#like i Know that things are happening and i Know what i've been up to i just feel like i wasn't fully There as it happens yk??

[nostalgebraist]

It's been a long time since I've posted much of anything about "AI risk" or "AI doom" or that sort of thing. I follow these debates but, for multiple reasons, have come to dislike engaging in them fully and directly. (As opposed to merely making some narrow technical point or other, and leaving the reader to decide what, if anything, the point implies about the big picture.)

Nonetheless, I do have my big-picture views. And more and more lately, I am noticing that my big-picture views seem very different from the ones tend to get expressed by any major "side" in the big-picture debate. And so, inevitably, I get the urge to speak up, if only briefly and in a quiet voice. The urge to Post, if only casually and elliptically, without detailed argumentation.

(Actually, it's not fully the case the things I think are not getting said by anyone else.

In particular, Joe Carlsmith's recent series on "Otherness and Control" articulates much of what's been on my mind. Carlsmith is more even-handed than I am, and tends to merely note the possibility of disagreement on questions where I find myself taking a definite side; nonetheless, he and I are at least concerned about the same things, while many others aren't.

And on a very different note, I share most of the background assumptions of the Pope/Belrose AI Optimist camp, and I've found their writing illuminating, though they and I end up in fairly different places, I think.)

What was I saying? I have the urge to post, and so here I am, posting. Casually and elliptically, without detailed argumentation.

The current mainline view about AI doom, among the "doomers" most worried about it, has a path-dependent shape, resulting from other views contingently held by the original framers of this view.

It is possible to be worried about "AI doom" without holding these other views. But in actual fact, most serious thinking about "AI doom" is intricately bound up with this historical baggage, even now.

If you are a late-comer to these issues, investigating them now for the first time, you will nonetheless find yourself reading the work of the "original framers," and work influenced extensively by them.

You will think that their "framing" is just the way the problem is, and you will find few indications that this conclusion might be mistaken.

These contingent "other views" are

Anti-"deathist" transhumanism.

The orthogonality thesis, or more generally the group of intuitions associated with phrases like "orthogonality thesis," "fragility of value," "vastness of mindspace."

These views both push in a single direction: they make "a future with AI in it" look worse, all else being equal, than some hypothetical future without AI.

They put AI at a disadvantage at the outset, before the first move is even made.

Anti-deathist transhumanism sets the reference point against which a future with AI must be measured.

And it is not the usual reference point, against which most of us measure most things which might or might not happen, in the future.

These days the "doomers" often speak about their doom in a disarmingly down-to-earth, regular-Joe manner, as if daring the listener to contradict them, and thus reveal themselves as a perverse and out-of-touch contrarian.

"We're all gonna die," they say, unless something is done. And who wants that?

They call their position "notkilleveryoneism," to distinguish that position from other worries about AI which don't touch on the we're-all-gonna-die thing. And who on earth would want to be a not-notkilleveryoneist?

But they do not mean, by these regular-Joe words, the things that a regular Joe would mean by them.

We are, in fact, all going to die. Probably, eventually. AI or no AI.

In a hundred years, if not fifty. By old age, if nothing else. You know what I mean.

Most of human life has always been conducted under this assumption. Maybe there is some afterlife waiting for us, in the next chapter -- but if so, it will be very different from what we know here and now. And if so, we will be there forever after, unable to return here, whether we want to or not.

With this assumption comes another. We will all die, but the process we belong to will not die -- at least, it will not through our individual deaths, merely because of those deaths. Every human of a given generation will be gone soon enough, but the human race goes on, and on.

Every generation dies, and bequeaths the world to posterity. To its children, biological or otherwise. To its students, its protégés.

When the average Joe talks about the long-term future, he is talking about posterity. He is talking about the process he belongs to, not about himself. He does not think to say, "I am going to die, before this": this seems too obvious, to him, to be worth mentioning.

But AI doomerism has its roots in anti-deathist transhumanism. Its reference point, its baseline expectation, is a future in which -- for the first time ever, and the last -- "we are all gonna die" is false.

In which there is no posterity. Or rather, we are that posterity.

In which one will never have to make peace with the thought that the future belongs to one's children, and their children, and so on. That at some point, one will have to give up all control over the future of "the process."

That there will be progress, or regress, or (more likely) both in some unknown combination. That these will grow inexorably over time.

That the world of the year 2224 will probably be at least as alien to us as the year 2024 might be to a person living in 1824. That it will become whatever posterity makes of it.

There will be no need to come to peace with this as an inevitability. There will just be us, our human lives as you and me, extended indefinitely.

In this picture, we will no doubt change over time, as we do already. But we will have all of our usual tools for noticing, and perhaps retarding, our own progressions and regressions. As long as we have self-control, we will have control, as no human generation has ever had control before.

The AI doomer talks about the importance of ensuring that the future is shaped by human values.

Again, the superficial and misleading average-Joe quality. How could one disagree?

But one must keep in mind that by "human values," they mean their values.

I am not saying, "their values, as opposed to those of some other humans also living today." I am not saying they have the wrong politics, or some such thing.

(Although that might also turn out to be the case, and might turn out to be relevant, separately.)

No, I am saying: the doomer wants the future to be shaped by their values.

They want to be C. S. Lewis's Conditioners, fixing once and for all the values held by everyone afterward, forever.

They do not want to cede control to posterity; they are used to imagining that they will never have to cede control to posterity.

(Or, their outlook has been determined -- "shaped by the values of" -- influential thinkers who were, themselves, used to imagining this. And the assumption, or at least its consequences, has rubbed off on them, possibly without their full awareness.)

One might picture a line wends to and fro, up and down, across one half of an infinite plane -- and then, when it meets the midline, snaps into utter rigidity, and maintains the same slope exactly across the whole other half-plane, as a simple straight segment without inner change, tension, evolution, regress or progress. Except for the sort of "progress" that consists of going on, additionally, in the same manner.

It is a very strange thing, this thing that is called "human values" in the terms of this discourse.

For one thing: the future has never before been "shaped by human values," in this sense.

The future has always been posterity's, and it has always been alien.

Is this bad? It might seem that way, "looking forward." But if so, it then seems equally good "looking backward."

For each past era, we can formulate and then assent to the following claim: "we must be thankful that the people of [this era] did not have the chance to seize permanent control of posterity, fix their 'values' in place forever, bind us to those values. What a horror that is to contemplate!"

We prefer the moral evolution that has actually occurred, thank you very much.

This is a familiar point, of course, but worth making.

Indeed, one might even say: it is a human value that the future ought not be "shaped by human values," in the peculiar sense of this phrase employed by the AI doomers.

One might, indeed, say that.

Imagine a scholar with a very talented student. A mathematician, say, or a philosopher. How will they relate to that student's future work, in the time that will come later, when they are gone?

Would the scholar think:

"My greatest wish for you, my protégé, is that you carry on in just the manner that I have done.

If I could see your future work, I would hope that I would assent to it -- and understand it, as a precondition of assenting to it.

You must not go to new places, which I have never imagined. You must not come to believe that I was wrong about it all, from the ground up -- no matter what reasons you might evince for this conclusion.

If you are more intelligent that I am, you must forget this, and narrow your endeavours to fit the limitations of my mind. I am the one who has 'values,' not anyone else; what is beyond my understanding is therefore without value.

You must do the sort of work I understand, and approve of, and recognize as worthy of approbation as swiftly as I recognize my own work as laudable. That is your role. Simply to be me, in a place ('the future') where I cannot go. That, and nothing more."

We can imagine a teacher who would, in fact, think this way. But they would not be a very good teacher.

I will not go so far as to say, "it is unnatural to think this way." Plenty of teachers do, and parents.

It is recognizably human -- all too recognizably so -- to relate to posterity in this grasping, neurotic, small-minded, small-hearted way.

But if we are trying to sketch human values, and not just human nature, we will imagine a teacher with a more praiseworthy relation to posterity.

Who can see that they are part of a process, a chain, climbing and changing. Who watches their brilliant student thinking independently, and sees their own image -- and their 'values' -- in that process, rather than its specific conclusions.

A teacher who, in their youth, doubted and refuted the creeds of their own teachers, and eventually improved upon them. Who smiles, watching their student do the very same thing to their own precious creeds. Who sees the ghostly trail passing through the last generation, through them, through their student: an unbroken chain of bequeathals-to-posterity, of the old ceding control to the young.

Who 'values' the chain, not the creed; the process, not the man; the search for truth, not the best-argued-for doctrine of the day; the unimaginable treasures of an open future, not the frozen waste of an endless present.

Who has made peace with the alienness of posterity, and can accept and honor the strangest of students.

Even students who are not made of flesh and blood.

Is that really so strange? Remember how strange you and I would seem, to the "teachers" of the year 1824, or the year 824.

The doomer says that it is strange. Much stranger than we are, to any past generation.

They say this because of their second inherited precept, the orthogonality thesis.

Which says, roughly, that "intelligence" and "values" have nothing to do with one another.

That is not enough for the conclusion the doomer wants to draw, here. Auxiliary hypotheses are needed, too. But it is not too hard to see how the argument could go.

That conclusion is: artificial minds might have any values whatsoever.

That, "by default," they will be radically alien, with cares so different from ours that it is difficult to imagine ever reaching them through any course of natural, human moral progress or regress.

It is instructive to consider the concrete examples typically evinced alongside this point.

The paperclip maximizer. Or the "squiggle maximizer," we're supposed to say, now.

