, see you after training!” She screamed out as she walked out the door.

And that was the last time you had seen Leah. You left, leaving your shared home with every belonging you had.

Leaving only a small note on the side of your bed that read:

“I’m sorry. You don’t deserve this. I don’t deserve you. You deserve someone that can commit to you. You deserve the Earth. I will miss you, always.”

You would’ve given Leah the Earth, but there are other planets too.

#woso x reader #woso community #woso fanfics #woso imagine #woso #woso one shot #woso soccer #woso blurbs #womens soccer #woso couples #leah williamson x you #leah williamson x reader #leah williamson imagine #leah williamson

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yan-lorkai · 10 months

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Good evening! If you don’t mind, I’d like to hear your thoughts on which yandere twst boys would be the most likely to use baby trapping to keep their darling from leaving. Thank you!

.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡ A/n: G'evening Anonie! (⁠｡⁠･⁠ω⁠･⁠｡⁠)⁠ﾉ~, ooo I actually like to read babytrap hcs because they all have the potential to do that if their darling is trying to escape / doesn't have Stockholm yet.

.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡ Characters: Malleus Draconia, Leona Kingscholar, Rook Hunt, Floyd Leech & Riddle Rosehearts.

.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡ Warnings: Yandere content, Pregnancy, suggestive in rook's part.

Malleus would do this because he loves you so much. He loves you since you were his first friend and lover, so in his mind conceiving another being as a result of that love is the right action to be taken - even more so if you intend to simply leave, besides it is inevitable because as a king he needs one or more heirs. And he has the sweetest smile as he watches your body change, ignoring the sneer you send his way. He knows you'll comes around eventually.

Leona would do this to keep you trapped by his side, unlike Malleus, he needs to have power over you in some other way. He's insecure and yet boastful, he truly loves you but he hates the thought that you could find someone better than him, so getting you pregnant would solve all his problems and keep you from leaving. He would retain control over you, have an heir and everyone would know you were his alone, good luck trying to escape the thousands of eyes of the castle staff and subjects.

Rook honestly can't keep his hands off your body, he just can't. The way you smell and taste is addictive to him, so he decided while you were doing that that would be the best course of action to take. One of the factors that influenced him, however, is the fact that he has a large family and he wants to have the chance to experience that, to have lots of little copies of him and you running through the halls of your house, to be able to teach them to hunt, seeing them laugh, all these things go through his head. So yes, he would babytrap you and he will love every second.

It's more a matter of curiosity than need, especially if he had taken you to live with him underwater since you couldn't run away, but Floyd wants a child or two and you'll give them to him. He knows you can be a happy little family and he will be delighted as he watches the changes take place with your body, but oh he is mean, laughing at your tears, poking your belly and giving you the wrong cravings while you eat what is offered to you.

Riddle would do this under the influence of his mother, I mean, every healthy and loving couple has children, right? So he has that conversation about kids with you, how many would you like to have and all that, he knows it's going to be a tough time and he's ready to deal with the consequences, your mood swings, your cravings, things like that. But over time the more times you try the more he wants to have kids with you. And good luck if you don't want kids because he'll be switching your birth control pills and purposely damaging condoms, all to keep you by his side.

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ickadori · 5 months

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i love love love yuuji and mean! reader bc deep down i know yuuji has her in the palm of his hand he just don't know it yet

can we get more of them plsss, like how the other (nobara, megumi, gojo) react to their relationship?

𝐘𝐔𝐉𝐈

[cws] reader is gn. megumi is married and has a kid.

Gojo thinks it’s funny, as well as a tad bit adorable, to watch the way Yuji stares at you with clear adoration while you fuss, huff and occasionally throw a mildly insulting name his way.

He’s always shown his affection for his friends through a bit of teasing and chiding, and while he can admit that you lack the smiles and laughs that he would don while doing the ribbing, he can still see that you actually care about Yuji, way more than you actually let on.

You two are nearly finished with your studies, almost full fledged sorcerers, and yet you still bicker like you did when you were both first years, but there’s an underlying sense of love and care beneath it all.

“Oh, I forgot my lunch on the counter again.” Yuji deflates, and Gojo rocks back in his chair, lollipop rolling around in his mouth as his eyes crinkle in amusement under his mask.

“Of course you did.” Your eyes roll as you plop yourself down into the seat next to him, annoyance clear on your face as you place your own prepared lunch in front of you. “You always do, despite me reminding you every night to grab it before you leave.”

“How am I supposed to remember that? Won’t you reminder me in the morning, instead.”

“Do I look like a slave to you? Remind yourself!” You begin to unpack your lunch, and Gojo takes note of just how much you’ve packed. You’ve always had a healthy appetite, but it’s clear to even the blindest of men that you’ve packed enough to feed two. He grins around the stick in his mouth.

Yuji pouts, even bringing out the puppy eyes, and Gojo gives himself a mental pat on the back for teaching his student so well.

“Oh, I’m soo hungry.”

“Good. Maybe if you starve a bit then you’ll remember to bring your lunch next time.” You coolly reply, making a show of bringing a forkful of noodles to your mouth and moaning in satisfaction.

“You’re so cruel! I’m your boyfriend — be nice to me!” You two throw jabs back and forth, and Gojo is once again glad that all his relationships seem to fall flat past the ‘talking stage’ - once the other person starts trying to dig their way past all the superficial crap and get down to the core of Satoru Gojo. One person had been successful in making that far, and as far as he was concerned, they’d be the one and only person to ever see that part of him.

When Gojo lets his attention drift back to the two of you, he quietly tsks when he sees that you’ve passed a fork, because of course you brought two, to Yuji, along with three containers of food all containing his favorites.

Yuji is beaming, grin on his face as peppers kisses all over your cheeks, and you give him a blank look and weakly try to push his back, but Gojo can practically hear your heart stutter from where he’s sat at the front of the class.

“Ah, young love! You two really know how to make a man feel lonely.”

“Then maybe you should get out and go find someone to cure that loneliness and leave us alone.”

“This is my classroom, y’know.”

“So?”

“This is why no one has recommended you for promotion.”

Nobara and Megumi don’t really know how to react to the two of you. They like Yuji, and they like you, but they would have never pegged the two of you as a couple.

They had thought it was a joke when Yuji announced his crush on you, and had thought nothing about it when he talked about eventually asking you out. You ragged on everyone, but it seemed like you reserved most of it for Yuji.

They were sure you were only tolerating him to keep the peace, and even if Yuji was serious about his crush on you, there’d be no way that you’d actually reciprocate the feelings. Nobara had even planned to take charge of the damage control when you inevitably let Yuji down in the meanest way possible.

So imagine their surprise when the two of you had come strolling into class together one day, Yuji’s hand clutching onto yours for dear life as he looked at you as if you had personally breathed life into him and gave him the gift of free will.

Even now, years later, while they attend your rehearsal dinner for your wedding, they find it hard to believe that the person wearing a scowl on their face and avoiding their boyfriend’s advances has stayed this long.

“Hey, Megumi,” Nobara calls, champagne flute clutched between her fingers as she takes a sip, eyes not leaving the way Yuji tries, and fails, to plant a kiss on your cheek. You narrow your eyes at him, the cake knife that had been in your hand suddenly aimed at him as he lets out a loud laugh. “Should we be worried that this marriage will end in a breaking news segment?”

Megumi follows her gaze, head lightly shaking, before focusing his attention on the babbling toddler sitting in his lap. He pinches off a piece of cake from his slice before offering it to the little boy. “If they didn’t kill him when Sukuna popped out and let his in-laws know the real reason why their soon-to-be-married kid was walking funny, I’m sure he’s more than in the clear now.” Nobara snorts, recalling how you had called her enraged and on the verge of tears as you explained how Sukuna had blurted out the night they had and ruined Christmas dinner.

“Guess you’re right.” She looks back towards the two of you, and her eyebrows shoot up in surprise when she sees the complete 180 that you two have taken. The dull knife that had been branded is displaced somewhere, your hands now linked with Yuji’s, diamond rings sparkling together, and there’s a soft, almost bashful, look on your face as he brings your hand up to his mouth and presses a kiss to the ring on your finger.

He smiles, eyes crinkling at the corners, and Nobara sees a matching one spread across your face before he’s swooping down to finally get his first kiss of the night.

“Bleugh.” She dramatically sticks out her tongue, Megumi’s son erupting into a fit of laughter, and slouches in her chair. “I can’t believe you two idiots tied the knot before me—and you even had a kid.”

#yuji x reader #jjk x reader #++ yuji/brat

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mitch-the-silly · 2 months

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AAAAH!! I see you have your requests open soooo, I'd like to request something with lucifer and fallen angel!reader, where the reader gets involved with the ideas of redemption after charlie goes to heaven to fight for her ideas, reader gets too caught up that the authorities kicks them out of heaven. Now here's the thing, what if reader actually ends up falling into Lucifer's home? Imagine this man reading a newspaper on his kitchen and suddenly there's a hole on the ceiling and a bloody angel beside his fridge, how would he react and all that?? 👀 I hope you have an amazing day and if you decide to write this, thank you so much in advance!!

Hiii! Loved this request so much!! I love writing fallen angel-like characters. I've done a few of those and the mere concept has had a chokehold on me for two years! Anyway, hope you like it!

Reader is gender-neutral due to the lack of gender specification in the request.

(Random note: I wrote this while I had "From The Pinnacle To The Pit" by Ghost playing on loop. The vibes were immaculate.")

Lucifer and gn!Fallen Angel!reader

Scenario!

"Brother in Falling"

Part 2

The fall. It was truly tragic to everyone you knew. The second angel fell to this senseless dreamer ideology. But to you, it wasn’t senseless. You’d heard Charlie, the daughter of the Morning Star deliver that speech in the angelic court. Immaculate and just was her logic; you knew it from the bottom of your heart. The very depths of your soul prohibited you from going along with Sera’s extermination charade any longer. You spoke up, attempting to raise a riot in Heaven; to raise awareness of the situation. Instead, you were silenced. Thrown down to the depths of hell. The second they sentenced you to this fall from grace, you knew that Heaven was full of shit. Your doubts confirmed before your very eyes. And now you were to live the rest of eternity knowing that Heaven was corrupt.

You’d cried when your sentence was read to you, Sera herself was the one who condemned you. You knew that it was her covering her own tyranny up. But you didn’t cry because you were being sent down to Hell. No, you were crying because you knew they wouldn’t stop with you. You knew that if anybody else tried to do anything about it, they would be thrown down here too.

So you fell, tears still in your eyes, seeing the first ring of hell below you. The Pentagram of Pride, in the middle of it, the Heaven Embassy you’ve once heard about. However, below you was a castle of sorts. You knew you were directly falling toward it and it was inevitable. Your wings had been damaged when Lute arrested you, so you had no sense of direction. Thus, you braced yourself for impact as you curled up into a ball. When you felt your body hit solid material and eventually hit a floor of sorts, then and only then did you peak your gaze from out of the wing-wrapped cocoon you’d wrapped yourself in.

You seemed to be in someone’s home, a fancy one at that. It was quite charming, really, since the room you seemed to be in was adorned by rubber ducks. It brought a small smile to your face, but it was imperative that you figured out where you were before you lowered your guard. You’d heard Hell was hostile; a constant war zone in some parts. So you turned around to survey your surroundings and, to your surprise, you saw someone sitting at a table, coffee mug and newspaper in hand. The look this soul (demon or sinner, whatever it may be) gave you was one of bewilderment. You observed them cautiously, standing as still as a statue. The top hat and suit they wore, intrigued you. The white thematics of their clothing were something you were used to, so you didn’t question them, even then, you found yourself fond of how they contrasted this soul’s environment. They seemed almost recognizable… but you couldn’t quite put your finger on how.

Finally, the figure spoke, “They’ve done it again… I can’t believe it…” He spoke. The look on his face gave away his disheartened feelings. He put the newspaper down along with the mug.

You simply nodded, not knowing what else to do.

“Heaven’s still as corrupt and dead set on its ways as it was eons ago, isn’t it? I knew it was a matter of time before they threw down someone other than me.” He sighed, getting up and giving you a sympathetic smile.

And then it hit you. This was Him; Lucifer, the Morning Star. The first and (no longer) only fallen angel. You jumped in surprise, “Y-you’re…” You managed to utter out.

“Yes, yes… look at what’s become of me!” He said jokingly.

“Your daughter… she should be up there. She should be leading Heaven. Not Sera. She’s strayed much too far from the values we were given in our creation.” You muttered bitterly.

Lucifer was taken aback by the comment about Charlie, but he moved on as you continued to speak., “Yeah… but you learn to accept the way things are. I’m sorry they did this to you. You don’t deserve to be down here. Whatever it was they say you did, I’m sure it was baseless.” He sighed, moving towards you, and placing a hand on your shoulder.

“They… they accused me of treason for saying the extermination was unfair…” You responded, looking at the ground as if you were embarrassed, but you were not. You were lamenting the loss of your old life.

“Yeah… I figured. Charlie told me what happened. It made quite the stir, huh? You know what, I’m sure she’d love to meet you. What do you say I send you her way and have her help you settle down? She’ll be thrilled to know heaven’s state after her case.” He suggested, smiling at you. Guiding you to sit down.

“I… I’d like that, yes.” You smiled back, nodding.

“But first, you want a cup of coffee? You look like you went through a lot in the past hour.” He offered.

“Oh yes, don’t you get me started on Lute and the way she arrested me-” You began. Having been received into this realm with open arms, you knew that your stay here wasn’t gonna be as bad as they painted it out to be.

#hazbin hotel #hazbin charlie #hazbin lucifer #lucifer hazbin hotel #lucifer morningstar #lucifer x reader #ish?#fallen angel #hazbin hotel lucifer #lucifer hazbin x reader #hazbin hotel x reader

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messiahzzz · 3 months

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Grooming also doesn't have to involve sex. So even if people think his relationship with Mystra was appropriate, you still can't deny he wasn't groomed to be great. The guy caught Elminster's attention at eight years old ffs. There's no way around it.

that’s the thing. it doesn’t matter at what exact point their relationship became sexual, it doesn’t matter whether gale was of age at this point in time or not. grooming is a process, it’s pure manipulation that sets the groundwork to ensure that this person will be fully accessible (in whatever way the abuser desires, usually sexual) at a later point. children can be groomed, teenagers can be groomed and adults can be groomed as well - age is no factor in this regard. children are merely common victims due to being more impressionable. it’s essentially about creating a power imbalance that the abuser exploits for their own gratification.

the discussion about where to fit gale’s relationship with mystra in terms of her death & the overall timeline (while fun to theorize over) is redundant imo, since larian has been known to play pretty loose with the lore themselves. there are already so many inconsistencies.

so, the information we have regarding mystra’s relationship with gale are these snippets:

mystra first functioned as his mentor, then his muse, and later his lover.

gale’s relationship with her was indeed of a sexual nature, he has explicitly stated so several times.

elminster sought him out when he was but 8 years old, as stated in the epilogue letter.

during the ending where gale fails to ascend raphael states during the credits that tav has “rekindled gale’s ambitions after mystra had so cleverly put them to rest”

if you do want to consider d&d lore, it also tells us that mystra possesses a degree of foresight. (my friend @galedekarios already wrote a very thorough meta on the general subject.)

elminster’s letter pretty much confirms any suspicions we might have had earlier. after all, what reason is there for elminster, one of mystra’s chosen, to seek out gale specifically? how was he aware of gale in the first place? what personal incentive could he possibly have that isn’t tied to mystra in some way? why gale specifically when there are likely many young wizards with a potential for greatness that he could take under his wing? claiming that “it wasn’t mystra who sought him out, but elminster” feels like a rather naive and shortsighted read on the situation imo. we know that mystra was gale’s mentor and that she eventually made him her chosen. it isn’t hard to connect the dots.

summed up: we do know that mystra had her sight set on gale when he was an 8-year-old boy, possibly even earlier than that. the intention was already there and we know that their relationship underwent the transitions of teacher, muse, and then lover.

gale has been inevitably shaped by her grooming (just like any victim) to be devoted, to be compliant, to be loyal, to not question. many of his behaviors and beliefs are a direct result of said manipulation and abuse. gale himself is only starting to comprehend the possibility that he might actually be a victim once the tadpole crew comes into his life. and, like i said in my previous post, has barely scratched the surface of the damage that was done.

#sorry went on a lil tangent there #i just feel really strongly about this topic #grooming cw #abuse cw #mystra cw #bg3 #gale dekarios #asks #it speaks

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ghostandsoap · 1 year

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Beyond the Mask

Simon “Ghost” Riley x Fem! “Gecko” Reader

Tags: Minor injuries. Brief references of child abuse. Maskless Ghost.

Word Count: 5.5k

“You’re special to me.”

It wasn’t the first time that you had asked.

Every once in a while, you would make the same request to Ghost. It was a request that he always took with ease and understanding of your curiosity. It was a seemingly simple ask, but mutually understood that it was much more important than it seemed.

“Can you please take off the mask?”

But it was a request that he politely declined every time.

“No, love.”

You weren’t the only one who had poked at Ghost to show his face (and been turned down). Just about everyone that Ghost interacted with on a regular basis had asked at one point or another. Soap was the most persistent of the bunch, and he seemed to try harder each time.

So, it wasn’t lost on Ghost that it was a lingering mystery just asking to be solved. He was aware of the fact that it was maddening, which is why he was so patient whenever people asked.

Ghost would admit that as time went on, he felt more and more guilty for turning down something that you wanted. If you wanted something, Ghost would do everything in his power to get it or do it for you. You were deserving of that, and he never wanted you to forget it. But taking off the mask was one thing that he just couldn’t bring himself to do.

He knew that it couldn’t last forever. If he wanted to go steady with you and move into the long term future (which he most certainly did want to do), then the mask was going to have to come off at some point. He wouldn’t want you to commit to something like that without even knowing what he looked like. It was inevitably going to come up time and time again, and eventually he would have to give in.

“Easy, Gecko. Take a load off.” Ghost said, ushering you into the lone bedroom of the safe house.

The stifled groans and muffled whimpers were a sure sign of the discomfort you were in. Each little noise stung Ghost’s heart more and more each time.

“I look and feel like I’ve been hit by a truck.” You coughed, hobbling into the room quite pathetically.

“That’s because you were hit by a truck.” Ghost said, dropping all of your gear in the corner of the room that he had carried in for you.

“Good point.” You laughed, carefully lowering yourself onto the edge of the bed.

You found humor in the situation, but Ghost hardly found it amusing at all.

It felt like more of a…firm bump rather than an actual hard, physical collision. The truck hadn’t been going nearly as fast as it could’ve been, and the front bumper had really only grazed one side of your body. Still, getting hit by a moving vehicle was bound to cause some damage, and the ever growing bruise on your side was proving that to you.

Despite the aching soreness and the discomfort, you had been checked and cleared thoroughly of any broken bones or other injuries. You were expected to be moving slow for the next few days, but it was a small price to pay considering that it could’ve been much worse.

Ghost was livid when it happened.

It was a rookie mistake – quite literally because it was a rookie who had made the mistake of almost running you over. Ghost had no idea who had the bright idea of letting a newbie tag along for this mission. This mission was predicted to take a couple weeks, and he couldn’t fathom how it was a good idea to let fresh blood in on such an important job.

It had completely been an accident. The team was waiting around for a bit before making the next move of the day when it happened. He had been extremely apologetic (once he actually had the chance to apologize) and nearly came to tears over it.

Nonetheless, you literally almost became roadkill because the amateur soldier wasn’t paying attention.

Ghost nearly lost his mind. You had barely enough time to even comprehend what had even happened before the soldier in question had been yanked from the driver’s seat and dragged by his collar for the chewing out of a lifetime. Soap had rushed over to help you to your feet, letting Ghost do all the scolding.

You weren’t sure what choice words Ghost had used with the rookie, but you could only imagine that he was close to seeing the light of the beyond by the time Ghost had said his piece.

You managed to make it through the rest of the day without any major issues, although you were much slower and it took the remainder of the day to completely regain your composure.

Ghost didn’t leave your side after that. He was half convinced that you were going to keel over and die instantly from some unforeseen complication. The rookie definitely kept his distance in the event that Ghost changed his mind about not killing him.

Ghost felt a little bit better when you finally were able to call it a day. He felt relief knowing that you had the opportunity to get some rest and give your recently rattled body a break.

“I should’ve choked him out.” Ghost growled, standing over you like the giant that he was.

He knelt on the floor to untie each of your boots, sliding them off of your fatigued feet. He stood back up, one of his massive hands came to the zipper on your jacket, sliding it down the length of your torso until it separated the outer layer completely.

“Ghost, he didn’t mean to do it,” You said, but smirked when you realized what he was doing. “I can undress myself, you know.”

He couldn’t help but chuckle. He manually moved each of your arms one at a time to slip the jacket off of your frame.

“I know, but I don’t want you moving around too much. I also want to get a look at your side where you were hit.” He explained, motioning for you to carefully raise your arms above your head.

“Why?” You asked, wincing at the sting in your side when you raised your arms.

“Because you’ll lie and say that it’s ‘not that bad’.” He tossed your shirt aside once it was off, revealing your chest and torso.

He took a glance at your affected side that had already served as a canvas for a painting of nasty red, black, and purple. All the way from underneath your armpit down to the top of your hip was visibly roughed up.

“Just don’t want you to worry.” You squeaked when Ghost ran his hand along the area to check for any broken ribs once more.

“I know, baby.” He sighed, giving you the green-light once again for no major issues.

His nerves were settled once again, and he was suddenly aware of how peaceful the room was, and that he had a moment alone with you. The bedroom was cozy and didn’t have much to it. It was tucked away in the back of the safe house, away from the main living space where everyone else was camping out. The moon was shining through the window, casting beams of gentle light all through the room – just enough to be able to see you clearly. His hand cupped the side of your face, your head instinctively cradling into his palm as you made eye contact with him.

“You’re still my pretty girl.” His thumb dragged across your cheek.

“Even when I’m all beat up?” You giggled.

“Absolutely,” He remarked. “You’re still feeling okay, yeah?”

“Yeah, honey. Just tired.”

“Poor baby.” He purred, taking a seat next to you on the bed.

He raised the bottom of his balaclava just enough to where he could kiss you. His skull mask had been stashed away a while ago when he was tired of wearing it. His kisses were so much slower and tender when he was feeling worried about you…which was most of the time. When it came to you, Ghost tended to sweat the small stuff.

His grin matched yours when he felt it on the kiss. He had to admit, it was so easy to make you smile. He shifted on the mattress to get situated, leaning his tall frame against the back wall at the head of the bed.

“Easy, baby. Careful.” He jumped in surprise when you pounced on him, straddling him with a blinding grin on your face.

You hardly even noticed the pain in your side at all now. This was way more important to you.

“Kiss me again.” You whispered playfully, and he laughed.

“I’m trying, but I can’t have you roughing yourself up for a couple of kisses.” He said, his hands running over your breasts through the material of your bra that was still on.

“A couple of your kisses. Not just any.” You corrected.

“Mm. I might give some other places some attention.” He teased.

“Is that a promise?” You gasped.

“Only if you’re good.” He kissed you again, groaning into your mouth when your hips shifted on top of his lap.

He loved moments like this. When you were on a mission (particularly the long ones), it could be a challenge to get to be with you alone. When you had a team around all the time (and Soap’s constant need to know what you and Ghost were up to), finding privacy could be nearly impossible.

A bedroom with a door that actually locked was like a lottery win for Ghost.

He was loving every second of this. It made him think about the next time that the two of you were going to be on leave and you could stay tangled up in his bed for as long as you wanted, wearing nothing but clean bed sheets and each other’s presence.

He kept a firm, yet cautious grip on your hips to keep you from going anywhere. Ghost loved it when you were this close to him because he could savor every part of you. He never took you for granted, but he surely cared enough to use these moments wisely.

But it didn’t take long for a recurring problem to come to the surface – making out with Simon could be difficult. There was a major barrier that always, without fail, got in the way.

You huffed when his balaclava slipped back down his face, denying you access from his lips. It was annoying to have to hold the fabric up with one hand and try to roam his chest with the other. This was usually the process: kiss, move the mask, kiss again, repeat.

Ghost often found it funny how irritated you would get with it, but tonight it felt more like a nuisance to him rather than you. Eventually you stopped, pulling away and letting the balaclava fall back down. Ghost looked at you, his eyes shining with knowingness of what was coming next.

“Can you please take the mask off?”

The famous question. Ghost’s most popular request.

“No, love.”

Usually, you left it at that. If Ghost flat out said no, then you normally wouldn’t push it. Tonight was different though. There was a stronger determination than normal. The circumstances couldn’t have been more perfect. No one else was around to see, and Ghost knew that you would take the mystery of Ghost’s face to your grave.

“Please?” You tried again.

He chuckled, although it was more of a nervous laugh.

“I’m nothing special, doll. I’m just like everybody else.” He shrugged.

“You’re special to me.” You corrected him.

He released a heavy exhale that he didn’t even realize he was holding in. Ghost knew that your intentions weren’t anything malicious, and that they were based solely on pure curiosity. He didn’t blame you in the slightest. If he were in your shoes, he knew he would be the exact same way. The two of you spent so much time together, and the two of you shared many precious moments together. If he never got to see your face, then he would be itching to know what was underneath too.

Ghost was thankful that you hadn’t ever pushed him to show you his face. Upon meeting him, you knew the importance of the mask and the purpose that it served.

“You have seen my face before,” He grumbled. “If you so recall, you walked in on me.”

“That was an accident!” You wailed. “And it was literally for half a second because I turned away so fast. I don’t even remember what you look like.”

“Gecko…” He sighed, a hint of desperation in his tone. “You know I don’t show my face.”

“Ghosty.” You whined, using his nickname that always made his knees go weak.

“You’re really not missing anything.” He bantered, trying to hold his composure.

“Actually…” You hesitated for a moment, because you debated continuing. “I feel like I’m missing a lot.”

Making him feel guilty was never your intention. There was no excuse or good reason to make him feel bad about something that you knew was important to him. But that didn’t stop his stomach from rolling over inside of him the way that it did whenever he felt like he had done something to make you unhappy.

And he knew that you weren’t upset in the slightest, but he still couldn’t help but feel so, so terrible.

“I want to hold your face…I want to kiss you without the mask,” You went on, hoping that he would understand that you weren’t attacking him. “I want to see you.”

That tone in your voice. The whisper of someone that he adored so much was like hearing the song of the soul. He wouldn’t say no to that. How could he say no to that?

“Okay.” He gave a slow nod.

You withheld from making a shocked expression, but that didn’t stop your heart from hitting your shoes and recoiling into your throat.

“Okay…” You echoed, unsure of what he meant exactly.

“The mask can come off.”

Instant fireworks exploded in your nervous system. It was a premature celebration, but it was definitely a step in the right direction.

You had to admit – you were nervous. Certainly not as nervous as he was. You knew how important this was to him, and how strict he was about never, ever revealing his face to anybody. It was an urban legend in a way. The mysterious wonder of what the esteemed lieutenant looked like beneath the skull and the stone cold demeanor.

It was important for you to be conscious of the fact that your reaction was going to be critical. He was perfect to you already, and whatever he looked like certainly wouldn’t change that. But you knew how sensitive he was about this. Any kind of accidental twitch, blink, or show of a potentially sour expression would freak him out big time. You knew you needed to be as neutral as possible and be sure to be even more encouraging.

“Would you be more comfortable if I turn around while you take it off? Or do you want me to do it?” You asked, being absolutely sure that this went the way that he was most comfortable with.

He paused for a moment, his voice sounding even deeper than usual when he answered.

“You can do it.”

Chills rushed down your spine, translating into a physical shudder. This felt like you were about to discover the solution to world hunger. It felt surreal, as if this were breaking some foundational law of the universe.

Every motion felt overly voluntary. You tried your best to hide the slight tremble in your hands when you brought your hands to the area just below his chin. Your fingertips were nimble and careful when you slipped them underneath the fabric. Both sides of his lower jaw touched the pads of your fingers – it was a foreign feeling altogether.

This was the moment of truth. Should you whip it off quickly? Should you ease it off of him to give him some extra time to prepare? You didn’t want to ruin this for him because then he’d never show his face ever again. His hands didn’t dare move from your waist,

Slowly and carefully, you removed the mask from his face. Bit by bit was revealed to you – his lips, his nose, his cheeks. Each new feature that was shown was the next piece of putting the puzzle together. The rate of your heart grew quicker and quicker with each passing millisecond.

This wouldn’t change the way you felt about him. You had fallen for Ghost because of who he was, not what he looked like. In all honesty, you wanted Ghost to do this for himself rather than for you. You understood that Ghost didn’t quite see it this way, but this was your way of letting him know that he was safe with you. He didn’t need the mask to protect him from you.

When you made it to the space just below his eyes, you decided to do it like a band-aid. Get it off quick and lose the anticipation of it all. In a flash of a second, the mask was off and there was no turning back.

And there he was.

If it hadn’t been for your ribcage holding it in, you were sure that your heart would’ve exploded right out of your body.

He was looking at you with a fixed stare, terrified to look away or say a single word. He was reading and interpreting every minor, barely noticeable movement in your expression. His skin was glowing in the soft light casted from the moon outside. There was an anxious shine in his eyes, his dark irises were saying everything that his mouth couldn’t articulate. He was scared to death.

His balaclava was clutched in your hands as if it would disintegrate if you let go. His lifeline was in your hold, at your complete mercy. There wasn’t a thing that he could do. He couldn’t take this moment back even if he wanted to.

He needed you to say something. He couldn’t stand the feeling of all the focus being on him, and he couldn’t tell if he was correctly guessing at what you were thinking.

You were at a loss for words. This felt like a complete shift in the universe, like everything was different when it really wasn’t different at all. You were stuck trying to comprehend the fact that you were really looking at him – the real him.

And he was beautiful.

You weren’t surprised in the slightest. Even if you had no real way to know what he looked like, you knew from the moment you met him that he was good looking. Ghost himself had even made comments here and there that he considered himself to be rather attractive.

You didn’t understand it. How could someone so brave, strong, and (again) handsome want to shield himself away from the world? If there was anyone that could take on life with stride, it was Ghost. But there was a simple answer to that. It seemed to be the reason for all of the “odd” things and traits about him.

He wasn’t always like that.

He had to protect himself. There had never been anyone in his life at any point to do it for him. He never had the chance to be a kid. He had to grow up before he even had the chance to be excited about growing up.

His upbringing had everything to do with the mask and the reason that he wore it. It was his version of a security blanket. It was his protection from the evil of the outside world. Because he had learned at a young age that sometimes the worst evil that the world had to offer came from the ones right in front of you, and the ones that were supposed to love you the most.