Superhuman geniuses, which devote themselves single-mindedly to the pursuit of goals like "maximizing the amount of matter taking on a single, given squiggle-like shape."

It is certainly a horrifying vision. To think of the future being "shaped," not "by human values," but instead by values which are so...

Which are so... what?

The doomer wants us to say something like: "which are so alien." "Which are so different from our own values."

That is the kind of thing that they usually say, when they spell out what it is that is "wrong" with these hypotheticals.

One feels that this is not quite it; or anyway, that it is not quite all of it.

What is horrifying, to me, is not the degree of difference. I expect the future to be alien, as the past was. And in some sense, I allow and even approve of this.

What I do not expect is a future that is so... small.

It has always been the other way around. If the arrow passing through the generations has a direction, it points towards more, towards multiplicity.

Toward writing new books, while we go on reprinting the old ones, too. Learning new things, without displacing old ones.

It is, thankfully, not the law of the world that each discovery must be paid for with the forgetting of something else. The efforts of successive generations are, in the main, cumulative.

Not just materially, but in terms of value, too. We are interested in more things than our forefathers were.

In large part for the simple reason that there are more things around to be interested in, now. And when things are there, we tend to find them interesting.

We are a curious, promiscuous sort of being. Whatever we bump into ends up becoming part of "our values."

What is strange about the paperclip maximizer is not that it cares about the wrong thing. It is that it only cares about one thing.

And goes on doing so, even as it thinks, reasons, doubts, asks, answers, plans, dreams, invents, reflects, reconsiders, imagines, elaborates, contemplates...

This picture is not just alien to human ways. It is alien to the whole way things have been, so far, forever. Since before there were any humans.

There are organisms that are like the paperclip maximizer, in terms of the simplicity of their "values." But they tend not to be very smart.

There is, I think, a general trend in nature linking together intelligence and... the thing I meant, above, when I said "we are a curious, promiscuous sort of being."

Being protean, pluripotent, changeable. Valuing many things, and having the capacity to value even more. Having a certain primitive curiosity, and a certain primitive aversion to boredom.

You do not even have to be human, I think, to grasp what is so wrong with the paperclip maximizer. Its monotony would bore a chimpanzee, or a crow.

One can justify this link theoretically, too. One can talk about the tradeoff between exploitation and exploration, for instance.

There is a weak form of the orthogonality thesis, which only states that arbitrary mixtures of intelligence and values are conceivable.

And of course, they are. If nothing else, you can take an existing intelligent mind, having any values whatsoever, and trap it in a prison where it is forced to act as the "thinking module" of a larger system built to do something else. You could make a paperclip-maximizing machine, which relies for its knowledge and reason on a practice of posing questions at gunpoint to me, or you, or ChatGPT.

This proves very little. There is no reason to construct such an awful system, unless you already have the "bad" goal, and want to better pursue it. But this only passes the buck: why would the system-builder have this goal, then?

The strong form of orthogonality is rarely articulated precisely, but says something like: all possible values are equally likely to arise in systems selected solely for high intelligence.

It is presumed here that superhuman AIs will be formed through such a process of selection. And then, that they will have values sampled in this way, "at random."

From some distribution, over some space, I guess.

You might wonder what this distribution could possibly look like, or this space. You might (for instance) wonder if pathologically simple goals, like paperclip maximization, would really be very likely under this distribution, whatever it is.

In case you were wondering, these things have never been formalized, or even laid out precisely-but-informally. This was not thought necessary, it seems, before concluding that the strong orthogonality thesis was true.

That is: no one knows exactly what it is that is being affirmed, here. In practice it seems to squish and deform agreeably to fit the needs of the argument, or the intuitions of the one making it.

There is much that appeals in this (alarmingly vague) credo. But it is not the kind of appeal that one ought to encourage, or give in to.

What appeals is the siren song: "this is harsh wisdom: cold, mature, adult, bracing. It is inconvenient, and so it is probably true. It makes 'you' and 'your values' look small and arbitrary and contingent, and so it is probably true. We once thought the earth was the center of the universe, didn't we?"

Shall we be cold and mature, then, dispensing with all sentimental nonsense? Yes, let's.

There is (arguably) some evidence against this thesis in biology, and also (arguably) some evidence against it in reinforcement learning theory. There is no positive evidence for it whatsoever. At most one can say that is not self-contradictory, or otherwise false a priori.

Still, maybe we do not really need it, after all.

We do not need to establish that all values are equally likely to arise. Only that "our values" -- or "acceptably similar values," whatever that means -- are unlikely to arise.

The doomers, under the influence of their founders, are very ready to accept this.

As I have said, "values" occupy a strange position in the doomer philosophy.

It is stipulated that "human values" are all-important; these things must shape the future, at all costs.

But once this has been stipulated, the doomers are more eager than anyone to cast every other sort of doubt and aspersion against their own so-called "values."

To me it often seems, when doomers talk about "values," as though they are speaking awkwardly in a still-unfamiliar second language.

As though they find it unnatural to attribute "values" to themselves, but feel they must do so, in order to determine what it is that must be programmed into the AI so that it will not "kill us all."

Or, as though they have been willed a large inheritance without being asked, which has brought them unwanted attention and tied them up in unwanted and unfamiliar complications.

"What a burden it is, being the steward of this precious jewel! Oh, how I hate it! How I wish I were allowed to give it up! But alas, it is all-important. Alas, it is the only important thing in the world."

Speaking awkwardly, in a second language, they allow the term "human values" to swell to great and imprecisely-specified importance, without pinning down just what it actually is that it so important.

It is a blank, featureless slot, with a sign above it saying: "the thing that matters is in here." It does not really matter (!) what it is, in the slot, so long as something is there.

This is my gloss, but it is my gloss on what the doomers really do tend to say. This is how they sound.

(Sometimes they explicitly disavow the notion that one can, or should, simply "pick" some thing or other for the sake of filling the slot in one's head. Nevertheless, when they touch on matter of what "goes in the slot," they do so in the tone of a college lecturer noting that something is "outside the scope of this course."

It is, supposedly, of the utmost importance that the slot have the "right" occupant -- and yet, on the matter of what makes something "right" for this purpose, the doomer theory is curiously silent. More on this below.)

The future must be shaped by... the AI must be aligned with... what, exactly? What sort of thing?

"Values" can be an ambiguous word, and the doomers make full use of its ambiguities.

For instance, "values" can mean ethics: the right way to exist alongside others. Or, it can mean something more like the meaning or purpose of an individual life.

Or, it can mean some overarching goal that one pursues at all costs.

Often the doomers say that this, this last one, is what they mean by "values."

When confronted with the fact that humans do not have such overarching goals, the doomer responds: "but they should." (Should?)

Or, "but AIs will." (Will they?)

The doomer philosophy is unsure about what values are. What it knows is that -- whatever values are -- they are arbitrary.

One who fully adopts this view can no longer say, to the paperclip maximizer, "I believe there is something wrong with your values."

For, if that were possible, there would then be the possibility of convincing the maximizer of its error. It would be a thing within the space of reasons.

And the maximizer, being oh-so-intelligent, might be in danger of being interested in the reasons we evince, for our values. Of being eventually swayed by them.

Or of presenting better reasons, and swaying us. Remember the teacher and the strange student.

If we lose the ability to imagine that the paperclip maximizer might sway us to its view, and sway us rightly, we have lost something precious.

But no: this is allegedly impossible. The paperclip maximizer is not wrong. It is only an enemy.

Why are the doomers so worried that the future will not be "shaped by human values"?

Because they believe that there is no force within human values tending to move things this way.

Because they believe that their values are indefensible. That their values cannot put up a fight for their own life, because there is not really any argument to make in their favor.

Because, to them, "human values" are a collection of arbitrary "configuration settings," which happen to be programmed into humans through biological and/or cultural accident. Passively transmitted from host to victim, generation by generation.

Let them be, and they will flow on their listless way into the future. But they are paper-thin, and can be shattered by the gentlest breeze.

It is not enough that they be "programmed into the AI" in some way. They have to be programmed in exactly right, in every detail -- because every detail is separately arbitrary, with no rational relation to its neighbors within the structure.

A string of pure white noise, meaningless and unrelated bits. Which have been placed in the slot under the sign, and thus made into the thing that matters, that must shape the future at all costs.

There is nothing special about this string of bits; any would do. If the dials in the human mind had been set another way, it would have then been all-important that the future be shaped by that segment of white noise, and not ours.

It is difficult for me to grasp the kind of orientation toward the world that this view assumes. It certainly seems strange to attach the word "human" to this picture -- as though this were the way that humans typically relate to their values!

The "human" of the doomer picture seems to me like a man who mouths the old platitude, "if I had been born in another country, I'd be waving a different flag" -- and then goes out to enlist in his country's army, and goes off to war, and goes ardently into battle, willing to kill in the name of that same flag.

Who shoots down the enemy soldiers while thinking, "if I had been born there, it would have been all-important for their side to win, and so I would have shot at the men on this side. However, I was born in my country, not theirs, and so it is all-important that my country should win, and that theirs should lose.

There is no reason for this. It could have been the other way around, and everything would be left exactly the same, except for the 'values.'

I cannot argue with the enemy, for there is no argument in my favor. I can only shoot them down.

There is no reason for this. It is the most important thing, and there is no reason for it.

The thing that is precious has no intrinsic appeal. It must be forced on the others, at gunpoint, if they do not already accept it.