“Simon…”

His name – his real name fell from your lips as a tender whisper. The words were laced with appreciation of his trust and absolute adoration for the revealed man standing in front of you. Of course you had said his name before. He had heard you say it plenty of times.

But he’d never heard you say it in this context, and he surely had never heard you say it when you were looking at the real him.

There was a moment of panic and discomfort for him. He was suddenly very aware of the fact that he was completely exposed. His most prized security measure had been stripped away – now useless due to its absence from his face. The air of the room felt cold on his skin, another reminder that he had given up his primary line of defense.

There were a million things that were running through his mind, but every single word was caught in his throat and released out into the air with each of his shaky exhales. There wasn’t a single thing that he knew to say. All he could do was watch you stare at him, raking over him and studying every aspect of his face.

“You’re so handsome, my love.” You spoke again, and the blood in his lower extremities ran boiling hot.

His heartbeat stalled for a beat or so when your hand came to his hair. The balaclava had rustled his hair when it brushed against it, but he hadn’t even noticed. Your fingers ran through his dark hair that was (admittedly) not as clean as it could’ve been. His hands were trembling against your hips, his fingertips drumming lightly against the waistband of your pants.

You seemed content to him, which eased his anxious nausea a little bit. The gentle, yet genuine smile on your face brought some comfort. Every sense of the feeling of you touching him felt heightened to the highest degree. He was aware of every strand of hair that ran through your fingers, every feather-like drag across his cheekbone with your knuckle.

It felt different for sure. He wasn’t used to someone touching that zone of his body. He definitely wasn’t accustomed to sharing it with someone, but he was thankful that you were being so considerate to how he was feeling.

“I…I don’t know what to say.” He finally spoke, his words coming out in a quavery way.

“You don’t have to say anything if you don’t want to,” You replied with a voice like silk, pressing a kiss to his forehead that sent a wave of electricity through his core. “I’m just looking at you.”

He almost laughed. That’s what made him so nervous.

This was definitely not something that he had counted on happening today. He always knew the moment would come, but he hadn’t expected it to happen quite like this. It was a weird feeling that he was having. Even though he was seeing you as the same as he always did, it still felt different. It felt more intimate, more authentic. The mask was resting in your lap, a place that he never expected his mask to end up.

“Pretty boy…” You drawled, cupping his face the same way that he had held yours just a few moments before.

His cheeks burned at that comment. A flush of hot crimson red infiltrated his face to the point where he was sure that you could feel it on your hand. He was exploding on the inside with a million emotions that he couldn’t pinpoint to save his life.

He was so beyond grateful for you. This was something that he had feared and dreaded for a long time, terrified that you would see him as something other than the image that he had worked so hard to create and maintain for himself. But he was beginning to realize the reality of the situation.

The truth was, you had always been able to see who he really was. That was something that was special about you. The mask only hid him from you in a physical way. There was never a time where you hadn’t seen the person inside of him, and never once had you held an ounce of resentment for who he really was.

He had always been Simon Riley to you.

So in reality, this wasn’t the first time that you were seeing him. This was just the first time that you were seeing the face that went with it.

“You think so?” He asked, his hands beginning to move from their cemented positions.

“Absolutely I do,” You answered, kissing the tip of his nose. “You’re gorgeous.”

“You’re just buttering me up.” Simon cracked a smile, and your eyes brightened immediately.

“Oh! Look at that smile,” The intensity of your grin matched his. “Happiness looks beautiful on you.”

The words rang in his head and echoed out through his ears. Happiness felt even better than it looked. His most consistent and worthwhile source of that happiness was right in front of him, loving on him as if she thought he was the most perfect person in the world.

He couldn’t fathom how anyone could feel that way about him. He tried his best not to question it, and instead tried to appreciate it and reflect it back to you. He was grateful for you, and he did everything he could to remind you of that.

“I’m glad you think I’m ‘pretty’ and all,” He tucked his fingertips into the front of your waistband. “But I’ll never be as pretty as you.”

“Now you’re buttering me up,” You giggled.

You kissed him then. The first real kiss with nothing in the way. Oh, it was a wonderful kiss – and Simon made a mental note that, yeah, kissing without the mask was so, so much better. He wrapped his arms completely around you, smothering your frame against his. His nose brushed against yours with every head movement, and every little happy whimper from you swelled his heart more and more.

Simon pushed you onto your back, keeping you pinned between the mattress and his body. He kissed all over your neck and face to the point where you were breathless from all the giggles and squeaks that he was bringing out of you. When you were close to getting lightheaded, he pulled his head back to give you a break.

He couldn’t get over how you were looking at him. That look of adoration and care was healing his soul in ways he never thought he’d be able to achieve. There were certain things in life that Simon had accepted long ago that he would never get to experience…being cared for in the way that you cared for him was one of them. This was a dream come true and something he never would’ve counted on in a million years.

“I know that wasn’t easy for you. I’m proud of you,” You brushed a stray hair from his forehead. “Thank you for sharing this moment with me.”

He felt a twinge of guilt. He really hadn’t done anything at all. You shouldn’t have to thank him for showing his face. The absolute bare minimum of existing as a human. But he knew that you understood why this was important, and that this really was something huge.

“I wouldn’t want to share it with anybody else.” He admitted.

He was so crazy about you. He wasn’t sure what he had done in his life to deserve you, but he would do it a million times over if it meant spending forever with you. If there was anyone in the world that he trusted enough to share this much of himself with, it was you.

“I think you need to get some sleep,” He remarked. “Need to rest that side.”

“I could stay right here all night.” You returned.

“I know,” He sat up, pulling you up with him. “But you need some sleep.”

Despite your protests, he arranged the bed to be most comfortable for you, encouraging you to properly get settled to get some shut eye. He grabbed his removed balaclava from the bed, keeping it ready to go when he returned to the front of the house where the rest of the team was.

“Are you comfortable?” He asked, sitting on the edge of the bed once you were all snuggled in.

“Yeah,” You yawned. “I’m good.”

“Alright, love. I’ll see you in the morning.” He kissed your forehead, standing to leave you be.

Just as he raised his hand to put the balaclava back on, he felt a force stop him in his tracks.

“No. Wait,” You grabbed his free hand, stopping him from walking away. “Please stay.”

The balaclava in his hand suddenly felt heavy, like an intuitive feeling telling him it wasn’t time to hide away again.

“Might I remind you that I’m nearly a giant,” He chuckled, referring to the bed that was just barely big enough. “You need rest, darling.”

“Please?”

That face. Those puppy eyes that he could never resist. In your defense, you did genuinely tend to sleep better when he was around — you felt more protected that way, and that was something he would never say no to.

So he obliged, setting the balaclava on the bedside table next to you, removing his boots and just his outer layers to make it at least semi-possible to fall asleep. He never really slept on missions (or at all), but if there was even the slightest chance that he could catch a few winks, then he would surely take it.

He was careful with his movements as he lowered into bed, being sure not to come down too hard with his giant frame and break something. The bed wasn’t the newest or the sturdiest in the world, and he already had reservations about how it would hold him. He chuckled when you snuggled up to him immediately, barely even giving him time to convince himself that the bed wouldn’t collapse underneath him.

As he had predicted, it was a bit of a squeeze, but that only gave you more reason to be all over him. He hadn’t realized how rundown he was until he was sunken into the mattress, his muscles and bones screaming with celebration when they were finally at rest. He was relaxed, he had you next to him, you were safe — he was all set. There were a few passing minutes of silence, but neither of you were trying to fall asleep just yet. You were still looking at him, admiring his features and paying attention to every little detail.

He was admiring you for admiring him, and even though he already knew every inch of you to perfection, he still loved to look at you.

“If you want to put it back on…” You reached for the balaclava that he had placed on the end table next to you. “I understand if you do.”

He stared at the black and stained white fabric covering. It was the idol of his personality, the foundation of what everyone knew about himself. It was a shield that he kept at all times, his highest form of protection and self-preservation.

But tonight? He could do without it.

“I don’t need it.” He answered.

A pause. Then a beat of disbelief. You weren’t sure if he meant it or if he was trying to satisfy what he thought that you wanted him to do. You never wanted him to do something he didn’t want to do on your behalf.

“Are you sure?” You clarified.

“I’m sure.” He gave a soft grin.

“Positive?” You made sure.

“Positive.”

He pulled you back into his chest once you had set the mask aside. He kissed the crown of your head, dragging his fingertips along the skin of your back. He listened to your breathing, paying attention to how it slowed to a consistent rhythm as you fell deeper and deeper into a slumber. He was still processing everything. He had taken his mask off with no preparation or planning. He couldn’t believe what was happening to him. He was beginning to turn into the man he never thought he’d be able to become.

For the longest time he had feared that he was too scarred and too frozen over to ever be anything other than a hardened man with nothing but distaste for the world. But he never knew there was a flame hot enough and bright enough to melt that frozen heart of his.

He was thankful for you.

You were the perfect combination of everything he ever needed and wanted. He was thankful for your kindness, patience, and support. He was thankful that you were strong enough to believe in him, yet soft enough to be sweet on him. He was thankful that you cared for him and showed him more love than anyone else had ever shown him before.

And he was always thankful that you had always been able to see beyond the mask.

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return-of-a-space-cowboy · 11 months

Text

You're just like an angel p1 (Yandere Miguel O'Hara X female reader)

I was not immune to the simping, different to my usual but I hope you guys enjoy

Warning: slight nsfw

"Hey I'm sorry but I'm gonna be stuck on a late shift at the scrapyard tonight. I have some noodle packets in the cupboard you can use to cook dinner tonight" you messaged your siblings as you got onto your scooter.

"Hope you have a good night (Y/n)" one of your colleagues said as they walked past you.

"You too" you replied as you put your phone away and started your scooter.

You hated lying to your siblings but you had to do this tonight, a shipment like this from Alchemex wasn't going to happen again in a long time. You had to get your hand on more of their materials to further the inventions you were working on. Perhaps you'd even try to improve that suit of yours. You'd have to at some point, the rumors of 'The Vulture' were going around now as well as a new superhero called Spiderman, he'd certainly be an issue if he got in your way now.

You drove all the way to a storage house. You got off your scooter and hopped off before heading inside.

"Good evening Maggie" he greeted you by the fake name you'd given him when you rented out the storage room.

"Afternoon Thompson" you replied as you made your way to the front desk. He handed you your key and you made your way to your designated storage room.

You unlocked the padlock and pulled the roller door up. A single duffle bag and a Jerry can were inside. You kneeled and opened the duffle bag and pulled out your gear and inspected it. You hissed at the dents in your armor plating. You knew this was inevitable with aluminum but you had no lightweight alternative you could afford.

You tried it on and all the mechanisms seemed to work well so you packed it back up except for the lucky green pilot jacket that you'd received from your grandfather before he passed away. You put that on before grabbing the bag and Jerry can before leaving.

"I don't understand why you don't just keep that stuff at home, you always seem to need it," Thompson said as you handed back the key.

"I'm just afraid one day my granddad's air force memorabilia will get damaged or stolen at the apartment I and my family live in, so I leave them here until I go out to the veterans' gatherings," you explained.

"Well that makes sense, you must love your granddad a lot" he replied.

"Yeah, he was my role model. Having these helps keep his memory alive" you explained, it was a partial lie, the jacket was a treasured piece from your grandfather and he was the person who sparked your love of engineering.

"Have a good night" you said before leaving. Your next stop was a gas station to fill the jerry and your scooter before driving out to New Jersey along Route 95. Alchemex had cut a fair chunk of the road off so they could drive safely as well as a fair amount of security from what you heard. You put on your armor, and heavy-duty gloves and filled the jetpack with petrol, and wiped it down putting it on. Then you put on the makeshift gas mask you had made with an aluminum cover in the shape of a beak before putting your earplugs in and grabbing your binoculars and keeping an eye on the road.

Eventually, you saw the headlights in the distance and you put on your goggles and grabbed your bag with some tools before pulling the wire to start the engine and pulling another to open the wings. You ran in the direction of the wind and soon took off. You flicked a lever on the back to put it to a higher power.

You used the wire for your wings to steer you forward until you were above the truck. You hovered above it, determining the best spot to land. If you were too close to the front or back the security drivers would see you so you had to be meticulous. You managed to land in the middle of the trailer, turned your jetpack off, pulled in the wings, and quickly grabbed the blowtorch from your bag to burn a hole into the metal. Once done you stood up and slammed your foot in the middle causing it to fall.

You jumped in and put your blowtorch to the side as you started going through the various boxes of equipment. You took some motherboards, some strange-looking cells that you assumed were batteries, a few miniature glass computer monitors, and a speedometer. You had just grabbed your blow torch and put it in your bag when you heard a screech and a smash just seconds before the truck violently shook before it began to roll. You were tossed around and into the walls before blacking out.

🕷🕷🕷

You woke up with a pounding headache. You sat up and kept your eyes closed as you tried to ride your headache out. Once it started to fade you opened your eyes to see you were in a plain white place that seemed like a warehouse. You looked around for your bag but couldn't find it.

"Where the hell am I?" You asked yourself.

"Somewhere you don't belong" a deep voice responded that made you freeze up for a moment. You looked around for the source only to see a bright red light heading towards you. You luckily dodged and looked towards where the light had come from to see a figure dressed in a suit of blue and red. Your mind thought it was that supposed Spiderman but it wasn't the same suit. It was very similar though, a copycat maybe?

"Hey Spiderman, I don't know where I am. I'll just leave and we can just forget about this right?" You asked. Something else was thrown towards you and you sprinted behind one of the shelves. You looked back at what he threw, it seemed like some kind of forcefield cage. Something straight out of science fiction.

"Ok, so I'll take that as a no?" You muttered as you put your earplugs back in and pulled the wires hoping to God it didn't get damaged in the crash. It started and you tried to fly through the top shelves to avoid whatever he was using but another red light was launched your way, this time you weren't so lucky. That red line managed to stick to your jetpack lever and turned it off. You screamed as you fell but were stopped last second by another red line. Another removed the earplugs.

You looked up at him now noticing his suit was glowing almost as if it were a screen. What kind of tech did this man have?

"You're quite the amateur," the man said as he pulled you up. This was definitely not the same Spiderman the news had been talking about. That was for certain, they made the one on the news seem like a novice.

Once he pulled you up you were quick to throw a punch to his face. He didn't even try to avoid it, he didn't even react to it.

You threw another, this time however he caught your fist.

"Why don't you just give up?" He asked you slightly amused by your attempt to hurt him.

"No! I know you're going to take me to the police! I can't get locked up!" You screamed in desperation, there was something so pathetic in your desperation yet at the same time he found it a little admirable that you'd even try to fight back against him.

You kicked and punched as hard as you could but nothing seemed to affect him. Within a blink of an eye, he returned a punch to your stomach and you collapsed In front of him as all the air left your body. You were gasping for air as he dropped another cage thing onto you.

"I'm not taking you to the police," he told you, you should have felt relieved but you didn't, surely he wouldn't let you go so easily. You tried to get up but then you felt the worst feeling imaginable, like your entire body was being stretched and stabbed at the same time. You screamed out in pure agony before passing out from the pain.

🕷🕷🕷

You woke up again, this time you were in a dark room, and the only light was from the platform. You looked down at yourself to see you had been tied to a chair with only your undergarments on.

"Hey, where the hell are my clothes!" You screamed. The platform began to lower and you saw that Spiderman again, this time he wasn't wearing the mask. Olivey skin, dark eyes, and brunette hair all with a well-sculpted face to match. However, it was apparent that he was quite a bit older than you were.

"They're folded in the corner, had to make sure you didn't have any other devices on you" he explained in a neutral tone as he made his way towards you. His accent made his words roll pleasantly but you still could not trust him.

"So why am I here? don't you think I'm a little below your league to be wherever this is?" You asked.

"I just have a few questions to ask you" he replied as he stood just a few feet away and observed you with a scrutinizing gaze. You tried to keep calm but he could see how nervous you were. You certainly weren't like any of the anomalies he'd met before, you were far less confrontational.

"If I can go home then I'll answer them," you said.

"It all depends on how you answer them" he replied

"Name?"

"(Y/n) (L/n)"

"Where are you from?"

"Brooklyn"

"Occupation?"

"Working at a scrapyard, is that all? These questions don't seem important enough for you to know" You asked him after the first few rapid-fire questions. You could have lied but you were not in the position to do so, he could very well have all the answers and is just testing your honesty.

"Do you use The Vulture as an alias?" He continued as he disregarded your question.

"Well, I don't personally however that has become something the public has begun to use for my crimes" you explained. It was clear to him you weren't a real villain, at least not yet. You weren't without flaws but in comparison to the Vulture from his universe you were a Saint. At this point, he was genuinely intrigued by you.

"What about your past?" He asked.

"Nothing remarkable, I just lived in a low-income family for all of my life" you replied.

"Really… I don't think an average crook would go to the effort you have, what made you?" He asked.

"You want to know?" You questioned.

"I need to know as much as I can" he replied.

"Well… my family has always been rough, my father didn't want a baby but my mum insisted on keeping me so my father left her before I was born. I ended up being the eldest of three with my siblings from different fathers. From a young age, I was fascinated by machines and wanted to be an engineer. I pretty much studied my ass off, especially after my mum's late fiance died in that car accident. At that point, I knew I had to get a scholarship if I had any chance of helping my family, so I tried to ace pretty much everything I could to get a scholarship from high school. I was told by all my teachers that I'd get that scholarship…" you explained as you felt your blood boil and heart race from anger.

"but on graduation day that scholarship was awarded to none other than the principal's own son. He could have easily afforded to send his son on his own dime but no, he had to take my one chance… my one chance to help my family get out of all the poverty we'd been living in!" You Hissed as your knuckles turned white from how hard you clenched them.

"Getting a job after high school was a struggle but I managed to find one at a scrapyard. It didn't come without its obstacles but I persevered. Eventually, I realized that nothing was going to get better from just perseverance and a smile on my face like I'd been told all my life. Clearly, I had to do things the dirty way if I ever wanted to get out of my situation. That's when I turned to stealing in an attempt to make my inventions, however, I could only get so many materials from scrap so I had to figure out how to get my hands on better materials. That's when I made that" you explained as you pointed to your jetpack that had been placed on the floor. However, you noticed that a similarly designed flight harness was on display along with other pieces of tech on the wall.

"I guess my design wasn't as original as I thought…" you nervously chuckled, you were a little disheartened at the discovery. You sighed as you turned your head to the other side to look at the ground.

Miguel had tried his best to avert his gaze from your body. He really shouldn't have been thinking of what he was but the thought of those lush legs wrapped around his hips or his cock sandwiched between those subtle breasts. He was cursing himself, you were someone he had only just met, and a villain at that.

He was only brought back when he heard you scream as you glitched.

"What was that?" You asked between panting.

"You're glitching, it's because you ended up in a dimension you don't belong in" he explained.

"Dimension?!" You exclaimed. This really was some science fiction stuff you got yourself in.

"Yes and this is where the main questions begin," he told you.

"How did you discover a portal?" He asked.

"I have no idea, the last thing I remember is the truck I was in rolling" you explained.

"You didn't see anyone different at all?" He asked.

"Nope, not at all" you replied.

"Can I leave now?" You asked. Sure he could have let you go, you didn't have any information on the anomaly that entered your dimension. However, you were still a personal interest of his.

"I can't right now, I still have my suspicions about you," he told you in a stern tone.

"Please, I gotta look after my siblings and I'll lose my job if I don't get back soon" you tried to reason.

"I'll let you go in a few days," he said before your restraints were removed. You quickly hurried to your clothes to put them back on.

Once you were back in your clothes he handed you something, a wristband.

"What's this for?" He asked.

"It'll stop you from glitching for the day" he explained before another cage surrounded you. You placed the wristband on and inspected it.

Now you wait, hopefully, you'll be sent home soon.

#yandere #yandere miguel o'hara #miguel o'hare x reader #spiderman 2099 x reader #x reader #yandere miguel o'hara x reader

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human-encounters-diary · 11 months

Text

Day 11

ATTENTION, EMERGENCY PROTOCOL INITIATED. I REPEAT, EMERGENCY PROTOCOL INITIATED.

As it turns out, one of the machines in Sector 2 has suffered severe damage. Fortunately, it is not an extremely vital part of the ship, but the prospect of arriving on Fendaar unharmed and in short time is becoming more and more improbable.

As I am one of the highest ranking mechanics on the ship, I was occupied during most of the cycle with reversing the worst damage.

As we mended the machinery, we discovered a far more urgent problem: The previously damaged outer hover engine has now come completely shut down, and as a consequence, the SIIR Noxos will steadily become slower, until we will be trapped in the middle of an hostile system with no prospects of receiving help, as we would still be far too far away to contact a ground station on any nearby planet with our communication systems.

There was one way to mend the hover engine into a barely working state, but it would require someone to approach from the outside, which would, in normal circumstances, already be extremely dangerous, and in a state like this, it was highly unlikely that the person performing the repair would come back alive. After a few moments of debate, we decided it would be best to request to speak with the Vitrichl and the rest of the crew to eludicate our situation.

I described the problem in as much detail as possible and informed the crew of our inevitable impending death, to put it shortly.

"So, basically", the human spoke up. "If noone goes out there to fix the hover engine, we‘ll stop moving eventually and then we‘ll all die either of starvation or of running out of oxygen, or whatever you all breathe."

"Yes, if you desire to voice it in that fashion", I affirmed her statement. "Unfortunately, it is way too dangerous for any of us to go out there, as the survival chances are close to none", I eludicated further. "Possibly, we could still make it far enough to be within communication reach with a nearby planet, but that is also highly unlikely."

Quinn extended her hand upwards.

"I‘ll do it."

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party-hearses · 7 months

Text

i am a nightmare, you are a miracle // 3

do i get callous, or do i stay tender

series masterlist | previous chapter | next chapter

pairing: joel x ofc!reader, ex!tommy x ofc!reader (NO USE OF Y/N)

rating: explicit, MDNI 18+

word count: 8k

chapter summary: the boundaries of your new relationship with joel are explored.

chapter warnings/tags: no outbreak AU, soft!joel, age gap, alcohol, language, characters eating food, alfred hitchcock, allusions to verbal/mental abuse (not joel), dry humping (i guess?). let me know if I’m forgetting anything!

a/n: this feels very ‘slice of life’, but it’s important to me, dammit! I love each and every one of you (yes, you!) who read, comment, and reblog. this fic is my baby, and every interaction means the world to me. @nostalxgic beta’d for me, because she’s the best human in the world and I love her to pieces.

comments and reblogs are appreciated! support your creators!

There was, Joel knows, a depth to the things you had shared with him. He just doesn’t know how to piece them together.

You had led him, a proverbial blindfold over his eyes, to the darkest recesses of your psyche. Allowed him to graze those things with his fingers. Not to grasp, never to grasp, but to ghost the ridges of his rough digits against the truths they contained. Visceral and unrefined, flexing without giving, beneath his prodding touch. A reluctant invitation.

He had wanted to claw his way in. He had wanted to rip you apart, to gorge himself on your suffering. To lick your velvet bones and make his home inside your ribcage. Half heaven, half hell.

Instead, he finds himself turning your words over in his head again and again, whiskey a thick smoke on his tongue. The television is still on in the background, the light flickering across the angles of the room, casting everything in jagged shadow.

Frustration curls tight in the pit of his stomach. Understanding feels just out of reach — as if the words you had spoken had been in secret tongues. If only he could decode it.

It will take time, he knows, to learn your language. To speak the complexities, to articulate the syntax. To appreciate the nuances from the inside, wrap his tongue around the letters. It will be an exercise in patience, he is sure, but one that he will commit himself to. He hungers to be fluent in reading and speaking you, to savor the delicate flavors of your dialect.

You, the unknowable creature asleep just down the hallway. That his hands had been on; that had made his cock twitch and ache; that had looked at him with those wet, pleading eyes, desperate to be known.

He rolls the wrist that holds his whiskey glass in a circular motion, eyeing the contents intently.

Asking you to stay in his home was a calculated risk. It had been when he’d first done it, and it remains to be the longer you stay. Tommy’s involvement — even in the capacity of ‘ex boyfriend’ — makes things complicated, and Joel knows that those things will border on volatile once he finds out where you are.

Not if, but when.

And truly, Joel doesn’t know what he’ll do when that happens. He hasn’t thought that far ahead, his vision too clouded with you, you, you.

He had known, since the first time you stood in his kitchen, a case of Shiner in your small hands, that the hot knife of devotion he felt when your eyes met his would eventually destroy him. Inevitability twisting its hands into his gut, whispering in his ear to prepare for his own eventual decimation. Lamb, meet slaughter, it said.

He’d let Tommy beat the shit out of him, he thinks, if it keeps you in his proximity.

The acute awareness of it had caught him off guard. Mutual, useless damage — two unfillable voids recognizing one another from across the room. A collision of fire and the ocean floor.

You, in a little black tank top and jean shorts, the tender flesh of your thigh peeking out just below the hem. Shoulders bare, warmed from the afternoon sunlight, skin aglow. It took strength he didn’t know he possessed to not sink his teeth into you right then and there. Lick up the slender column of your neck. Feast.

Tommy, grinning and oblivious as all fuck to the cosmic shift taking place two feet away from him.

Joel wanting to slug the smugness off his younger brother’s face. He knows Tommy — knows him always as a collector of people, of experiences. Not handling things — beautiful, fragile things — with the care they ought to be handled with. Leapfrogging from one thing to the next, nothing but ruin in his wake.

And oh, how Joel wanted to ruin you — but not in the way he knew Tommy would.

Your words to him tonight make his skin itch with that same recognition. That same inevitability. Asking you to stay meant there was no going back — that you would either let him swallow you whole, or he’d die trying to.

Throwing his head back to drain the glass, he savors the burn of the liquor sliding down his throat before flipping the television off and rising from the couch. Retracing his footsteps past your room, a dull throb settles again between his thighs at the thought of your body pressed against his.

It wouldn’t be difficult, he thinks, to open your door and take. He knows you because he knows himself, and what little restraint he has left is stretched thin.

But he will be patient, because it is you. Because he knows how this ends. Because he wants you to want it, too. To need it like he does. To reveal yourself to him in your own time, fragment by fragment. To recognize the inevitability.

And so he closes the door to his bedroom, himself on the wrong side of it, knowing that that is what a better man would do. And like a better man should, he falls asleep to images of your supple skin rippling beneath him, your mouth open and wanting.

You are unknowable, but you have never been a stranger.

You’re still in your dress when you wake up the next morning.

The hem is bunched up around your waist, your panties on display for the four walls of the empty bedroom. The slippery material clings to you, flesh slick with sweat, in a significantly less flattering way than it did last night.

Everything about you is less flattering than it was last night — the shimmer and sugar of it all worn off in the sweltering light of midmorning.

With a groan, you roll onto your back, the hard edges of your phone cutting into the flesh of your hip beneath you. You can’t bring yourself to look at it, to relive the previous twelve hours of…well, everything. Hands and drinks and tongues and flesh and desire and Joel’s voice.

Something else shifts into focus from behind the hazy veil — Joel carrying you to bed. Half-asleep and just on the other side of drunk, drippingly saturnine and pathetic. The recollection of it makes your chest pinch; the most recent admission into the museum of your naiveté.

You scrub your hand across your eyes, thick black flakes of mascara crumbling off your lashes and landing on your cheeks, chalky streaks of it painted across your knuckles. A strange laugh bubbles up in your throat — you can’t even imagine how wrecked you look.

Sharp hesitancy crests your lungs, tempts you to curl up further into the blazing bedsheets, to avoid. To shrink back into yourself. You raise a hand to your still-swollen lips, delicately pressing your fingertips into their fullness, the memory of Peter’s mouth slotted over yours replaying behind your eyelids.

You wish you had been drunk enough to forget that part of the night — but only that part.

Ava’s fingers interlocked with your own, the holographic sheen of her love wrapping around you, the way all of your pain had spilled out into her waiting hands on the dancefloor. Her magic had dug its tendrils into the soft muscle of your heart, her dreamy voice in your ear an incantation: I have the best feeling about you staying with Joel.

It was those things that you never wanted to forget.

And Joel — Joel. The way he had angled his body towards you, had been so attuned to your words. The consideration in his face as he absorbed them all, brows knitted in concentration. The restless twitch of his fingers.

Him sliding his hands beneath your body, pulling you close to his chest.

Everything had poured out of you so naturally, without any of the apprehension or anxiety you’d come to call companion. The sutures you had sewn years and years ago had been neatly, delicately, untied by Joel’s nimble fingers, in a way that you don’t even think he understood. And it took almost nothing.

Like something magic.

Fire crawls across your already heated skin, not so much a realization but a possibility.

It’s the only reason you get up, and peel your dress off of your sticky body, and let the cold water of the shower chill you. Your lungs open up, the buzzing of your nerves quieting under the stream.

Joel hears the quiet patter of your bare feet on the hardwood before he sees you. The beating of his heart matches the measured pace of your steps, both quickening as the distance between you closes.

He glances sideways, pulse hammering when you finally enter his line of vision. The wet ropes of your hair cling to your neck, dripping down the fabric of your threadbare t-shirt. There’s something so cozy about it, a significant intimacy that comes with knowing you’re just out of the shower.

It’s vulnerable in a way that he’s all too cognizant of.

“Hey.”

Your voice is sweet, if not apprehensive. Testing the waters. You gently pop a hip into the lip of the kitchen counter, next to the full, still-steaming coffee pot. Joel is situated at the stove, pan of something resembling food in front of him, his own mug clutched in his left hand.

“How ya feelin’, champ?” There’s a crooked smile on his face, one that disappears behind the curve of his mug as he brings it to his mouth.

You laugh, a gentle sigh of a laugh — a laugh that invigorates his blood more than the coffee does.

“I’m actually okay. Y’know, considering.” You tip your head to the side, watching as he stirs whatever it is in the pan. A grin tugs at the corners of your mouth, seeing him cook. It’s endearing, being allowed a peek into his life.

The way his cheeks round out tell you that he’s still got the same small smile painted on his face, despite the way it’s hidden.

“Mind if I have some?” You gesture with a flick of your chin to his coffee, clocking the way his face immediately falls, eyes narrowing in your direction.

“Y’already know the answer t’that.”

Gaze darting back to the stove, he’s quick to set his coffee to the side, muttering a curse under his breath as he lowers the flame burning under the pan. You twist your body to grab a mug from the cupboard and fill it with the blazing hot liquid, crossing the kitchen to settle at the table.

The subsequent silence is companionable, and you let the coffee rouse the parts of your brain that haven’t quite caught up with you, yet. You watch the strong muscles of Joel’s back, rippling and pulling under his shirt, as he extends his arm to pull a plate down from a different cupboard.