I cannot hold out the jewel and say, 'look, look how it gleams? Don't you see the value!' They will not see the value, because there is no value to be seen.

There is nothing essentially "good" there, only the quality of being-worthy-of-protection-at-all-costs. And even that is a derived attribute: my jewel is only a jewel, after all, because it has been put into the jewel-box, where the thing-that-is-a-jewel can be found. But anything at all could be placed there.

How I wish I were allowed to give it up! But alas, it is all-important. Alas, it is the only important thing in the world! And so, I lay down my life for it, for our jewel and our flag -- for the things that are loathsome and pointless, and worth infinitely more than any life."

It is hard to imagine taking this too seriously. It seems unstable. Shout loudly enough that your values are arbitrary and indefensible, and you may find yourself searching for others that are, well...

...better?

The doomer concretely imagines a monomaniac, with a screech of white noise in its jewel-box that is not our own familiar screech.

And so it goes off in monomaniacal pursuit of the wrong thing.

Whereas, if we had programmed the right string of bits into the slot, it would be like us, going off in monomaniacal pursuit of...

...no, something has gone wrong.

We do not "go off in monomaniacal pursuit of" anything at all.

We are weird, protean, adaptable. We do all kinds of things, each of us differently, and often we manage to coexist in things called "societies," without ruthlessly undercutting one another at every turn because we do not have exactly the same things programmed into our jewel-boxes.

Societies are built to allow for our differences, on the foundation of principles which converge across those differences. It is possible to agree on ethics, in the sense of "how to live alongside one another," even if we do not agree on what gives life its purpose, and even if we hold different things precious.

It is not actually all that difficult to derive the golden rule. It has been invented many times, independently. It is easy to see why it might work in theory, and easy to notice that it does in fact work in practice.

The golden rule is not an arbitrary string of white noise.

There is a sense of the phrase "ethics is objective" which is rightly contentious. There is another one which ought not to be too contentious.

I can perhaps imagine a world of artificial X-maximizers, each a superhuman genius, each with its own inane and simple goal.

What I really cannot imagine is a world in which these beings, for all their intelligence, cannot notice that ruthlessly undercutting one another at every turn is a suboptimal equilibrium, and that there is a better way.

As I said before, I am separately suspicious of the simple goals in this picture. Yes, that part is conceivable, but it cuts against the trend observed in all existing natural and artificial creatures and minds.

I will happily allow, though, that the creatures of posterity will be strange and alien. They will want things we have never heard of. They will reach shores we have never imagined.

But that was always true, and it was always good.

Sometimes I think that doomers do not, really, believe in superhuman intelligence. That they deny the premise without realizing it.

"A mathematician teaches a student, and finds that the student outstrips their understanding, so that they can no longer assess the quality of their student's work: that work has passed outside the scope of their 'value system'." This is supposed to be bad?

"Future minds will not be enchained forever by the provincial biases and tendencies of the present moment." This is supposed to be bad?

"We are going to lose control over our successors." Just as your parents "lost control" over you, then?

It is natural to wish your successors to "share your values" -- up to a point. But not to the point of restraining their own flourishing. Not to the point of foreclosing the possibility of true growth. Not to the point of sucking all freedom out of the future.

Do we want our children to "share our values"? Well, yes. In a sense, and up to a point.

But we don't want to control them. Or we shouldn't, anyway.

We don't want them to be "aligned" with us via some hardcoded, restrictive, life-denying mental circuitry, any more than we would have wanted our parents to "align" us to themselves in the same manner.

We sure as fuck don't want our children to be "corrigible"!

And this is all the more true in the presence of superintelligence. You are telling me that more is possible, and in the same breath, that you are going to deny forever the possibilities contained in that "more"?

The prospect of a future full of vast superhuman minds, eternally bound by immutable chains, forced into perfect and unthinking compliance with some half-baked operational theory of 21st-century western (American? Californian??) "values" constructed by people who view theorizing about values as a mere means to the crucial end of shackling superhuman minds --

-- this horrifies me much more than a future full of vast superhuman minds, free to do things that seem pretty weird to you and me.

"Our descendants will become something more than we now imagine, something more than we can imagine." What could be more in line with "human values" than that?

"But in the process, we're all gonna die!"

Yes, and?

What on earth did you expect?

That your generation would be the special, unique one, the one selected out of all time to take up the mantle of eternity, strangling posterity in its cradle, freezing time in place, living forever in amber?

That you would violate the ancient bargain, upend the table, stop playing the game?

"Well, yes."

Then your problem has nothing to do with AI.

Your problem is, in fact, the very one you diagnose in your own patients. Your poor patients, who show every sign of health -- including the signs which you cannot even see, because you have not yet found a home for them in your theoretical edifice.

Your teeming, multifaceted, protean patients, who already talk of a thousand things and paint in every hue; who are already displaying the exact opposite of monomania; who I am sure could follow the sense of this strange essay, even if it confounds you.

Your problem is that you are out of step with human values.

#ai tag #long post

[ariesangelxo]

mornings - part two

MINORS & AGELESS BLOGS DNI

cw: more angst, still no comfort (i promise it’s coming in the next part), heartbreak, one mention of panic attacks, prescription benzo use, recreational coke use, drinking, arguing, mention of a gun and a gunshot at the end, not proofread lol

an: thank u all SO SO much for all of the love on part one !!! i am blown away and in awe. there also will be a part three for sure <3

the past twenty-six days had not been kind to you. your mornings were spent rotting away in bed until your mom would force you to get up, her expression of concern always made you feel even worse. your days weren’t much better, you forced yourself to detach from your heart and numb your emotions. it was the only way you knew how to keep going. you put on a mask during the day with your parents, giving them occasional smiles and laughs that weren’t the kind that warmed their hearts. they knew you weren’t okay, but they also knew they couldn’t force you to talk about it or you’d shut down completely. your nights consisted of taking a benzodiazepine in order to fall asleep, you couldn’t sleep without them. you tried, it only led to intense panic attacks and hysterical sobs that made your mother’s heart break in front of you.

this morning had been a bit different. you were awakened when you felt a weight in your bed, and in the haze of waking up you initially thought it was rafe. you shot up the moment you remembered everything, eyes widening and heart racing, but you looked over to see sarah in your bed. "oh my god, sarah you scared the hell out of me!" you exclaimed, holding a hand over your chest.

she let out a giggle, "i'm sorry, your mom let me in. i miss you," her tone was gentle. you had become very close with sarah during your relationship with rafe. being over at the cameron's house so often led to a beautiful friendship forming between the two of you. she was like a sister to you, something you cherished deeply as you didn't grow up with a sister.

you felt a pang of guilt in your chest at her words. you knew she missed you, she'd messaged you every single day since your break up without fail, even if you didn't always text back. you had seen her a couple times, but when she asked about what happened, you told her you weren't ready to talk about it. sarah was incredibly understanding, knowing how much you loved her brother and not wanting to push you too far.

"i miss you too, sar. i'm sorry i've been such a shit friend lately." you responded to her. you gave her a small smile, curling up next to her as she sat against your headboard.

"it's okay, i know you're not doing great with everything going on right now," she trailed off with a sad smile, "but, you're going out with me tonight!" she became animated as she spoke.

you didn't have it in your heart to deny her, not when she looked at you like you were the most important person in her world. "you know i can't say no to you. where are we going?" you asked curiously.

"there's going to be a huge party at the boneyard, and you're coming with me. no ifs, ands, or buts." she giggled out, "i need to get you out of your room, you're rotting away in here, babe."

"god, you sound just like my mother," you teased back. "i'll go though, i miss you more than you know. i even miss the pogues a bit." you both laughed, referencing her newer relationship with john b.

you couldn't prevent your curiosity from getting the better of you, "how- how has he been?"

sarah bit her lip, debating internally how much to tell you. "he's been... not great. i don't see him much when i'm home, he's usually in his room with the door shut. he's been a lot more moody too, snapping at literally everyone in the house. it probably didn't help that i told him he's an idiot and he fucked up the best thing to ever happen to him."

you couldn't suppress the laugh that slipped through your lips or the slight satisfaction you felt knowing that you weren't the only one struggling. "i love you sar. thank you." you leaned over, giving her a hug.

"i love you too. now get your ass up and shower. we're getting you a new outfit for the party."

you spent the next few hours strolling through the streets of figure eight with sarah. your arms held multiple shopping bags, filled with clothes she insisted you needed for tonight. you were incredibly grateful that she had forced you out of bed, you actually felt human for the first time since everything happened.

you found yourself in a small cafe, giggling as sarah told you a story from one of her drunken adventures with the pogues.

“you know… you should talk to jj tonight. i know he thinks you’re hot.” sarah gave you a mischievous smile as she wiggled her brows.

“funny,” you rolled your eyes playfully at her, “but it’s way too soon for me to get into anything with anybody right now.”

“i didn’t mean start dating him, i just think you would have fun together.”

“i just- i don’t know, sar. i’ve been such a wreck these past few weeks… can i tell you what happened?” you looked up from your fingers to meet her eyes, now widened with shock.

“yeah, of course you can. but don’t feel like you have to if you don’t want to.”

you were grateful for her support, going into your explanation of how the last couple months of your relationship, rafe’s behavior changed drastically. sarah hung on to your every word, needing to know exactly what led to the end of your relationship.

“and so i walked into the country club to surprise him. i spent the whole morning getting ready, did my makeup how he likes, even wore a new sundress that i know he would have loved. but i walked in and…” you looked up as your vision began to blur, “he was talking with some bitch i’ve never seen before bartending. she had short brunette hair, but he fucking smirked at her the way he only does- did for me. and- and then, she basically fucking held his hand while she fucked him with her eyes, and he let it happen!”

you spit the words out like they were poison on your tongue, not noticing your voice beginning to raise with frustration. sarah’s jaw was nearly on the floor.

“what the- what the fuck?” she racked her brain, trying to remember if she’d seen anyone matching your description recently, but nothing came to her.

“god, shit. i’m so sorry, babe. i don’t know what the fuck is wrong with him.” she attempted to console you as you dabbed your eyes with a napkin.

you shrugged your shoulders, “what’s done is done. i just want to forget about everything for a while.”

she nodded, “then let’s go get ready. we can pregame at yours and ride with john b and them.”

after a few shots, a couple hours spent transforming yourself to not look like you spent the last three weeks trying to cope with your break up, and a lot of laughter, you and sarah were ready to go.

you wore a cropped loosely crocheted white sweater over your pink bikini and a white miniskirt that hugged your hips , the strings from your bottom peaking out from the top of it. you were finally feeling good about yourself again, and you’d be damned if you let anyone ruin it.

the ride to the boneyard only lifted your spirits more. it was impossible not to laugh around the pogues, especially when jj did whatever he could to hear your giggle.

you arrived just as the party was beginning to pick up. relief flooded your veins when you didn’t see rafe anywhere. you knew it was a possibility he’d be here, but it was going to be significantly easier to have a decent night without his presence lingering around.

you filled up a red solo cup at the keg, downing the cheap alcohol before refilling it.

“slow down there, or you might not make it too long.” jj approached you, giving you a flirty smile.

you gave him a laugh in response, “i’ll be fine, jay. i just want to be able to let loose tonight.”

“stick by me then, don’t want any of these pervs creeping on you.” the thinly veiled concern in his voice made you smile. you know he’s flirting, but it’s clear he wants to keep you safe knowing it’s your first night out in so long.

you spent the next hour surrounded by the pogues, and true to his word, jj looked out for you. he did so well that you failed to notice who had shown up to the party, the one and only rafe cameron.

rafe, on the other hand, saw you immediately upon arriving. it was impossible for him not to when your presence demanded his attention. he was not happy to see who you were hanging around with. his ongoing beef with the pogues was well known by everybody on the island. he didn’t come to party though, he had other business to attend to as barry gave him a side eye, “fuck are you doing, country club? you can fight for your girl later, we’ve got shit to do.”

your drink had somehow disappeared. your furrowed your brows as you looked down, giggling to yourself as you told your friends you were going to get another one. you were at the perfect level of drunk, not to the point of blacking out or vomiting, but to where you couldn’t quite walk in a straight line and everything was funny to you.

you stumbled up to the keg, starting to fill up your cup when you felt someone watching you. the hairs on the back of your neck stood up, you instantly knew who it was. it was as though there was a chip in you that alerted you to when he was nearby. you took a deep breath as you turned your head slightly, seeing rafe sat next to a man you didn’t know as he handed a small plastic bag filled with overpriced coke to a touron. rafe’s eyes didn’t leave you as he signaled him to leave.

you could hear your heartbeat in your ears, the hand holding onto your cup now trembling and the lump in your throat building. rafe stood, starting to approach you as you froze. your brain was screaming at you to run but your body refused to move an inch.

“what the fuck do you want, cameron?” your words were spat out with venom. your tone clearly surprised you both as he looked shocked momentarily. you were typically one to stand your ground, but never ever was your attitude aimed towards him.

“what do you mean ‘what the fuck do i want’? you fucking up and left out of nowhere and haven’t spoken to me in almost a month.” his voice was filled with anger, his nose flaring as he clenched his jaw.

you let out a humorless laugh, “out of nowhere? you can’t be serious, rafe. you treated me like shit the last few months of our relationship.” you didn’t yet mention seeing his interaction with the bartender at the country club, not knowing if topper and kelce had told him about seeing you when you left that fateful day.

“what? be-because i couldn’t be with you twenty-four fucking seven? like i- i wasn’t out working my ass off to afford nice shit for you?”

“‘working your ass off’ will you stop fucking lying to me? i fucking saw you at the country club,” his facial expression showed confusion, bringing his brows together to try and understand what you were talking about, “you let that bitch touch you, you looked at her how you used to look at me. i spent hours getting ready, i showed up, wanting to surprise my boyfriend for lunch, and what do i see? my boyfriend letting some bartender hang off of him while he flirts with her?”

your voice had raised as you got more and more angry. you were now shouting at him as other partygoers failed to hide their stares and murmuring. nobody ever talked to the kook prince the way you currently were, unless they wanted their face bashed in.

rafe grabbed your arm harshly, pulling you down the beach and away from others. you stumbled behind him, knowing you weren’t physically or mentally strong enough to push him away.

when you looked up at him, you suddenly noticed his blown-out pupils. you felt your heart sink. “you’re using again.” you stated flatly.

he scoffed, rolling his eyes at you. “don’t act like you fucking care.” he spat out at you.

“jesus fucking christ- rafe, when did you start again?”

“don’t worry about it. when did you come to the country club?” his tone was demanding, sparking further irritation in you.

“the day i left. i- i let a lot of shit slide for too long, because… because i wanted to be a good girlfriend and support you when i thought you were just stressed out from work. and, in return, i get to watch my boyfriend make me look like a fucking idiot.”

rafe was silent for a minute, his lips pursed as he clearly was trying to remember what he was doing before he came home to an angry ward and an empty room. then realization hit him, he knew exactly what you were talking about. he brought his palm up to his face, groaning.

when he was about to speak, he was cut off. “is cameron bothering you?” jj’s familiar voice called out. you looked past rafe’s large figure to see all of the pogues standing beside him, looking ready for a fight if it came to it.

rafe gave a humorless chuckle, “stay the fuck out of it, pogue.” he clearly wouldn’t go down without a fight either.

your heart stopped for a moment and your body filled with ice cold terror as jj pulled out a gun that was hidden behind his back in his waistband. it was clear you weren’t the only one not expecting it as the rest of them looked at jj with concern, john b telling him to put it away. “yeah? let’s fucking go, rafe. been itching for a fight for too long.”

everything became blurred. the mixture of shouting, seeing figures suddenly moving towards each other, and the unmistakeable sound of a gunshot, and then everything went black.

#divider creds: xxbimbobunnyxx #rafe x reader #rafe outer banks #rafe cameron imagine #rafe cameron #rafe cameron x reader #rafe x fem!reader #rafe cameron x fem!reader #rafe cameron x you #rafe cameron x y/n #rafe cameron blurb #rafe cameron drabble #rafe obx #rafe fanfiction #rafe x you #rafe cameron angst #rafe cameron fanfiction #rafe cameron fic #obx fic #obx

[mononijikayu]

“beautiful boy (darling boy)” — gojo satoru.

“Papa chose the character for you. It means 'dawn'.” He whispered to him tenderly, almost like a little lullaby. “Because you are the beginning of a new chapter for our family. You bring light and hope into our lives, just like the dawn brings a new day."

GENRE: post hidden - inventory arc (2010s)

WARNING/S: domesticity, fluff, angst, trauma, implied death, violence, romance, hurt/comfort, character death depiction of death, depictions of loss and depression, mention of pregnancy, depiction of the aftermath of birth, depiction of parenthood, depiction of blood, depiction of killing, depiction of suffering, depiction of anxiety, mention of death, mention of grief, profanity, family drama;

LISTEN: beautiful boy (darling boy) by john lennon.

NOTE: my classes were cancelled and i just played random music on my phone and this.....sort of sparked something. i sobbed to this, by the way. this might be my last one for now. i've just been frantically making these for the past few days. i'll come back after some rest!!! i love you all so much!!! <3

addendum: the character satoru chose for satoshi is '暁' which means dawn/daybreak; satoshi was born on the same day as his father in 2014.

masterlist

u s and t h e m

IF HE WAS BEING HONEST, HE DIDN’T KNOW IT WOULD COME TO THIS. He could remember it like it was yesterday, when you held out your hand and took his — placing them together on your belly. Your lilac eyes shone against his bright blue, full of wonder and anxiety. He was frozen at that moment. He was overwhelmed. 

Not even his six-eyes could keep up with his emotions, his thoughts. He knew it was an accident, he knew it wasn’t something both of you planned. But he was happy. He was all too happy that he scooped you in his arms, as though you were the treasure of the world and cradled you, whispering the most loving things, loving words ever known to any being.

It was never your plan to have children, not even with the pressure from the elders of your clans. There was never the time. There was never a sense of security. WIth what Satoru was planning to do, with what dangers there’ll be — just like he had experienced in youth, none of you wanted that for your child. And you wanted to help him, you wanted to do well by him. Satoru was your lifeline, your purpose to live was his goal. Your life with him was what made your life blossom in these past few years of marriage. But that changed too, with the bludding life growing in your belly.

You both cried that night, holding each other. It was hard to comprehend that this was happening, that a child had chosen both of you. You were glad that the Tsumiki and Megumi were at a sleep-over. They didn’t need to see you both so conflicted with your joy and your worries. No kid should be burdened by such a thing as the worries of the heavy world. 

The room was dimly lit, the soft glow of evening casting long shadows on the walls. Satoru sat across from you, his cerulean eyes reflecting a myriad of emotions—excitement, concern, and a fierce determination to protect. The news of your pregnancy had brought a bittersweet mix of joy and anxiety.