It’s mesmerizing, the agile way he moves, so it catches you off guard when he slides the plate and a fork in front of you, steam rolling off the scrambled eggs and slices of toast.

You hadn’t even noticed him using the toaster.

“Oh,” you squeak, blinking away the surprise you know is written all over your face. “You shouldn’t h-”

“Wanted to.” It’s kind, but matter-of-fact. A stern statement to dissuade you from arguing back.

As he lowers himself into the chair across from you, tossing his own full plate onto the table, you can’t help but remember his hands on your jaw the last time the two of you had been here together.

Together.

He immediately digs into his food, shoveling it into his mouth and slurping his coffee. You drop your gaze to the plate in front of you, picking up the fork and gingerly shuffling the contents of it around.

Something close to guilt needles at your stomach, and all too suddenly the words are hot on your tongue.

“I lied to you last night.”

Joel doesn’t flinch, doesn’t look up at you — just keeps chewing and swallowing.

“Yeah?” Another bite, more chewing, swallowing again.

“I…I kissed someone. At the club.”

The confession hangs between you, though he remains as taciturn as you’ve ever seen him. It’s only when he draws his mug up to his mouth that he even meets your eyes, subtle amusement dancing in the liquid amber of them.

It’s candy Pop Rocks compared to what would have been Tommy’s dynamite.

Joel hasn’t stilled at all, continuing to drink his coffee and scoop his eggs on top of his toast.

“You…asked if I met anyone. And I lied to you.”

Toast halfway to his mouth, the small pile of eggs perched atop it dangerously close to slipping off, he pauses. His brows pull together in a question that you can’t quite read. An epiphany that you’re not privy to.

Lowering his arm, your eyes follow the eggs as they fall to his plate with a muted plop.

“Y’don’t owe me anythin’, Peach.”

Liar.

“But I-”

He shakes his head, and whatever it was that you wanted to say dies in your throat. “Y’had a reason to not tell me. And that reason belongs to you and you alone.”

You scrunch your brows together, an unfamiliar feeling building in your chest. He watches as it happens, his own chest pulling tight at the recognition of your uncertainty, of the doubt in your eyes. He’s quick to lean over the table, over the momentarily forgotten plates of food, to soothe your skin with a knowing drag of his thumb. The fork in your hand falls, clattering against the ceramic.

“Hey. Soften up, darlin’. Just don’t want you to think y’have t’tell me anythin’ y’don’t want to.” His voice is low, eyes intently searching yours. “Doesn’t mean I don’t understand why you’re tellin’ me.”

There’s something so tender about the way he tells you this, the way he touches you, that you’re sure you’ll spontaneously combust. Nothing has ever belonged to you — and only you — before. Not even your thoughts have ever been your own, the space reserved and velvet-roped for the ghosts of your shortcomings.

And you know that though Joel doesn’t quite grasp the gravity of what he’s saying, the words are bubblegum and champagne to you. Exactly, perfectly right.

“You’re good. It’s okay.” He gently brushes a still-damp tangle of your hair back over your ear, and you wonder if he can feel how hard your heart is pounding. “Y’don’t always have to be so…hard on yourself.”

You’re good.

“Say it, Peach.”

Like he can read your mind. Like he can reach directly inside you, all those ties he’d undone, to extract the most vulnerable parts. Soften them. Shield them. Nurture them.

As though he can taste the desperation surging off your skin.

“I’m good.” Your own voice is so small, you hardly recognize it. The words taste bitter, grapefruit with the sugar dusted off. Unearned.

“You’re good, sweetheart,” he repeats, the rough tips of his fingers sliding along your jaw as he pulls his hand back, dropping it to retrieve his abandoned toast. “Now please eat. It’ll help.”

Hesitantly picking up your fork again, you mirror him — biting and chewing thoughtfully, humming as the toast settles in your stomach. Sipping your coffee. It’s almost easy.

Joel makes it easy.

Every now and again he flicks his eyes up to watch you, to make sure you’re actually eating, silently pleased as the amount on your plate slowly diminishes. He finishes before you do, shoving his plate forward and tipping back in his chair, fingers wrapping around his mug comfortably.

Moving the last bits of egg around the perimeter of your plate, you take the opening as Joel’s shoulders relax against the slatted wood.

“I, um, didn’t think you’d be…like this.”

It catches him off guard, a warm laugh betraying his usual stoicism. The levity of it curls around your limbs, climbs the length of your spine. “Oh yeah? ‘N what’d you think I’d be like?”

Avoidant. Brooding. Grumpy.

“Much less…pleasant?” You crinkle your nose at the word, not satisfied with it. “Or, like, you’re kind of…nice?”

This time he laughs out loud, angling his head back and opening his mouth wide. The sound of it lights you up from the inside, sparkly and hot.

“I mean…oh my god, that’s so stupid. I just mean…like, I think being here…will be good for me.”

You’re babbling now, skirting around the fact that you think being around him will be good for you. But something deep in your stomach tells you that he already knows. That he’s always known.

Dropping his head to his chest, you think you see a light sprinkle of pink break out across his tanned cheeks and nose. He clears his throat, mouth obscured by his coffee mug.

“I’m nice t’you, sweetheart.”

The remainder of the day is spent zeroed in on your work laptop, still at the kitchen table, legs stretched across the chair Joel had occupied that morning.

He had slipped out after breakfast to run errands — a few work related, a few personal — asking if you’d wanted to come. The invitation had made your heart swell, the feeling of being wanted stirring in your veins. It was hard to resist, the promise of more time with him so incredibly alluring, but you’d declined, work hanging over your head like a raincloud.

“It’s Saturday, Peach,” he’d murmured, eyeing you as you’d flipped open the slender screen of the device.

“Good thing I don’t have any plans, then,” you’d replied, clicking the trackpad to open your multiple files — budgets and spreadsheets and invoices stacking one on top of the other — thoughts turning to how much you’d rather be climbing into Joel’s truck beside him.

But he’d backed off, dropping a quick squeeze to your shoulder before leaving.

It’s not until he’d been gone for some time that it strikes you how different the interaction was with Joel than it ever had been with Tommy — no exasperation, no stomping out of the house, no argument. And you can’t compare them, you know, because he’s not Tommy, and he’s not your boyfriend —but it’s stable, sustainable. A quiet admission of knowing what you need. Of some kind of trust passing between the two of you.

A disruptive ringing snaps you back to reality, your fingers still resting on the keyboard of the laptop. The screen has gone black, an indication of the amount of time passed.

With a slight shake of your head, your eyes track to the smaller screen, your sister’s name and picture lit up. Uneasiness rolls through you, as it always does when she calls.

“Hey, Kit.” You drop your head back onto the curved wood of the chair, exhaling shallowly through your nose.

“Have you been avoiding me?”

You can hear the shrieking of children in the background, the clatter of pots and pans and running water.

“Are you doing the dishes?” It’s in your best interest to sidestep the question, her giving you the perfect opportunity to do so.

“I didn’t think you’d actually answer.”

The fingers of your other hand find the bridge of your nose, squeezing gently.

“I’ve been…busy. Work has been a lot.”

Liar sits just below your diaphragm, pendulous and dark.

“And how has living with Joel been?”

You should have known that she’d cut straight to the point. Like she always does.

“It’s fine, Kit. It’s been going really well, actually.” You can’t help but snap, the tranquil feeling of Joel’s confidence in you waning into annoyance at being treated like a child by your sister.

Beyond that, a significant part of you is determined to protect the strange, placid thing between you and Joel, whatever it is. Whatever it isn’t.

Kit sighs, but it’s soft. “I’m just calling to say hey. We haven’t talked in so long.”

“You’re calling to check up on me.”

“Is there something so wrong with that? I’m your sister.”

“Not my mother.”

You regret the words as soon as they pass your lips. You can feel her hurt seeping through the phone, from thousands of miles away. It cuts to your core.

“Kit, I didn’t-”

“You’re right. I’m not your mom. But you could at least be fucking kind to me, because I am all you’ve got.”

Your breath catches in your throat. Kit rarely — if ever — curses, and it hits you like a punch in the stomach.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, tears immediately swimming in your line of vision. “You just, remind me of her so much sometimes, and…and I…”

“Have a lot of unresolved bullshit with her.”

“Yeah.”

She’s never said the words aloud before; it’s a subject the two of you had always avoided into adulthood. The crevasse between you, wide and gaping. Hearing her say it, acknowledge it, feels like sucking fresh air into your lungs after holding your breath underwater for too long.

“Daniel! Stop hitting your sister!” She suddenly calls out, and the moment crashes down at your feet.

“Look, um, I’m working. Let’s talk later this week, okay?” You sniffle, salty tears threatening to spill over. “Love you.”

You click to end the call before she can protest.

Rubbing your hands down your face, you wish you hadn’t even answered. Talking about her is never easy, but talking about her with Kit is something you’d danced around for years.

The phone begins to vibrate again, and you almost swipe to ignore it, assuming it’s Kit angrily calling back. But it’s Joel’s name splashed across the screen, and your heart thrums with familiarity. With relief.

“Hey, darlin’.” He says when you answer, the warm timbre of his voice washing everything else out of your head — Tommy and Kit and work included. “I’m thinkin’ about orderin’ pizza, that sound okay t’you?”

“Please, that sounds great.” And it does. Easy. Low maintenance. Comfortable. Exactly what you need. “But only if we can have beers, too.”

He chuckles, the sound low in his throat. “Read my mind, Peach.”

“You’re in the same exact place you were when I left,” Joel exclaims as he walks through the door, a rack of beer on his hip.

“Money never sleeps,” you reply, closing the laptop with finality and stifling a yawn.

“Maybe not, but you need to.”

“Mmm, pizza and beer first,” you hum, pushing yourself up from the table and joining him at the counter, his hands already tearing at the cardboard.

“Anythin’ excitin’ happen while I was out?” He holds a bottle out to you, fingers grazing yours as you take it. A thrill shoots down your spine, settling between your legs.

You lean back against the sink, drawing in a deep breath before tipping the beer back into your mouth. “Nothing I’d love to revisit at this moment.”

The only thing you’d love in this moment is to bask in Joel’s magic — let it wash over you, head to toe. Erase the terrible things you’d said to Kit. Be good again.

He quirks a brow at you, but doesn’t press. Instead, he holds his phone out in front of him, a pizza app pulled up. You shake your head, pushing it away.

“I will eat literally whatever you order.”

Shrugging, he drops his gaze to the screen, thumb flicking up to scroll through the menu slowly. “Hope y’actually mean that. Might try to order a gross pizza just to call y’on your bluff.”

45 minutes later, you’re both on the couch, beer and pizza in hand, an old movie playing in the background. One of your favorites — a sprawling mansion on the English coast, a haunted marriage, the shadow of a mysterious ex-wife, Rebecca. One of Hitchcock’s best, in your opinion.

Joel is happy to oblige, love a good black ‘n white slipping out of his otherwise full mouth.

As much as you love the film, you’re preoccupied with the way the evening sun casts the room in a golden glow, and how it seems to accentuate Joel’s innate softness. A softness you feel privileged to see, to have lavished on you. You want to drown in it — let his kindness corrupt you, let him untangle you.

Selfish fizzes at your fingertips, creeps up the span of your arms.

You shift your focus to the ropey muscles and tendons of Joel’s neck, gaze climbing up his strong jaw, covered in a smattering of salt and pepper scruff, to the long line of his aquiline nose. He balances his half-empty beer bottle on his knee, fingers wrapped around the neck of it.

And if you’re being perfectly honest with yourself, you don’t want to think about anything else. You don’t want to consider what it all means, yet. You want to just exist, here, with him. Watching the way he watches the movie, the way he gulps his beer down.

Hidden from the rest of the world.

Tucking your legs up underneath your body, you let your head loll on the cushion of the couch. You’d hide forever, if you could.

You stretch your arms above you, a sleepy, dopey grin splayed across your mouth — secure glowing fluorescent at the apex of your thighs. The movem ent draws his attention, as though he’d heard your pulse cry his name.

“Tired?” His voice thick, eyes tracing the soft shape of your arms as they reach skyward.

“Mhm. But I wanna finish the movie.”

A coy, sideways smile pulls at the corners of his mouth, and he leans forward to place his pizza plate on the coffee table.

“C’mere, sweetheart,” he drawls lowly, sloping back to slide his hand across your shoulders and wrap his fingers gently around your bicep to tug you closer. Turning, you meet him with wide eyes, glittering in the dark, your heart a trembling magic eight ball — are you sure this is okay?

And without words, he lets you know that it is. Lets you know that he wants you to.

Guided by his large open palm, you carefully curl into his side, dropping your head to his lap. You pull your legs up to your chest, both hands nestling narrowly under his thigh. His hand hovers over the soft curve of your hip, a barely-there touch that makes you ache.

You draw in a deliberate breath, holding it deep until he finally lets his hand drop to the exposed flesh between the band of your shorts and raised hem of your t-shirt.

A million sparks of light burst over your skin, fireworks exploding across the creamy silk of it. Your eyes flutter closed, hyper-aware of every tense of his fingers. The movie continues to play, but the whole world has fluctuated to both start and end in the exact place that he touches you.

As though there is no before this moment in time, only after.

Inevitable.

His hand slides up the length of your body, over the notches of your ribs, and higher still so that his fingers skim the delicate line of your neck. You can feel him relax further into the cushions of the couch, broad body molding to its shape, and you wonder if he’s concentrating on you as hard as you are on him.

In an answer to your unspoken question, he begins to tenderly stroke the spread of your hair, fanned down your shoulders and pooled in his lap.

“Y’know,” he mumbles, eyes still cast to the television, “we had breakfast and dinner together today.”

“We did,” you agree, a slight simper at your lips.

“‘N the world didn’t end, did it, Peach?” He angles his chin down to look at you at the same time you tilt your head to look up at him. He hasn’t stopped caressing the silky locks of your hair, and when you meet his eyes, he grasps a fistful of it gently. The pleasurepain of it makes your blood hot.

“No,” you whisper, “it didn’t.”

He leans closer by just a fraction, and you can’t help but be entranced by the shape of his mouth as his plush lips form the words that cross them.

“Want it to be like that everyday.”

He’s looking at you like there’s a peephole into your soul — a pinpoint view of the feral thing inside of you, on display for him. He’s looking at you like it excites him.

“Me too, Joel,” you breathe, the possibility a white static between you.

Not a single thing outside of the two of you exists in this moment. He prefers it that way, having you all to himself.

“Like you bein’ here, sweetheart.” There’s not a trace of hesitancy in his voice, but he says it like it’s a secret. “Like you workin’ at my kitchen table, and havin’ pizza and beer, and watchin’ old movies with you. Like wakin’ up knowin’ you’re here.”

He moves to trace the outline of your bottom lip with his thumb, and you’re suddenly looking up at him through half-lidded eyes, breathing stilted.

Closing the distance between you, he noses along the soft cut of your jaw, burying his face in your hair. He wants to drink down the way you gasp when he does; the sound burned into his brain, knowing it will come back to him when he’s stroking himself off later.

The elastic compulsion of his need so prominent, so inescapable, that the next words out of his mouth surprise even him.

“Go to sleep, Peach.” His mouth is on your ear, goosebumps rising in the wake of his breath over your skin. “‘M not goin’ anywhere.”

Taking one last deep breath of you in, he pulls back, resuming running his hand up and down the hills and valleys of your body.