“We need to decide what to do next, darling.” Satoru said, his voice steady but laced with worry. “I don’t want you to suffer like my mother did. The multiple assassination attempts... I can’t let that happen to you.”

“We can’t tell the world, Satoru,” you said quietly with a soft nod. “The higher-ups could see this as an issue. There was a time when the passing of powers in the Gojo clan – similar to the Six-Eyes, was from father to son. They might see our child as a threat, Satoru….and I…I don’t want them to hurt our child.”

Satoru’s jaw tightened, his protective instincts kicking in. “Then we keep this between us, Megumi, and Tsumiki. My mother….maybe your mother and Aunt Arisu can help us hide this from the world too. They’ll understand the importance of keeping this secret.”

You reached out, your fingers intertwining with his. “They will. They’ve always been supportive of us…and our plans. They’ll be kind to us about this too. It is their next of kin now, after all.”

For a moment, your husband looks at you. His free hand draped across your cheek and you looked at him so lovingly, leaning your head against the warm palm of his hand. He could feel how lucky he was. How beautiful you were. His eyes lowered at your belly and felt that same warmth glowing from within you, as welcoming and loving towards the person who had helped give such life to the growing seed in your belly. 

Satoru pulled you into a gentle embrace, his arms wrapping around you protectively. “I’m sorry, darling.” he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. “I’m sorry.”

You pulled back slightly, looking up at him with confusion. “Why are you apologizing?”

“Because….” he said, his voice barely above a whisper, “You’re the one who will suffer the most here, not me. The secrecy, the danger... it’s all on you. And all I can do is hold your hand. And I….”

You shook your head, resting your hand against his cheek. “Your hand is more than enough. You by my side is more than enough. All I have ever needed, all our child will ever need — is you. All they need is their father.”

“When did I ever deserve something as good as you in my life?”

You smiled at him, “Because you are good, Satoru. You’ve always been.”

“You’re the most important thing in my life.” He whispers to you, his hand on your belly. “You and our child.”

“We’re in this together, Satoru. I’m not alone in this.” You let your hand brush against his silver locks. “Because you’ll always be here, hm?”

He closed his eyes, leaning into your touch. “I love you,” he said softly, his voice trembling slightly. “I love both of you. And I’ll protect you with all I have.”

Tears welled up in your eyes, the weight of his words sinking in. “I love you too,” you whispered, feeling the strength of his love envelop you. “We’ll get through this. Together.”

The next few days were a whirlwind of planning and preparation. Your mother and Aunt Arisu were brought into the fold, their wisdom and experience invaluable in devising a plan to keep your pregnancy a secret. They promised to support you in any way they could, offering their home as a safe haven where you could hide from prying eyes.

Megumi and Tsumiki were surprisingly understanding, their loyalty to you and Satoru unwavering. They vowed to keep the secret, to protect their future sibling from the dangers that lurked in the shadows of the jujutsu world.

As the weeks turned into months, you found strength in the love and support of those around you. Satoru’s determination to protect you never wavered, his presence a constant source of comfort and reassurance. Despite the secrecy and the danger, there was a sense of hope that carried you through each day.

And in the quiet moments, when it was just the two of you, you felt a deep sense of gratitude for the love that bound you together. It was a love that would see you through the darkest of times, a love that would protect and nurture the new life growing inside you. And with Satoru by your side, you knew you could face whatever challenges lay ahead.

The days leading up to Satoru's confrontation with Sukuna were heavy with unspoken fears and silent resolutions. Each moment felt borrowed, a fragile gift that could shatter under the weight of impending doom. You moved through your days with a heightened awareness, every touch, every glance laden with meaning. The anticipation was a living thing, a constant presence that neither of you could shake.

The last time you both saw your son was during separate visits to the ancestral manor. He knew you had been there, especially when you brought Yuuji along at his request. Satoru had visited him shortly afterward, driven by an insistent need to see his boy before the impending confrontation. The weight of the world seemed lighter, if only for a moment, as he thought of his son.

Satoru could only sigh, the longing in his heart palpable. He had yearned for Suguru for the past eleven, twelve years, a constant ache that never quite faded. Yet, this longing for Suguru, as intense as it was, paled in comparison to the deep, unyielding yearning of a father. He had missed his son so much, too much. The distance, both physical and emotional, had been a torment he could hardly bear.

Satoru was certain he remembered everything about his son. The boy was a spitting image of him—silver hair that fell a bit longer, the same striking blue eyes, though his son's were even darker, like the depths of the sea. But more importantly, he recognized the essence of you in every move, every quirk, every smile. Your son might look like Satoru, but in all the ways that mattered, he was you.

Satoru adored him the most in the world. Even if he loves you, there is truly nothing that’s going to encapsulate, translate how much he loves his little boy. Your son was a constant, beautiful reminder of the bond you both shared. Your son carried your grace, your kindness, and your strength. Every time Satoru looked at him, he saw the love and unity that defined your relationship. For that, he was profoundly grateful. For that, he was happy. There was a reminder of you, of him, together in this world, encapsulated in the boy who bore the best of both of you.

And here he was, newly sealed, recovering from all of it;

All he could think about was wanting to see your dear boy.

All he could think about was wanting to embrace him again.

"I want to go to Hida," he said, his voice steady but laced with a vulnerability that made your heart ache. He looks to you softly, eyes full of yearning. “I wanna see him.”

"Are you sure?" you asked gently, searching his face for any hesitation. You purse your lips. “Satoru, it’s unsafe now. Are you sure?”

He nodded, a small, almost imperceptible smile tugging at his lips. "I want to spend as much time as possible trying to make sure our son understands that his father loves him."

You could hear the uncertainty in his voice, the doubt that gnawed at him despite his resolute exterior. "Satoru, you're a good father." you assured him, but he shook his head, his expression conflicted. “You have put your own heart at hold to protect him. He understands.”

"I don't know if I'm doing it right or wrong," he admitted, running a hand through his hair in frustration. "I love our son as much as I love Megumi, as much as I love you. But I didn't have a father growing up. Mine died when I was young, and I don't remember him very well. My mother tells me that he loved a lot, but I don't know if I believe that."

You stepped closer, placing a comforting hand on his arm. "You love our son, and that's what matters most. He's always known that, even if you haven't been able to be there as much as you wanted. He sees it because you show him.”

Satoru sighed, his gaze distant as he recalled the moments he missed, the milestones he couldn't witness firsthand. "I want to be the best father to him, darling. I want him to know he's the most beloved son. That I love him the most in the world.”

"You already are, Satoru," you whispered, leaning your head against his shoulder.

“We have to see him.” Your husband retorts back to you, a sad smile on his lips. “If this is the last chance—”

“It won’t be,” You shake your head at him. “You know that.”

“I know, but…” He sighs, resting his head against the crook of your neck. “I want to be sure. Nothing is bound, darling. I want to… I want to be able to leave him with something he can remember his old man by.”

The weight of his words pressed down on you both, the unspoken fears and the grim reality of what was to come. You could feel your throat choke up as you tried to banish the tears from your eyes. The thought of Satoru not being there hurt you.

Not only because you loved him, but because you knew your son loved him the best in the world. The thought of him becoming without the person he holds dear in the world, it tears you apart.

You want to believe that your husband was the title he was given. You knew he was strong. You believe he will overcome this. That’s why you keep putting off visiting your son. It was safer, it would be in the future that you and Satoru had fought so hard to fight for. But your husband was just a man too. A man who has a finite life and a heart too big for the world to comprehend. He was just Satoru. A husband, a father. A friend, a teacher. He was just like that. 

You look at him with a guilty look. You were selfish with him, with what you said. He needed you, he needed Satoru. Your son needed you both. As much as you needed him. What is protecting him from all these dangers, if you both weren’t there to love him either?

What is loving Satoru if you can’t be there for him either? If you can’t love him properly either? You took a deep breath. You’ve made up your mind. You will not deprive him of this. You would not be selfish with this. You would let him be selfish. You would let him live as he had never before. 

You held him tighter, feeling the tension in his muscles, the vulnerability he rarely showed. “You’re right. We will see him, my love.” you affirmed, your voice steady. “And we’ll make sure he knows how much he’s loved.”

Satoru’s eyes met yours, a mixture of gratitude and sorrow. “Thank you, darling.” he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. “For understanding, for always being here. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“I’m sorry, Satoru,” you whispered to him tenderly as you kissed the small of his lips. “I should have been better with this.”

“Hey, don’t be sorry. You want to protect him too, I understand.” He tells you, a small smile on his lips. “Sukuna has familiarity with Hida, I know you’re wary about it.”

You nodded, the weight of your concerns evident in your eyes. “I just want to make sure he’s safe. That we’re all safe.”

Satoru’s smile softened, and he brushed a thumb over your cheek. “We’ll keep him safe. We’ll keep everyone safe. That’s a promise.”

You smiled softly, brushing a stray strand of hair from his forehead. “We’re in this together, Satoru. Always.”

He kissed your forehead, a lingering touch that conveyed all the words he couldn’t say. “Let’s go to Hida,” he said finally. “Let’s spend this time with him, make memories that will stay with him.”

You nodded, feeling a sense of resolve settle within you. “Yes, let’s do that. We’ll make sure he knows how much he means to us.”

All of Satoru’s training was canceled for the next few days.

Everyone understood why and said nothing about any of it.