The most that he’ll allow himself.

“I said some fucked up things to Kit today. She called while you were gone.”

The words fall out of your mouth, buried shame and anger spilling out with them. A confession.

Joel hums, hand still roaming, almost absentmindedly. It’s reassuring, a reminder of his words — you’re good.

“Siblings are…hard,” he suggests, emphasizing his point with a quick press of his fingers into your hip. “They get your best ‘n your worst, and don’t have a choice. It’s…safe to put the hard things on ‘em.”

“And bein’ the older one is…is…” he continues, pausing to clear his throat, voice tinged with something you can’t name, “a lot of responsibility. ‘N y’always wanna do right by them, y’know? Protect ‘em. But sometimes y’can’t. Hafta let ‘em figure it out on their own. Fuck up on their own.”

The silence that hangs in the air is charged with unsaid words. Unasked questions. Realities and consequences that neither of you are ready to explore the depths of. Guilt.

“Do you think I’m fucking up?”

“No, sweetheart. But I can’t say the same for other people.”

He squeezes your side again, letting his fingers linger just a touch longer than he had before. Dizziness snakes up your vertebrae, cloudy and disorienting. Desire. Want.

It’s a torrid kind of want, one that burrows under your skin and makes itself known. You think Joel can feel it, too, the way his touch roves over you — can feel it burn ing hot at the intersection of your skin and his.

But your brain pulls your body back, settles it to a low simmer. Reminds you to think instead of act.

And eventually, you fall asleep doing exactly that.

When you wake up later, sleep-drunk and unsure of the time, a too-bright infomercial in place of the movie, Joel is still there, just like he’d promised, head dropped to the flat of the couch, softly snoring. Chest steadily rising and falling, fingers curled into your flesh, firmly clasped just below your ribcage.

You don’t move an inch, afraid to wake him, and fall back asleep to the sound of his breathing.

A week passes. Then two weeks. And before you know it, summer winds into autumn, and the two of you slip into an easy routine — somewhat delicate, somewhat hesitant, but comfortable. And you feel silly, now, considering how naturally effortless it is. As though it could have always been this way.

And truly, that’s the hardest part to navigate. Drawing the line between what is, and what you want it to be.

Neither of you has brought up that night, at least to one another. But after you’ve gone to bed each night, you replay it in your mind, the feeling of his hands on you the image at the forefront of it; his name a whimper on your lips as your own fingers crawl beneath your panties.

Each night, wishing they were his.

It’s far too easy to overthink, second guess, dissect the way Joel’s fingers brush yours as you hand him his coffee, or the way his lips quirk up while he watches you struggle to assemble a bookshelf.

“Peach, please let me help. Promise it’ll be so much faster.”

Your indignant scowl, arms twisted over your chest in defiance. His soft laugh, deft hands picking up where yours had left off, piecing the cheap wood together without a hitch. Sitting back on his haunches, massive fingers tugging at your forearms to untangle them. The sticky warmth in his eyes when you let him.

“See? Coulda just asked me.”

Ensuring a soft landing, in every sense of the word.

The routine you’ve created is grounding, satisfying. Something to focus on aside from your intensely confusing feelings about Joel, something that pushes everything else to the back of your mind. Something to lose yourself in.

It’s not much — no caviar and lingerie and nightcaps, but it’s yours. An ardent, fulfilling thing that makes you feel steady on your feet. That makes the sharp, prodding fingers of your thoughts dissolve into a gleaming mist. Even the edges of the words in your head, the angry curvatures of your mother’s voice, bleed into nothing in the safety net of him.

The magic of it lies in its simplicity: taking turns cooking, laundry on Sundays, greetings with warm smiles even when you have to work late or spend entire evenings parked in front of your laptop. Some evenings he’ll go to the local dive with friends, some nights you’ll bury yourself in a book in your bed. The divine act of surviving.

The foundation of something, being constructed slowly from the ground up. Methodically. Each brick a meaningful gesture, word, moment.

You, being rebuilt from the ground up, at the skilled hands of Joel Miller.

A way back to yourself.

And it’s not like you don’t catch him watching you while you work, or let him drag your legs over his lap while your laptop perches precariously on your thighs on the couch. His hands are on you in some way or another more often than not, and you like it. You want it.

If only it were that easy.

If only it could be so uncomplicated — some semblance of normal.

But it’s not. And you know it never will be. So you take what you can get — reveling in the hours spent watching movies together, the errands run together, the shared jokes and spilled chinese takeout. Your own brand of normal.

And he tells you, often, how much he prefers this kind of normal — the one with you in it.

“You ‘n me, Peach, remember?”

The line a continuous, hazy blur — what is, and what you want it to be.

“Hi babe! It’s been ages since I’ve seen you, so we should go out tonight? Thoughts? No, wait — don’t think about it, we should just driiiink about it! Love you!”

Ava’s chocolate-box trill fills the cabin of your car. Rain drizzles lazily down the windows as you click to replay the voicemail, the familiarity of her elongated words and upward inflection making your heart ache. It’s not the first time she’s invited you out since what you’ve come to refer to as the incident, but it’s the first time you’ve felt genuine remorse at turning her down.

But you will do so without hesitating, the grocery bags in the trunk of your car being the only thing on your agenda for the dreary Friday evening.

Typing out a quick text to Ava (sorry babe! raincheck!), your thumb lingers over the thread just below hers. Clicking it open again, the words on the screen send a languid fire rolling through your veins.

You: I’m cooking tonight

Joel Miller: whatever you want, peach

Whatever you want.

The possibility licks hot at every inch of you.

The kitchen has become your favorite place in the house. The heart of it, the life of it. You’ve memorized every nook and cranny, each knot and split of the woodwork. The contents of all drawers and cabinets, the haphazard organization of it all.

You move around the room fluidly, exuding a sense of belonging that’s not lost on Joel. Body propped against the doorframe, he watches as you pour and stir and salt — as comfortable, as confident, as he’s ever seen you.

A bittersweet conception stirs in him, the edges of it coming into soft-focus. Before it can fully form on the screen of his mind, grow roots in the cavern of his heart, he clears his throat to get your attention.

“Peach.”

“Hmm?” You twist just enough to catch his gaze, clocking the expectant look in his eyes. Immediately laying the spoon in your hand on the counter, you face your entire body to his, matching the open expression.

“Close your eyes.”

You obey without question, squeezing them shut and unfolding your hands in front of you like a prayer. There’s the sound of his feet and a quick hiss as Joel opens and closes the refrigerator, placing something cold and dewy in your open palms. Your fingers automatically close around the curves of it.

A wine bottle.

Dragging your bottom lip with your teeth, the corners of your mouth quirk up. Your lashes flutter open, gaze sweeping over the intricate label — a golden goddess, surrounded by ribbons of different shades of pink and blue, dotted with tiny golden star details. The shiny, beveled type spells out Prophecy just below the image.

“This is my favorite.” There’s awe in your voice. Reverence. It shines in your irises as you look up at Joel, who is posted up against the counter, arms crossed over his broad chest.

“Was on sale.”

He breaks into a smirk, cheeks flushing as your sweet laugh fills the space between the two of you.

“Either way,” you respond, humor bleeding into the edges of your voice, eyes rolling fondly, “mind opening it up while I finish everything else?”

Raising his hand to retrieve the bottle, he’s quick to wrap his fingers around the arches of yours. He tugs once, firmly, pulling both you and the bottle close to his chest.

It rattles the air in your lungs, the tiniest oh fanning the base of his throat. He dips his head to meet your gaze, breath punching warm across the bridge of your nose and cheekbones. It’s dizzying, the closeness.

“How’d you know?”

You’re asking about the wine. There’s two inches of space separating you, and you’re asking about the wine.

He leans down further, the slope of his nose pulling across your cheek to graze the shell of your ear. His breathing is deep, measured, in control.

“You brought’t over for dinner once. Said the same thing — was your favorite. I just remembered, that’s all.” He says it casually, as if discussing the weather. As if knowing your favorite wine is the most natural thing in the world to him. “Wanted to get you somethin’ special.”

Whatever you want, Peach.

Your fingers draw swirls against the bottle, the heat from his leeching overtop of them. His grip tightens, words ringing in your ears. You can smell his shampoo, his cologne, him. The spicy warmth of it is mesmerizing — it infiltrates your senses, knocks you off balance.

The rest of the world feels a million miles away.

“Shit!” you hiss suddenly, wrenching your hands away and spinning to remove the saucepan from the flame. “I don’t want it to scorch.”

Joel hums amusedly, hands scrambling so the bottle doesn’t slip and shatter. You then hear him begin to drag open and slam closed multiple drawers, the clang and clatter of various utensils nearly drowning out the swearing under his breath.

“Where’s the damn—”

“Here.” Using your hand not balancing the saucepan, you stretch to retrieve the corkscrew buried in the drawer closest to you, watching through your lashes as he meets your extended grasp to take it.

His gaze lingers on you a split second, corners of his mouth downturned, brows drawn low. Analyzing. Memorizing. It doesn’t last long, him turning on his heel to retreat to the kitchen table.

Something about the way he does it pulls at you, a tangle that you can’t quite find the end of. It’s kindling to the fire smoldering low in your belly, the one you’re desperate to keep at bay — the one that roars back to life as Joel carefully pours your favorite wine into two plastic solo cups.

You can’t help but watch, the repetitive glug glug glug of the liquid into the cup matching the beat of the nearly-boiling blood in your veins. A sheepish smile overtakes his stoic facade, his eyes meeting yours across the room.

“Don’t have any wine glasses.” He nods to the plastic cups, a gentle laugh at the very edge of his words.

“Wouldn’t want one anyway,” you reply, mirroring the way his cheeks round out in a grin.

You’re just spooning the pasta and sauce onto plates when he materializes at your elbow, making a grab for both dishes.

“Uh! I don’t think so!” You click your tongue against your teeth teasingly, blocking his body with yours. “You go sit. I’ll bring them over.”

“You cooked,” he protests, smooth palm grazing your ribs in another attempt to bypass you.

“So you can clean, if you’re worried about it.” Flashing another brilliant sideways grin at him, you pick up a plate in each hand and nudge him backwards with your hip.

“Yes ma’am.” It’s a capitulation, a willingness to step back and let you lead him.

The notion strikes hot against you, nestles in the aching space between your thighs. It scales your stomach, gains speed in the span of your arms, makes your fingers tremble as you set the plates on the table.

“Cheers,” you mumble, scrabbling to pick up the flimsy cup, tipping it just so in his direction before taking a sizable gulp.

As he parallels your action in bringing the wine to his mouth, you wonder if there will ever be a time when he doesn’t trigger the roiling heat in your veins.

Then again, you think, maybe you want him to stoke that in you — always.

Fingers delicate around the body of your just-refilled red solo, you make your way from the kitchen to the couch, where Joel is slouched back, legs parted. It’s impossible not to drag your eyes across the muscled heft of his thighs, to not linger on the way his jeans stretch to accommodate him. His heavy hands rest on the bulk of them, fingers spread languidly.

While you watch him, he’s watching you. You can tell by the way his digits flex and relax, callused pads pulling patterned lines over denim. Keeping his composure, despite the way the wine ignites him. Despite the way you ignite him.

The lights in the room are low, the comforting drum of fat raindrops on the glass panes of the window constant. Your limbs feel loose, a combination of Joel and the wine. There’s a record on low in the background, but you don’t know who. You’d settled on the cushions while he’d taken the shiny disc out of the dust jacket gently, dropped the needle softly, with the most care you’d ever seen, and let the smooth rhythm of it fill the room.

“You gonna cook like that more often?” It’s casual, airy. As if the walls of the room aren’t closing in on the two of you, pushing you nearer and nearer to him.

Inescapable.

You giggle — you fucking giggle — stepping over him to curl back into your place on the couch.

“If you’ll let me.”

He scoffs, turning his body to face you. “Let you?”

You smile dreamily, looking up at him through your lashes. He’s close enough that you can climb over him, bracket his thighs with yours, take his hands and drag them up the length of your body.

There’s no voice in the back of your head telling you not to, for once. No whispers admonishing you, reminding you that you’re wicked and worthless and unlovable.

So when he repeats himself, asking “let you?” in a thick voice, you do.

Your body moves before your brain has time to react — you throw one leg over his lap, hands grasping for purchase on the back of the couch for balance, situating your thighs on the outside of his. It’s a snug fit, one that opens your hips wide, the stinging stretch of it pushing you forward. You relax your core over his, the zipper of his jeans biting into the ice-cream flesh of your inner thigh.

And when your brain finally does catch up, all you can feel are his big palms cupped around the backs of your thighs, kneading the exposed flesh there. His fingertips barely graze beneath the hems of your sleep shorts, and you’re all too-aware of how close they are to your center.

There’s a satisfied hum on his lips, a knowing growl in his throat. A silent admission of how long he’s waited for you. A confession of a different kind of hunger, a kind with legs and buoyancy.

His eyes burn into yours — no traces of hesitancy, surprise, guilt woven into the golden gleam of them.

Twin masks slipping at the same time. Resolve stretched to snapping, satisfaction within tasting distance as you grind down into him — just once, desperation sliding down your spine.

“You can have whatever you want, Peach.” His voice is low, a wanton whisper that punches somewhere near your throat.

Those words again.

Whatever you want.

You’re looking down at him, his irises shining with earnestness, and you can’t help but raise your hand from the couch to card through his thick waves. But he catches your wrist before you can, bringing it down to the heat of his mouth to press his lips to your open palm without breaking his searing gaze.

You moan. At least, you think you do, though it’s a quiet, broken thing. A whine. A plea.

His thumb swipes back and forth over your wrist, your hand small in his grip. You watch through hooded eyes as he lowers it to the crotch of his jeans, your breath catching in the cavern of your chest as you feel him for the first time.

It’s somewhat surreal — the thickness of his hard cock in your palm, separated only by the material of his pants. Every fantasy you’ve harbored about him unwrapped at the tips of your fingers, his hand pressing yours into him, unforgiving and firm.

His other hand swallows the curve of your thigh, chases up your side to grasp at your hip, dragging your cunt over him. He drops his head back, repeating the action, the ropes of muscle in his neck pulled taut as he bites back a groan.

Your head is swimming — Joel’s heady scent and bruising touch combined with the wine makes everything feel soft-focus and shimmery, like a dream. You cant your hips again, focusing on the way his jaw ticks when you do, lost in watching the way his body responds to yours.

The reality of it sits heavy between the place his skin meets yours — breaths mingling as a cry of finally, finally, finally. It consumes you both in such a way that neither of you hear a key turning in the lock, the door slamming open, or heavy boots in the entryway.

It’s not until he speaks that both you and Joel snap your heads in his direction, chests heaving, hands climbing. Caught.

“Guess it’s true, huh? Y’really are enjoyin’ my sloppy seconds.”

#joel miller #joel miller fanfic #joel miller x reader #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x you #the last of us fic #joel miller tlou #tlou fanfiction

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thegreenthepeacetheorange · 5 months

Text

Everlark (Mockingjay, Ch. 25-27)

peeta also being in the burn unit bc he was in the city circle

what i personally believe is that he's the one who tried to put out the fire that overwhelmed katniss, hence his own burnt hands and forehead

her using peeta's coping mechanism of pain to stay grounded in reality

when katniss talks about all the people she trusts being said, she highlights that there is peeta but he wouldn't know any more than her about 13's plans.

"we are both fire mutts now" - still a (broken) team

"those same blues" mentioned again

haymitch understanding katniss. the dad that stepped up. i love that he says "i'm with the mockingjay" instead of "yes"

katniss being our fave feral girl by literally biting into peeta's hand as he stops her from taking her nightlock

the fact that when she says "let me go", our baker boy with the beautiful words and the charm can only say "i can't"

just another instance where these can't let each other go. has anyone made a counter for these instances?

peeta is well and truly back. to do that. to know he can't let her go. that even when she bites him so hard he bleeds, he just looks into her eyes and lets her know he can't let her die

the fact that after the way katniss was used in the games and then in the rebellion, afterwards when she's damaged and broken and bruised and they have no more use for her, she's just sent off to 12

"there's no obstacle now to taking my life. but i seem to be waiting for something" - the same way peeta kept his hand open with the nightlock pill waiting for katniss to curl over his hand for him, katniss waits for peeta's permission to die

i love that she doesn't even mention peeta by name when she sees he's returned. we just know instinctively that he's the "him" that's back.

peeta says dr aurelius wouldn't let him leave the capitol til the day before which makes me think peeta had really been trying to be discharged to get back to katniss.

"his eyes have lost that clouded, tortured look"

katniss who understandably has fallen into physical disrepair over the last two chapters now feels "defensive" as peeta looks at her, frowning, and tries to push her hair out of her eyes somewhat. her relationship is SO different to the one she has with everyone else. and that's because it's really the only one where she's concerned with romance and her looks etc

peeta digging up and bringing her primrose. the boy with the bread is still here bringing gifts that can't have a price put on them. he is the sweetest most beautiful fictional boy

katniss is relieved that gale is in 2, far away. that era of her life is over, that friendship is over.

although she's still confusing right to end. why are you thinking about gale's lips kissing other lips. i think it's just like her finding closure but still.

katniss falling asleep on the sofa but waking up in her bed. we can guess who got her there

it's only after peeta comes back that katniss starts to hunt, find closure, grieve with others.

peeta bringing her a warm loaf of bread again.

them taking the family plant book and creating a new book to honour and remember the dead. her, peeta and haymitch creating their own makeshift family book. so tragic so beautiful

"peeta and i grow back together" - like it was inevitable.

But his arms are there to comfort me. And eventually his lips. On the night I feel that thing again, the hunger that overtook me on the beach, I know this would have happened anyway. That what I need to survive is not Gale's fire, kindled with rage and hatred. I have plenty of fire myself. What I need is the dandelion in the spring. The bright yellow that means rebirth instead of destruction. The promise that life can go on, no matter how bad our losses. That it can be good again. And only Peeta can give me that. So after, when he whispers, “You love me. Real or not real?” I tell him, “Real.”

i love how simple and matter of fact this whole passage is. she doesn't need to go into flowery descriptions or explanations. she's already done that for three books.

i just love this whole passage so much. so much hope. so much love. after all that's happened, katniss learns to live again, to hope again, to love again, to see goodness again. and peeta is a key to her achieving that. and it's so beautiful

as an adult, i now know that this scene is alluding to their first time having sex. the mentions of his arms that build to his lips that build to her hunger from the beach that night. "so after" is after that night, that moment in their relationship where things become elevated in a new way.

him whispering that is not him asking her to declare it or say it. he's asking her to confirm what he feels, has felt. that she loves him. and she knows now her answer forever. real.

#everlark #the hunger games #mockingjay #peeta x katniss #katniss x peeta #katniss and peeta #katniss everdeen #peeta mellark #tgtpto everlark read #haymitch abernathy

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ignis-cain · 1 year

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The problem with modern philosophy is that we’ve come up with too many damn thought experiments. We need to streamline things a bit. That’s why I’ve constructed the following syllabus for any philosophy 101 professors:

The Trolley Room: every time the city trolley gets damaged running over one-to-several people tied to its tracks (which is often,) the city takes off and replaces the damaged part. Eventually, the city trolley is made up entirely of new parts. At the same time, a band of occultists have collected the discarded original parts to re-construct the trolley to harvest the energies of its countless slain. Which trolley would you rather your taxes go towards supporting?

Omelas’ Basilisk: If you fail to do everything in your power to help bring about the creation of a benevolent god-machine AI, then once inevitably created the AI will duplicate your brain patterns and put them into the mistreated child whose suffering allows the utopian lives of the many. Would that be fucked up or what?

The repugnant paradox: does the set of all societies whose populace have lives just barely worth living itself constitute a multiversally-constructed society? If so, does it contain itself? If not, why are you so lacking in whimsy?

The Gettier Room: Actually, do enough people on this site know about John Searle’s Chinese Room thought experiment for a joke to land? Honestly I hope not. Searle is a bastard and his argument is shit.

#leo says

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bonefall · 3 months

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How do the clans react when the truth comes out that Harespribg and Breezepelt were part of Firestar's assassination Squad?

I'm still figuring out when to exactly deploy the info, but the Impostor is going to use it to break Harestar's fucking kneecaps

Harestar became deputy in Nightcloud's Pannage, replacing Crowfeather's Trial. A major component of this choice was that it was thought he was... well, a good boy.

The he never involved his apprentice in the training, he was always reliable, never did anything too terrible, backed out the minute it came to violence in the Battle of the True Eclipse...

He was trusted. Thought he was reliable. Looked into the darkness and hated what he saw.

This paired with his plan with Heathertail to rescue cats from The Kin, and how generally agreeable he is as a leader, preferring diplomacy... it makes him popular. He was thought to have good judgement.

And it is that "track record" that allowed him to very boldly bring his mate, Breezepelt, back into WindClan after how many times Breezepelt had forsaken it.

So, naturally, he's going to end up opposing the Impostor.

Probably not at first, going along with what they think StarClan is telling them to do and listening to his brother, Kestrelflight...

But it's inevitable. Harestar will not go along with this madness forever. He's shocked by Bristlefrost's execution, and is sickened by the idea of being so hard on Codebreakers.

Especially when Breezepelt, eventually, is one of the more furious and outspoken cats. The polycule is expecting their first litter right around now, and Breezepelt cannot handle the idea of his children growing up in this world.

If Hare and Heather won't stand up for what's right-- he will.

SO basically; The impostor is going to use this bit of information to destroy Harestar. The MINUTE he opposes him, it's going to very conveniently "drop." It's a helpful bit of information he can use to try and set Heathertail against her mates, damage Harestar's credibility, and re-ignite Clanwide condemnation of Breezepelt.

I still haven't figured out EXACTLY when that is, but it's definitely after Bristlefrost's gruesome death. I might also have it drop before any battle that ThunderClan has with WindClan, specifically to make Lionblaze (or any other Firekin) furious enough to kill Harestar on purpose.

To answer your directly; The Clans are furious. Everyone is angry. Harestar is leader and he did it while holding the truth away from them the whole time.

#BB!TBC is just the THERE WILL BE CONSEQUENCES arc lmaooo #Better Bones AU #BB!Harestar #BB!Breezepelt #HareHeatherBreeze

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cinnamonest · 3 months

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What are your thoughts on twst Ace??? I didn't think much of him first until his personality in the beginning scenes did a 180 turn and he turned out to be a sadistic asshole. The plot just doesn't write itself better than that

Yessss he's such a little bully, I just KNOW he would be a case of "he's mean to you because he likes you!" case, the perfect classic bully x victim trope.

Like, he doesn't know what else to do, how to interact with you, so he follows you around and constantly makes your life hell, picking on you, messing with you. Stealing your stuff, grabbing your phone out of your hand to read what's on your screen and try to find some way to embarrass you, shoving you around in the halls. It gets your attention on him, and he likes that. Your irritated glares and angry reactions, the pathetic way you jump around trying to grab your things back as he holds them over his head, it's so cute.

But of course there's that inevitably day that eventually comes, where he goes too far with something — and then, he's still smirking and ridiculing you as usual, except this time when he looks down at your face you're not angry or disgusted. Those are tears. Oh no.

And now he's awkwardly stiffening and backtracking and freaking out as he tries to undo the damage, but then you turn off and run... and now he feels terrible, spends the rest of the day getting mad, kicking stuff, snapping at other people because he's mad at himself.

And then you start to avoid him fully, cower and run when he comes near. And he can't have that. He stays so mad at himself, but eventually that anger gets redirected to you.

It was just a joke. You're overreacting. And now you don't respond to him. You clench your fists and ignore him. What gives you the right? You're supposed to be his personal little attention-dispenser! That he can just mess with and get a dose of attention any time he wants! And now you're depriving him of that? Giving it to other people, even? It makes him so mad.

In the end you leave him with no choice.

He gets you when you're alone, when you go back to a now-empty area of campus to retrieve something you left (or thought you left, may have very well been deliberately taken and placed there) — and that's when you find him waiting there for you, backing you into a corner, grabbing you before you can run.

You have to have your attention fully focused on him when he's fucking you against the wall, holding his hand over your mouth. Grumbling and muttering about how you have a lot of nerve, antagonizing him like that, how you were asking for it. That's right — you probably wanted to make him mad, not knowing how poor of a decision it was. You're so dumb, like always. Don't think you can get away with that.

And you know, now that he's got so much bitterness pent up against you, he kinda likes it when you cry like that. It's cute. Maybe you'll think twice about depriving him in the future.

#.twst #hes so 💢💕💥💋👊

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spiderrmax · 19 days

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raccoon & friends x sidekick reader

synopsis: headcanons about how i imagine the raccoon & friends would react to having a sidekick! author's note: freedom pals will eventually get their own post :) also, like all my other works this isn't proof read if you see any mistakes no you didn't.

The Raccoon

The way you become his sidekick is probably out of your hands. Since he sees himself as the leader and you as the new kid (which, to be fair, you are), he feels like he has to take you under his wing.

He acts as if it’s a chore, but it is mostly a front. He’s excited to train you, and he genuinely cares about your powers.

Following the events of the game, The Raccoon shows an obvious soft spot for the new kid, and this amplifies when he is “forced” to protect you

The Raccoon doesn’t go on a lot of solo missions that require fighting, he is mostly looking for intel. You are mostly left on guard duty while he steals whatever he was looking for.

He doesn’t like telling you things, but he always caves and tells you anyway. He feels like you listen to him more than the other members, and it’s very obvious he likes you the most. (Similar to how the New Kid gets new classes in the game.)

When, however, the two of you are in battle, he is extremely overprotective. It’s not like you can’t hold your own, he just hates watching you take a punch, which is inevitable.

You know how in the games characters can be enraged by certain attacks? The Raccoon will hyper focus on the enemy who leaves you bleeding. He doesn’t stop until the enemy is down, so when making battle plans you have to count for his rage.

After battle he will complain about you getting hurt, (“Jeez, if you’re going to stay my sidekick, you need to get better in battle.”) but he won’t let you leave his base without him bandaging you or at least giving you some sort of healing item

Gets jealous if you have to go on a mission without him. Always puts up a fight, that you shouldn’t be without him. Will threaten the superhero you are pairing with for the mission, making them promise to keep a good watch on you. Then will make sure your next mission is with him

Human Kite

Unlike The Raccoon, Human Kite doesn’t even propose the idea of having a sidekick. It’s you who proposes the idea, admitting you think you two make a pretty good team as he is a range fighter where you tend to fight close up.

He’s so flustered that he says yes and then flies off. (He’s so used to people mocking his power/superhero identity that you admitting to admiring him was surprising.)

When Cartman finds out that you asked specifically for Human Kite he tries to persuade you to join him instead; you decline, and Human Kite can’t help but smile at your dedication to being with him.

He takes the role of mentor so seriously. When on missions, you are always in Human Kite’s field of sight. He is always prepared to fly off if the fight is too large for the both of you, but you are too stubborn and will fight anyone who plans to attack.

Constantly is having to heal you on the field. He knows that you aren’t going to die from a few hits, but the guilt of your injuries is heavier now that you are under his protection.

Although, he does agree you two make a good team. You do most of the damage due to the close combat, which allows for Kyle to keep you standing with his healing powers.

He isn’t as dramatic about attacking the enemies that hit you as Cartman is, but will shoot his laser eyes at them at the next opportunity.

Human Kite is also great for morale. He constantly is motivating you on the battlefield, supporting you as you attack, with small words of encouragement.

Doesn’t mind if you have to go on missions without him, with your guys’ different skill set and all, but worries so much. Will meet you outside the base to check for any major injuries when you return, scolding you for being so reckless as he wasn’t there to take care of you.

The Flash

The Flash, similar to Human Kite, has never really desired a sidekick. He always works alone, due to others tending to slow him down. He only really asks for help when it’s dire.

Presuming you are a speedster class hero, he is down to have you on his team! His missions are gaining intel, similar to Cartman’s, and he appreciates sending you on smaller quests that he knows you can tackle due to your similar powers.

Not to say, he wouldn’t accept you if you had selected another class, but there are some downfalls for his main missions. The two of you are a killer duo on the field though, balancing each other's strength and weaknesses

The Flash always double checks areas before you go in because he knows he can go undetected

After you guys have been working together, anytime he goes on a solo mission he is very aware of how lonely it is. Will go and crack a joke, and only then remembers you aren't there. He gets solo missions done faster, but that doesn't mean he enjoys them

Will race you around for fun! Loves showing off his speed (especially if you aren't a speedster).

When you're injured and he's forced to carry you back, he speeds up; adrenaline rushing. He hates seeing you injured, and he most likely doesn't carry healing items due to them slowing him down.

The biggest perk of being his side kick is you are not bound by the limits of the Fastpass. He will take you anywhere (if he isn't busy). The Raccoon complained about this once, but The Flash did not care enough to stop the special treatment.

Super Craig

Considering he is a brutalist, he'd benefit most from a sidekick who isn't in that class.

However! He did not want a sidekick at first. Unlike Human Kite and The Flash, he saw it as a waste of time. He despised working with people, and would flip the Raccoon off when he tried partnering him up. (Of course, he works with the other heroes. It is also begrudgingly)

So, the first time you ask, he says no. He’s blunt, and doesn’t try to humor you. He has no reason to think you following him around would benefit him in the slightest.

It’s not until he’s in true battle with you – not a small squabble with criminals easily defeated – does he realize how beneficial it is to have you. Where he is often unprepared, you carry items that change the course of the battle, and you willingly share them with him too! You shoot from afar while he’s close-up, and it’s the first time he was thankful someone was there in battle with him.

He has to suck up his pride to reapproach you with the offer, but luckily for him, you don’t torment him with how his backtracking on what he previous said.

He is very silent when you are working together. If you come up with a plan he will follow it, and may even help modify it so it works more efficiently, but he is very quiet on missions. This helps them run smoother; however, after, he is willing to entertain any questions or small talk you have. It may be short responses, but he does enjoy how you fill the once empty night.

Super Craig carried healing items before, due to his close combat nature. However, with working with you, he carries even more. Or, he’ll give you some before you leave on missions so he isn’t weighed down by them. Either way, your health comes before his, and he would not hesitate to give you aid even if he also requires bandaging.

The Raccoon hates how he has a sidekick. Believes that Craig is the lamest superhero due to his lack of care in concealing his identity. Craig just flips him off anytime he complains, saying that it’s not his fault you didn’t want to work with him.

Mosquito

Mosquito, like the Raccoon, approaches you about it first!

The two of you have been in battle before – especially due to his kryptonite. Despite being charmed and fighting poorly, he can recognize your strength. You have nothing to lose when you are approached with this offer, so luckily for his pride, you say yes.