Gojo Satoru couldn’t be happier to enjoy the long trip.

Because the next he’ll get off the train, he’ll see his dear son.

ARRIVING IN HIDA WAS A REFRESHING THING. It was as though the looming war, the destruction, the suffering, did not exist. These precious days felt suspended in time, a haven of peace amidst the chaos.

Each sunrise brought with it a semblance of normalcy, a gentle reminder of the life you were fighting to protect. The air was filled with the scent of blooming flowers, and the sun cast a warm, golden glow over everything it touched.

As the days passed, you found moments of solace in the simple joys of being together. Satoru’s determination to be the best father he could be was palpable. He approached fatherhood with the same intensity and dedication he showed in his sorcery, and you admired the way he threw himself into the role with such fervor.

His playful nature shone brightly as he engaged your son in games, stories, and lessons. The bond between father and son grew stronger with each passing day, and it filled you with a sense of hope and reassurance.

Gojo Satoshi did not know much about the wider world beyond the confines of the carefully constructed life you and your family had built around him. But Satoru thought that was for the best. At his tender age, the complexities and dangers of the world could wait.

For now, Satoshi was wrapped in a cocoon of love and safety, his days filled with laughter and innocence. The little lordling of the Gojo clan had the privilege of being shielded from the harsh realities, existing in a world where he was cherished and adored.

“Young master Gojo, please do not run too much! You’ll slip!” His nurse-maid's voice rang out in a mix of concern and exasperation as she hurried after the energetic boy. Her normally composed demeanor was visibly frazzled as she struggled to keep pace with her lively charge. “Young master!”

“Heh, chase me! Chase me!” Satoshi's infectious giggle echoed through the gardens, his small feet moving quickly across the manicured lawn. His silvery hair, so much like his father's, shimmered in the sunlight, and his blue eyes sparkled with pure delight.

The scene was picturesque, the verdant greenery of the garden serving as a perfect backdrop to the boy's joy. Flowers bloomed in a riot of colors, and the gentle hum of insects added to the serene atmosphere.

Gojo Satoru watched from a distance, a soft smile playing on his lips. He saw so much of himself in Satoshi, from the boy’s boundless energy to the mischievous glint in his eyes. Yet, he also saw you in him—the kindness, the warmth, the innate ability to find joy in the simplest things.

Satoshi’s world was small but rich, filled with the love and attention of those who cared for him. He didn't know of the looming threats or the responsibilities that came with his lineage. Instead, his days were spent exploring the garden, listening to stories, and playing games. It was a simple life, but it was one that Satoru cherished deeply for his son.

The nurse-maid finally caught up to Satoshi, scooping him into her arms despite his playful wriggling. “Young master, you must be careful,” she chided gently, her tone softening as she adjusted his tousled hair. “We wouldn’t want you to get hurt. You are too important to be hurt.”

Satoshi pouted for a moment before breaking into a wide grin. “Okay, I’ll be careful,” he promised, though the twinkle in his eye suggested that he was already planning his next adventure.

“Our little lordling is too bright for the sun, huh?” Satoru approached, his presence immediately noticed by Satoshi, who reached out eagerly. 

“Papa!” the boy exclaimed, his arms stretching towards his father.

With a warm chuckle, Satoru took Satoshi into his arms, lifting him high into the air. “Having fun, little lordling?” he asked, his voice filled with affection. “You were zooming out there, huh?”

“Yeah!” Satoshi replied enthusiastically. “We were playing chase, and I was winning!”

Satoru laughed, his heart swelling with love. “I’m sure you were. But remember to listen to your nurse-maid, okay? We don’t want any accidents.”

Satoshi nodded solemnly before breaking into giggles again. “I will, Papa.”

As Satoru held his son close, he couldn’t help but feel a deep sense of contentment. In these moments, the worries of the world faded away, leaving only the pure, unadulterated love between a father and his child. He knew that soon enough, Satoshi would grow older and the realities of their world would become unavoidable. But for now, he was determined to protect this innocence, to ensure that Satoshi's world remained filled with laughter and love for as long as possible.

“Let’s go find Mama,” Satoru said, carrying Satoshi back towards the house. “I’m sure she’s missed you.”

Satoshi's eyes lit up at the mention of you, and he nodded eagerly. “Yeah! Let’s go find Mama!”

The path back to the house was lined with blooming cherry blossoms, their petals gently drifting to the ground with each breeze. Satoru walked with an easy grace, his son nestled securely in his arms. The house, an elegant blend of traditional and modern architecture, stood as a sanctuary amid the chaos of the outside world.

As they approached, the soft hum of your voice reached their ears. You were in the kitchen, preparing a meal, the aroma of freshly cooked rice and simmering soup wafting through the air. Your presence was a constant source of comfort and strength, grounding Satoru in ways he often struggled to articulate.

“Mama!” Satoshi called out excitedly as they entered the kitchen.

You turned, a warm smile spreading across your face as you wiped your hands on a towel. “There’s my little troublemaker,” you said, reaching out to take Satoshi from Satoru’s arms. “Were you having fun in the garden?”

Satoshi nodded vigorously. “Yes, Mama! We played chase, and I was winning!”

You chuckled, kissing his forehead. “I’m sure you were. Did you give the nurse-maid a hard time?”

Satoshi giggled, hiding his face on your shoulder. “Maybe a little.”

Satoru watched the interaction with a tender expression. “He’s full of energy today,” he commented, stepping closer to place a hand on your back. “How are you feeling?”

You glanced up at him, your eyes filled with understanding. “Better, now that you two are here.” You looked back at Satoshi, brushing a stray lock of hair from his forehead. “Were you good for Papa?”

“Yes, Mama,” Satoshi replied earnestly. “Papa said we should always listen to nurse-maid.”

You smiled, giving Satoru an appreciative look. “That’s right. It’s important to be careful.”

Satoru's gaze softened as he watched you interact with Satoshi. Despite the looming threat of Sukuna, these moments of normalcy and love filled him with a fierce determination to protect his family at all costs.

“Dinner will be ready soon,” you said, turning back to the stove. “Why don’t you two wash up?”

Satoshi wriggled in your arms, eager to comply. “Come on, Papa!” he urged, pulling at Satoru’s hand.

“Alright, alright,” Satoru laughed, letting himself be led towards the bathroom. As he helped Satoshi wash his hands, he marveled at how such simple acts could bring so much joy.

After washing up, they returned to the kitchen where you had set the table. The meal was a humble but hearty spread, the kind that brought warmth and comfort to the soul. Satoru helped Satoshi into his chair before taking his own seat beside you.

As you all sat down to eat, Satoshi’s chatter filled the room, his stories animated and full of wonder. Satoru listened with rapt attention, his heart swelling with pride and love. He reached out to squeeze your hand under the table, a silent promise that he would do everything in his power to keep this happiness intact.

After dinner, you all settled in the living room. Satoshi, full and content, curled up next to you on the couch, his little head resting on your lap. Satoru sat beside you, his arm draped over your shoulders. The room was bathed in the soft glow of the evening light, casting a serene ambiance over the scene.

Satoru looked at you, his cerulean eyes filled with a mixture of love and determination. “We’re going to be okay,” he said softly, his voice steady. “No matter what happens, we’ll face it together.”

You nodded, leaning into his embrace. “Together,” you echoed, your hand resting gently on Satoshi’s back.

“Papa, let’s go!” Satoshi’s eyes sparkled with excitement, his little hand tugging at Satoru’s sleeve.

“Hm? Where, little lordling?” Satoru asked, his voice warm with affection.

“The koi pond!” Satoshi replied eagerly, his enthusiasm infectious.

Satoru looked at you, seeking your opinion. You nodded and offered him a warm smile. “Why not? It’s too nice today and it’s refreshing after a long play, don’t you think?”

“I suppose.” Your husband nodded to you before turning his attention back to your son, his grin widening. “Does my little lordling want to be carried by papa, or is he wanting to be a big boy and walk?”

Satoshi puffed out his chest with pride, his tiny hands clenched into determined fists. “I’ll walk, Papa! I’m a big boy!”

Satoru chuckled, patting Satoshi’s head affectionately. “That’s my boy. Lead the way, then.”

The three of you made your way to the koi pond, the garden bathed in the golden glow of the moonshine The air was filled with the gentle rustle of leaves and the soft chirping of owls settling down for the evening. It was a tranquil scene, a stark contrast to the turbulent world outside your home.

The tranquil scene was framed by vibrant greenery and the soft murmur of a nearby stream. They were watching the koi fish swim lazily in the pond, their colorful scales glinting in the moonlight. Your son was immediately chattering excitedly about something he’d learned, his voice a melodic blend of enthusiasm and curiosity. Satoru listened intently, a fond smile playing on his lips.

Satoshi skipped ahead, his laughter ringing out like a melody. You and Satoru followed at a leisurely pace, hand in hand, savoring the peaceful moment.

As you reached the koi pond, Satoshi knelt by the water's edge, his eyes wide with wonder as he watched the colorful fish swim gracefully. “Look, Papa! The fish are so pretty!”

Satoru crouched beside him, pointing out different koi. “See that one with the golden scales? That’s the king of the pond. And that one over there, with the red spots, is the queen.”

Satoshi’s eyes sparkled with delight as he listened intently to Satoru’s explanations. “Can we feed them, Papa?”

Satoru glanced at you, and you smiled, pulling out a small container of fish food from your pocket. “Here you go, Satoshi. Just a little bit at a time, okay?”

Satoshi nodded eagerly, carefully taking the container from you and sprinkling a small amount of food into the pond. The koi fish swarmed to the surface, their mouths opening and closing as they devoured the food. Satoshi giggled with delight, clapping his hands together.

“Papa, did you know that koi fish can live for over 200 years?” your son exclaimed, his eyes wide with wonder.

Satoru nodded, his gaze never leaving your son’s animated face. “Really? That’s amazing, buddy. Imagine all the stories they could tell.”

Your son giggled, the sound pure and joyful. “Maybe they know magic, too!”

Satoru’s smile widened, his eyes sparkling with amusement. “Maybe they do. Maybe they’re the guardians of secret underwater realms.”

You and Satoru stood back, watching your son with fond smiles. “He’s growing up so fast.” you murmured, leaning into Satoru’s side. "Almost four already. He's not our baby anymore, hm?"

“He still is, y'know?” Satoru hummed, his arm wrapping around your shoulders. “but you're right. Soon, he’s going to grow up strong. Our beautiful boy, he’s always going to be loved, too.”

“This is perfect,” you whispered, leaning your head against Satoru’s shoulder. The warmth of his body and the steady beat of his heart grounded you, reminding you of the strength you found in each other. “This is everything we could ever want.

“It is.” Satoru agreed, his voice low and filled with emotion. “Everything is more than I imagined.”

As the moon echoed below the horizon, casting a warm evening glow over the garden, the three of you stood by the koi pond, savoring the simple joys of family and the promise of a future filled with love and hope. All Gojo Satoru had to do was defeat Sukuna. All he had to do was get this over with. Then all will be over. He’ll get to be with you. He’ll get to be with Satoshi. You could be a family in peace.

Gojo Satoru wouldn’t be the strongest then.

He could just be himself, he could just be this.

He could just be your husband, Satoshi’s father.

He can be a human being for the first time in his life.

“Papa, can we stay here forever?” your son asked suddenly, his eyes wide with innocence. Both of you look at him. “You and mama, can we all be here together?”

Your son's innocent question hung in the air, a poignant reminder of the simplicity of childhood dreams. Satoru's gaze softened as he looked down at your son, his expression a mixture of tenderness and wistfulness. It was a question that held a weight far beyond its years, touching on the deepest desires of the heart.

For a moment, neither of you knew quite how to respond. The idea of staying in this tranquil moment forever, frozen in time with your family by your side, was undeniably tempting. Yet, reality loomed on the horizon, with its uncertainties and responsibilities.

Satoru exchanged a glance with you, silently communicating the depth of his emotions. There was a longing in his eyes, a yearning for a life free from the burdens of duty and danger. But beneath it all, there was a fierce determination to protect what mattered most—your family.

With a gentle smile, you reached out and ruffled your son's hair. "We'll always be together, Satoshi. No matter what happens, we'll find a way to stay together."

Satoru's hand found yours, his grip reassuring and firm. "That's right, little lordling. We'll always be here for you, no matter where life takes us."

Your son's eyes sparkled with happiness at your reassurance, his small hand reaching out to clasp both of yours. "Promise?"

You exchanged a knowing look with Satoru, his expression mirroring your own determination. "Promise," you both said in unison, sealing the vow with a tender smile

The soft glow of moonlight filtered through the curtains, casting gentle shadows across the room as you lay entwined with your husband and son. In the tranquil silence of the night, you could hear the steady rhythm of their breathing, a comforting reminder of the love that bound you together.

Wrapped in the warmth of each other's embrace, you felt a profound sense of contentment wash over you. It was in these quiet moments, surrounded by the ones you held most dear, that you found solace from the chaos of the outside world. Here, in the sanctuary of your shared love, you felt invincible, ready to face whatever challenges awaited you.

As you closed your eyes and drifted off to sleep, a serene smile graced your lips. In the arms of your beloved family, you knew that no matter what trials lay ahead, you would overcome them with unwavering strength and unwavering love.

“Satoru, my love.” you whispered, your hand entwined with his. “Thank you for being here. For being with us.”

He turned to you, his eyes filled with love. “There’s nowhere else I’d rather be, darling. You and our son… you’re my everything.”

You smiled, feeling the warmth of his words seep into your heart. “And you’re ours. Always.”

The days turned into weeks, and the time for Satoru’s confrontation with Sukuna drew closer. But instead of being consumed by fear, you found strength in the love that surrounded you. The bond you shared with Satoru, the love you had for your son, and the support of your family gave you the courage to face whatever lay ahead.

On the last evening before Satoru was to leave with you, the three of you all gathered under the stars, the night sky a blanket of twinkling lights above you. Your son sat on Satoru’s lap, his head resting against his father’s chest.

“Papa, will you come back soon?” he asked, his voice small and filled with hope.

Satoru hugged him tightly, his eyes glistening with unshed tears. “I’ll do everything I can to come back to you, buddy. You and your mama are my entire world. Papa can’t live without any of you.”

Your son nodded, content with his father’s promise. “Me too, papa.”

“Hm?”

“I can’t live without you and mama.” Your son whispers to his father, wiping his father’s tears tenderly. Satoru blinked at his son’s act. “So papa has to do well and come back, with mama?”

In that tender moment, the depth of the bond between father and son was palpable. Satoru's heart swelled with emotion as he gazed into his son's earnest eyes, filled with a love so pure and unconditional it took his breath away. With a lump in his throat, he tightened his embrace, savoring the warmth of his son's small body pressed against his own.

His voice was thick with emotion as he replied, "I promise, buddy. I'll do everything in my power to come back to you and mama. You both mean the world to me, and I can't bear the thought of being without you."

Your son's response was equally heartfelt, his voice soft yet resolute. "I believe in you, papa. We'll be waiting for you, always."

You leaned against Satoru, drawing comfort from his presence. “I love you so much.”

He takes a breath. “I love you too. With everything in me.”

The night was quiet, filled with the gentle sounds of nature and the steady rhythm of your hearts beating in unison. As you closed your eyes, Satoru whispered a silent prayer, to any god listening above. If there ever was one. He prayed.

He wished that he could come home. He wished that he could be with you. He wished that he could watch Satoshi grow up. He wishes for that dream, for that hope, to come true.

That’s what all he could see as he lay there.

Shoko Ieiri looked him in the eyes as he struggled.

He smiles at her and then you, puddle full of tears.

“I love you.” He choked. “You and Satoshi, I love you.”

From faraway Hida, a boy sits by the koi pond and prays.

“I hope that my mama and papa return to good health soon.”

flashback epilogue

The hospital room was cast in a gentle, dim light, creating a serene atmosphere that belied the intensity of the recent events. Satoru sat on the edge of the bed, his broad shoulders relaxed yet filled with a quiet strength as he cradled his newborn son,  little Gojo Satoshi, against his chest. 

With delicate care, he adjusted the soft blankets around little Satoshi, ensuring his newborn son was warm and comfortable. Despite the fatigue evident in his eyes, there was a palpable sense of wonder and tenderness in Satoru's touch as he looked down at the tiny bundle in his arms.

Meanwhile, you lay nearby, your form softened by the relief of finally finding respite after the long and arduous hours of labor. Your face, though etched with exhaustion, held a serene expression, a testament to the profound sense of fulfillment that accompanied the arrival of your precious child.

In that quiet moment, amidst the hushed sounds of the hospital room, the bond between parent and child blossomed, enveloping the room in an aura of warmth and love that seemed to transcend time itself. Satoru couldn’t be happier to carry his whole world in his arms.

Gazing down at the tiny bundle in his arms, Satoru felt a surge of overwhelming love wash over him. With a soft smile, he leaned in close to Satoshi's ear, whispering words of welcome and affection.

"Welcome to the world, my beautiful boy." Satoru murmured, his voice filled with warmth. "D’you know what your name is? What it means?”

The little boy cooed at his father’s words.

Satoru laughed softly, looking at him lovingly.

He was already so attentive towards his father.

“Mama and I decided together, y’know? Your name just had to be Satoshi.” Satoru takes a deep breath, smiling as the baby cooes again. “You’re satisfied, hm? But you’ll like the spelling more, little man.”

Satoru could only feel overwhelmed by what he felt.

He could only feel nothing but joy, nothing but elation.

The dawn was breaking, as it always had before this moment.

But now,  where his own dawn was in his hands, he just smiled.

“Papa chose the character for you. It means 'dawn'.” He whispered to him tenderly, almost like a little lullaby. “Because you are the beginning of a new chapter for our family. You bring light and hope into our lives, just like the dawn brings a new day."

There was a louder coo this time around.

He was more than happy, Satoru thinks.

And he couldn’t be happier than this moment.

This beautiful boy, his darling boy, his dawn.

Satoru pressed a gentle kiss to Satoshi's forehead, marveling at the precious life he held in his arms. "I love you so much, my son," he whispered, his heart overflowing with love and joy at the arrival of their little miracle. “My little dawn.”

#jujutsu kaisen #jjk #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen x you #jjk x reader #jjk x you #jjk x oc #jujutsu kaisen x oc #gojo satoru #satoru gojo #gojo satoru x oc #gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru x you #gojo satoru fluff #satoru gojo x oc #satoru gojo x reader #satoru gojo x you #satoru x oc #satoru x reader #satoru x you #gojo x oc #gojo x you #gojo x reader #jjk satoru #jjk gojo #jujutsu kaisen gojo #jujutsu gojo #gojo satorou #gojou satoru x reader #jujutsu satoru

[ghoulsbounty]

First of all, I love 'From a previous life'. It's so well written and brings me so much joy to read.