Despite how he is meant to be making most of the decisions, as comes with the Superhero title, he is always looking for your guidance.

He never makes a choice unless he has thought it out with you. A plan will not be enacted unless he has run it by you and you have done all of the changes you think are necessary.

He also gets extremely nervous when you become injured. He isn’t the strongest hero, and often feels like your sidekick, so seeing you bleeding or limping creates a lot of panic for him.

Mosquito is prone to emotional outbursts – if a mission becomes too stressful, he’s hurt, you’re hurt, it’s late, anything can set him off, really. He needs you to be level-headed, and he would work best with someone who isn’t quick to react emotionally. New Kid in game is often practical, and a similar personality would mesh well for Mosquito.

The Raccoon often sends Mosquito on simpler missions (due to knowing how Mosquito cracks under pressure) but will send you on more complex missions. Mosquito cries so much when you are gone, nervous about what you are doing, if you’re okay. When you return home – after being gone no longer than a day, at the most – he is blubbering in your shoulder that he missed you. He’s very dramatic.

Captain Diabetes

Following along with the game, you are paired up with Captain Diabetes after he is assigned a complex mission.

This isn’t to say he is disappointed! Captain Diabetes is so excited to have you on his team, and takes pride in guiding you along the way.

He is so protective – even if you are technically stronger than he is. He won’t let you into a room without him entering it first and scouting the area out.

Is also really prepared, in comparison to the heroes who had to shift their behavior to count for you. He has snacks and drinks due to his diabetes, and has no problem sharing his extras with you if a mission drags on longer.

Tends to take control on missions, but is willing to listen if the situation isn’t dire. He respects you as his side kick, but he is mostly used to doing things alone. Your input is respected, he just often forgets to ask for it.

Similar to Craig, he would work best, for balance, with a blaster or speedster (or anyone with range.) He takes a lot of the hits, so strong damage from afar helps shift the course of battles.

Panics the first time you are injured and ends up forgetting to hand you a potion until you reach up to grab it from him. He gets really flustered after that, not used to being so frazzled in a mission.

Captain Diabetes is one of the better superheroes to sidekick with! He is a good balance of strong and capable but also respectful.

When your mission is done, and you aren’t technically assigned to him anymore, he approaches you and asks if you two can still work together anyways. He stutters a bit, and blushes when you nod your head ecstatically.

Bonus! Call Girl

Call Girl isn’t seen as a superhero by most, so you have even less respect as her “sidekick”

Realistically, Call Girl doesn’t let you or others call you by that. She finds it a bit demeaning, and doesn’t keep you as her equal. You two are partners in her eyes.

The two of you don’t often do missions together either. Call Girl prefers to stay behind the scenes to pull the strings. It’s you who is often fighting when it is necessary.

However, you aren’t alone on the streets. Call Girl has you carry a phone she can track at all times, and she occasionally (when not extremely busy) will check the traffic cameras near your location.

Since she can’t always be there with you, she constantly is reminding you to take food, medicine, and water since she can’t carry extras.

Will scold you if you return to her injured, but will never not be the one to bandage your wounds. She is delicate as she covers them, and although her words might come off as mean, her eyes tell a whole different story.

When she begins gaining credibility, and is in fights with you more often, she is always there to protect you. Similar to Cartman, she gets angry with those who attack you, but it doesn’t cloud her judgement (she just hits harder, or leaks more embarrassing information.)

She has the best strategies! Always makes them with your strengths and weaknesses in mind. Occasionally, she forgets to ask for your input, mostly due to being excited or deeply invested in what she is planning. She won’t be upset if you interject with what you think, especially if it is something she may not have thought of.

If she sees you in danger on the cameras, or she is with you and a small battle becomes much larger, she will always jump in. Although she always tries to have a plan, she cannot account for anything and will be there whenever you call her.

#south park x reader #the fractured but whole x reader #eric cartman x reader #the raccoon x reader #kyle broflovski x reader #human kite x reader #jimmy valmer x reader #craig tucker x reader #super craig x reader #clyde donovan x reader #mosquito x reader #scott malkinson x reader #captain diabetes x reader #wendy testaburger x reader #call girl x reader #that is so many tags

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caramel-maveeato · 5 months

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ᴡʜᴇɴ ʜᴇʟʟ ꜰʀᴇᴇᴢᴇꜱ ᴏᴠᴇʀ ♡˚₊。。。

❧❤ SYNOPSIS: sacrifice is inevitable if victory was yearned for… ♡ Pairings/Love interest: So Mun x Fem!reader ♡ Genre: sight fluff, angst, hurt/slight to no comfort ♡ TW: blood, crying, wounds, gore, cursing, death, self-harm, spoilers for ss2 ep12. ♡ word count: 2.1k

Note: All characters originated from “The Uncanny Counter/Amazing Rumor” except for Y/n.

English is not my first language!!! Sorry in advance if I make any grammar and vocabulary mistakes.

A gentle glimpse of sunset snuck through the window, bathing in his entrancing eyes like a pond of honey: “‘Til death do us part. I mean it.”

“Damnnn, you’re so cheesy today!” You snorted, nudging your shoulder against your boyfriend's, who was quick to retaliate with a playful flick on your forehead.

“Oh shush. But I’m serious. I won’t die, and you won’t die, and everyone on our team won’t die. That’s it, I’ll make sure we all survive no matter what.”

Despite his lighthearted tone, you could tell So Mun was beyond sincere about keeping his promise, and so were you. No matter how deadly it is waiting on the future path, everyone will make it out alive.

“Um-hm, am I that dear to you?”

He scoffed, but there was no sign of mockery or ridicule, only playfulness emerged: “Yes, you are. First time knowing?”

“Please, I’m almost sick of how many times you said you unequivocally adored me, like everyday morning alarms, y’know?” You giggled, wiggling your index finger out in front of his face and quickly withdrawing it when he faked biting you: “But I still want to hear you verify it one more time, is that too much of a request?”

“After you had the audacity to say you’re getting sick of it, I’m sorry to announce your request has been declined.”

“Noooo.”

“Yeeees.”

“I take back what I said, I could never get sick of how many times you express your cheesy little lovey-dovey words for me. Like everyday morning alarms, but that means I can’t wake up and function normally without them.”

“Switched up smoother than I expected.” His effort at holding back a laugh evaporated: “That’s it? You just gotta be all sweet again after the “damage” you’ve caused? Your attitude is getting out of hand.”

You snickered, swiftly stealing a peck on his cheek to demonstrate an “apology” you knew he’d happily accept: “Verify it one more time and I’ll shut my attitude up.”

“I’ll do what you asked, but don’t shut it up.” A honeyed kiss pressed down on the top of your head. His arms closed around your waist a little tighter, enfolding the intimacy of your afternoon cuddle session to its fullest: “When hell freezes over, that’s when I’ll let go of you, satisfied now?”

You grinned, not acknowledging a dusting of pink already saturated across your cheeks. No matter what your level of lactose tolerance was, his “cheese” was always perfect for you in terms of ingestion: “Satisfied.”

The group portrait tranquilly sat on your desk, smiling at you two through its frame with the same encouragement. You and So Mun were the only ones in the room, yet the sense of security it conveyed still made you feel complete.

“Everyone in this picture will make it until the end.”

“I already did my part, what about you? Still determined to be stubborn and not say it back?”

Confronted by a tilt of his head, which was one of his ridiculously adorable tactics to persuade you. You eventually let out a frisky sigh and laid your head on his shoulder, eyes closed under the serenity of being with your beloved other half:

“Alright, ‘til death do us part. I mean it too.”

‘Til death do us…

‘Til death…

‘Til…

Too many things happened in just a short span of time, but all enervation departed as the unrelenting battles now came to an end. Knowing he had brought such miracles summoning Hwang Pilgwang, the overwhelming pressure intruding on his heart finally rested.

For the first time in months, So Mun could finally escape the hushed corridors of his own mind.

Finally.

As much as his teammates adored him, they weren’t dramatic people. Yes, it was a near-death experience for all, but the entire team knew they had succeeded, so there was absolutely no reason for them to give him such pained looks. His random thought contorted into an affirmation that they weren’t crying because he remained passed out longer than supposed.

The revolting metallic smell in the room sickened him to the core, yet it stood no chance against how atrociously nauseous So Mun felt being greeted by teary faces as the first thing after he woke up.

For years he was never this afraid of his own voice, afraid of asking a question that might assemble answers he didn’t want to hear: “What’s wrong…?”

Only suppressed sniffles responded to him.

The ambiguity only added more confusion to his already fuzzy sight. As much as he tried to deny it, something within him had already enclasped the possible truth he’d choose death over knowing.

Why was everyone crying? And why were you lying there on Hana’s lap, eyes closed, unmoved?

“Noona, she, Y/n…” Fright clogged up inside his throat, making words stumble. The more he tried to stay calm, the more his composure shattered like a sand castle under ruthless waves: “What’s… what’s wrong with Y/n, why is she…?”

He could feel Jeokbong’s hand supporting his back as he lunged over to your side. The sudden outbreak of panic was dizzying, yet he paid no attention to it.

Reddened eyes of his teammates all ran away from him, obscuring themselves from a cry threatening to burst. So Mun inhaled shallowly, his own lungs betraying him with how torturously aching it was with each breath taken upon seeing your body now completely motionless.

The welcoming warmth of your fingers was replaced with a vague, yet disturbing coldness, benumbing his skin when he grabbed your hand. The shock he felt appeared no different from receiving a thousand strikes at once, inside his ear rang a quiet shriek of nothingness: “Ms. Chu, please tell me…”

At her name being mentioned, all the anguish she bit back for long unleashed in a choked snivel—a realization to So Mun that this wasn’t just some cruel, twisted nightmare he thought he was having.

Time seemed suspended, sealed within the shadow of horror.

This is not a dream.

“No, there must be…” He stammered, squeezing your hand as an expectation that you’d return the gesture like you’ve always done: “Ms. Chu, there must be a way to save her. You can heal her, right? Y/n is strong, with your help, she’ll wake up in no time.”

His voice died down when the woman closed her eyes, letting hopeless tears pour down her bruised face. He looked at Motak, then Jangmul, then Hana, then Jeokbong, one by one, desperately searching for a gleam of the dullest light he could at least clutch onto.

Nothing worked. What happened had already happened.

He took a closer look at your face, only to be pierced by a blade of emptiness. He had always loved to admire your sleeping face—so relaxing, so gentle, so peaceful. But not like this. No matter how loudly he called your name or how hard he shook your shoulders, you still lay there like a soulless doll, so close to him yet horrendously out of reach: “Y/n, wake up…. We won, we finally won…”

Calloused fingers stroked along your cheeks, looking for the slightest hint of miraculous movement. He was known to be good at performing miracles, but at the moment, even his miracles were impotent to save you.

So Mun had never felt so fucking useless.

“No, she will be okay…” The facade of incredulity crumbled and he found himself seizing you into his arms, clinging onto the thin thread of fictional faith despite already noticing your body lacked the familiar warmth he fell in love with: “Y/n will be okay. She—she promised me she’ll be fine, she’s just taking a nap.”

Hands patting on his back like a call to the truth and cries eventually broke out, yet So Mun was too senseless to care about any of them. His mind was too busy hunting for your heartbeat, but all he received was the echo of silence.

He pressed his hand on the side of your neck, eyes sore and fingers trembling lamentably at the absence of life. But the growling heartbeat of his own gave him hope—he could feel its rhythm through his digits. That could be your pulse, right, that must be your pulse, he can feel it.

“She will be okay, we’re okay. I promised all of us would—”

The mutters of your name sank in the weight of disbelief, of false reassurance. His own tears wracked his body, dropping and dampening a piece of your soiled tracksuit like rain that slowly blasted into thunderstorms.

He stared blankly into the lifelessness you were holding, dirt stains and blood-dried cuts of yours dyed his fingers with monstrous pain. Suddenly, his own existence felt alien, as if he were an outsider peeking into a world he didn’t belong in.

So much for “everyone will make it until the end,” now what?

He is a liar.

He is a fucking liar.

For one of the rarest times in his life, he regretted trying. So Mun knew exactly what it felt like to regret. Each time, there was an explosive outrage at the injustice that had befallen him. But this one was the most destructive.

Maybe Ma Juseok was right—what was the point in risking his life to save others? He tried so hard and worked so hard just for fate to repay all of these fucking efforts by destroying everything he had.

A lie. Maybe it really was a lie.

Maybe this goddamn self of his was a lie.

His distorted reflection spun and spun and spun like an annoying bug that kept buzzing despite numerous attempts to kill it. He had no idea where he was or how much time had passed, but it felt like an eternity knowing you hadn’t reached Yung. Just where are you? You didn’t vanish from the final battle’s impact, did you?

So Mun needed to see you again, or he’d go fucking crazy.

The palpable heaviness in the air suffocated him. So Mun never hated his own reflection before, not until right now.

Colors deformed into the entrance of an abyss he wished to just jump into—black of darkness, white of Yung, muted grey of guilt.

And red, too.

“So Mun! That’s enough!!”

Frightened yellings and sounds of falling glasses slashed on his ears. Yet So Mun couldn’t quite hear or feel anything, not even the hideous pain he just put himself through.

Footsteps congested the bathroom he was in, tears that once dried up erupted again. Hana grasped his wrist tightly, almost fearfully, and god, the warmth exuded nearly drove him mad with how much he missed yours.

“Stop hurting yourself, you know it doesn’t change anything! She’s gone!” The crack in Hana’s voice flooded his eyes. They couldn’t even pronounce your name around him, afraid of how much it might trigger him.

Jeokbong’s cries in the distance and Ms. Chu’s pleas were helpless to distract the profound grief, more like a bargain for fate to rewrite itself: “Let it out, but please, you know it also hurts me to see you like this!”

The woman emanated a green radiance to envelope his hand, trying to console the blood-soaked skin he created himself from a brutal contact made against the mirror, tiny fragments of sharpness punctured on each of his knuckles. Shards warped together with flesh in a grotesque mess, crimson swathed the once-tidied floor and the paleness of his skin. It hurt his eyes. It hurt everyone's eyes.

You used to say he looked good in red. Red tracksuits, red hoodies, red blazers. But you hated it when he was covered in the redness of blood. Does this mean he just failed you again?

“I’m sorry…”

Was he saying this to his teammates or to you? He had no fucking clue. But the only thing he could recognize was how much effort it took to breathe, he didn’t feel like himself inside his own skin anymore when everything around him seemed fulminated.

Strong arms whooshed him into an embrace, cramming So Mun’s hot tears and muffled sobs into a reliable shoulder. No words were spoken, but Motak’s bellowing heartbeat was already a silent bawl.

Losing a loved one was like having life’s chapters torn out, leaving an unfinished tale with ragged ends that never fully fit in tandem. It can recover, and he can heal. Just not at the moment.

Shattered pieces of blood-drenched mirror reflected a history that repeated itself. Again, again, and again.

Winter was just gone by, hell didn’t freeze over. But the reality So Mun cherished still collapsed on that day.

[Tag List]✿⌦ @slytherinshua (feel free to notify me if you want to be on the tag list)

Thanksgiving is near so here’s angst I guess 🫶🏻 FLUFF AFTER THIS I PROMISE

#the uncanny counter x reader #the uncanny counter #unncanny counter #so mun x reader #so mun #do hana #chu mae ok #ga mo tak #na jeok bong #choi jang mul #kdrama x reader #kdrama #pookie please come home 🏠

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