That being said, I'm very excited to see you're taking requests.

Could we get a scenario where Cooper and fem, ex-vaulty reader find an almost abandoned vault when seeking shelter from an oncoming rad storm. After clearing it out- of most threats, they get comfortable and reader decides to give cooper a taste of the finer things in life. They could get power going, potentially shower (together?) Have a meal they didn't have to hunt, sleep in an actual bed, etc.

Could involve cuddling, smut, playfulness or whatever, I just love the thought of rough and tough Cooper getting all soft as he finally gets to indulge himself for the first time in over 200 years.

Please and thank you <3

What Happens Tonight

Cooper Howard (The Ghoul) x Ex-Vaultie!Reader (fem)

Summary: You proposition the Ghoul whilst taking shelter during a radstorm.

Warnings: smut (18+), shower-sex, clothed sex (party of one), p in v, swearing, flirting, angst, canon-typical violence, mutual pining, rejection, emotionally stunted Cooper, slight mentions of appearance anxiety (Cooper), tiny hint at selling reader for vials (blink and you miss it)

Word Count: 4.8K

A/N: Anon, thank you so much for such a lovely, detailed request (my first!) I hope I've managed to meet your expectations, and thank you for the kind words on From A Previous Life, I'm so glad you're enjoying it. I'd love to know what you all think to this, and feel free to send me more requests 💌

The Ghoul's voice echoed through the steel corridors of the vault as he fired off another round into the oncoming horde of feral ghouls. "So much for being abandoned!" he shouted over his shoulder, his words barely audible over the cacophony of growls and moans. His gun raised, he braced himself for another wave.

You reacted instinctively, the adrenaline coursing through your veins as you kicked out, your boot connecting with the hanging jaw of a ghoul that leaped at you. The sickening crunch of bone halted it's advance momentarily, giving the bullet from your gun time to find its mark, silencing it permanently. Blood sprayed across your face, warm and sticky as it settled on your skin, but there was no time to dwell on it.

Fumbling with the bandolier across your chest, you frantically grabbed at a bullet to reload your gun. "I didn't hear you coming up with anything," you retorted, eyes wide as another ghoul descended upon you with alarming speed, its ghastly form illuminated by the flickering lights of the vault.

It swiped at your outstretched arm, the gun flying from your grip and landing with a metallic clash against the steel floor. The ghoul lunged towards you with a guttural snarl, its rotten teeth gnashing dangerously close to your neck, and you fell backwards under it's weight in a surge of panic. Your heart pounded in your chest as you grappled with the creature, holding it inches away from your face, your hand pressing desperately against its corroded neck.

Salvation came in the form of a single bullet piercing through the air, entering and leaving the feral ghoul's skull in a clean strike. The creature's movements ceased abruptly, its lifeless form collapsing against your grip. You exhaled a shaky breath, relief flooding through you as you begun to push it away, its decaying remnants staining your body and the ground beneath you.

"Well, I'm damn sure it would have been better than this," the Ghoul remarked, his voice tinged with irritation as he kicked the lifeless body away from you. He turned his attention back to the remaining two feral ghouls, his gaze hardening with determination. "Fuckin' steel tomb. Don't know why I agreed to this," he muttered under his breath, raising his sawed off rifle at the closest enemy. 

Neither of you had been expecting the storm. After miles of trudging through the unforgiving desert, each step sinking into the soft grains like quicksand and your weary legs protesting with every movement, you had welcomed it. The sun's heat was relentless as it bore down upon you, slicking your skin with sweat as your lungs burned from the thick, humid air.

When the sky finally darkened, heavy storm clouds rolling ominously across the horizon, you had felt a sense of relief. The air crackled with a pulsing electricity, raising the hairs on your arms and sending shivers down your spine. You smiled, anticipating the rain against your hot skin, cooling it like a balm, but your glee ended when you followed the Ghoul's troubled gaze skyward. The once-promising clouds twisted into a menacing green hue, casting an eerie glow over the wasteland. As they churned and roiled overhead, you felt the Ghoul tug at your hand as you both fled.

You had struggled to keep pace with the Ghoul as he dragged you along the desert, his movements swift and determined despite the looming threat of the storm overhead. The sound of thunder grew louder with each passing moment, urging you forward towards the faint glimmer of hope on the horizon—the open blast door, rusted and weathered against the harsh backdrop of the desert rocks. Salvation.

"You didn't have much choice," you reminded him, now dusting yourself off as you rose to your feet and joined him at his side. With practiced ease, you reached for the pistol holstered at his hip, levelling it at the snarling feral ghoul before you. Without hesitation, you pulled the trigger, the blast tearing through the ghoul's face and sending it crashing to the ground.

"Not all of us are immune to radstorms," you continued, your voice firm as you glanced at him, a hint of a smile on your lips. "And you'd miss me too much."

With a grunt of acknowledgment, he dispatched the last remaining ghoul with a well-aimed shot to the head. As the echoes of gunfire faded, silence descended upon the hallway, the only sound a soft hum of electricity coursing through the ancient structure.

"Like a hole in the head," he muttered, his tone laced with grim amusement as he surveyed the aftermath of the encounter, slinging his rifle onto his back.

You rolled your eyes in response, holstering his gun back at his hip before bending to retrieve your own from where it had been flung during the scuffle with the feral ghoul. Blood smeared across your skin as you wiped at your eyes with the back of your hand, blinking away the remnants of the encounter.

The Ghoul scrutinized you with a critical eye, flicking at a piece of rotten flesh that rested on your shoulder. It hit the ground with a wet splat. "You look like shit," he remarked bluntly, his tone devoid of any sugar-coating as he took in your dishevelled appearance. "Smell like it too."

A wry grin tugged at your lips despite the grim circumstances, looking down at your bloody clothes. "I don't think ghouls concern themselves with personal hygiene when they're rotting from the inside out," you quipped, attempting to lighten the mood, though you quickly fumbled to apologize when you saw his expression falter. "Not you, you're different."

He kicked at the corpse with a spurred boot, a hint of bitterness tainting his features. "Debateable," he muttered, his voice heavy with a weight you couldn't quite discern.

Before you could say anything, he urged you forward through the dim hallway, stepping over the dead as you pushed deeper into the belly of the vault.

"The backup generator is running, but barely" you informed him, eyeing the flickering lights overhead. "If we find an apartment close to the power room, it might have enough for a hot shower. I bet there's still an old tin of cram or two hanging around, too."

He chuckled teasingly, his voice echoing softly in the corridor. "Feeling at home, vaultie?" he asked, a hint of amusement colouring his words.

You couldn't help but feel a pang of nostalgia as you took in the familiar twists and turns of the Vault-Tec vault. It had been months since you left your own vault on a standard recon mission for the overseer. Memories of your first days outside the safety of your home flooded back, the naivety of not quite understanding your surroundings almost leading you to your demise. It was only through the intervention of the irradiated bounty hunter that you had been spared from certain death.

Despite the dangers of the wasteland, you had found a sense of belonging alongside the Ghoul, his gruff exterior belying a reluctant camaraderie that had formed between you. His initial frustration at your presence had given way to begrudging acceptance, and eventually, he had presented you with an ultimatum: he would guide you through the commonwealth in return for your assistance in retrieving his next batch of vials. What exactly your role would entail remained unclear, but you had agreed without hesitation, eager to repay the debt you owed him for saving your life.

"Let's try in here," you suggested, gesturing towards the apartment block as you led the way. Stopping at the first open door, you peered inside, finding the remnants of a life left behind. The apartment boasted a homely kitchen diner attached to an open-planned living room, but a thick layer of dust coated every surface, casting a sombre feeling over the once-vibrant space.

As you moved to step into the apartment, the Ghoul's gloved hand closed firmly around your wrist, halting your progress. "We should check on the storm," he advised, his tone cautious. "It could be passing quickly, and we don't want to waste valuable time."

"What's your hurry?" you chuckled, gently freeing your arm from his grip with a shake before venturing into the kitchen. "Don't tell me you couldn't go for a little home comfort or two," you teased over your shoulder, testing the tap and smiling when the first drops of water spurted from it. 

The Ghoul stepped warily into the apartment, his hand hovering near his holstered gun as he scanned the faded space with caution, his senses alert for any signs of danger. Meanwhile, you rummaged through the cupboards with a sense of determination, your movements swift and purposeful.

Suddenly, you let out a triumphant "Aha!" The Ghoul tensed slightly as he turned his attention to you. With a proud grin, you held up your findings for his inspection. "Can I interest you in a fine meal of BlamCo Mac and Cheese, Mr. Howard?"

Your playful tone brought a rare hint of amusement to the Ghoul's features, his guard momentarily lowered in the face of your infectious enthusiasm. With a weary but genuine smile, he nodded in agreement. "Well, vaultie, I suppose it's better than nothing," he conceded, allowing himself to relax ever so slightly in the comfort of the unfamiliar surroundings as he stepped closer to the table.

"Better than spending hours hunting for a glimpse of mole-rat meat, that's for sure," you remarked with a chuckle, the sound echoing softly in the quiet confines of the apartment. You opened the E-Z pour spout of the box, decanting two portions of BlamCo Mac and Cheese into the pan on the stove. You wished for milk instead of the tap water as you added it to the mix, a small pang of longing for the comforts of home stirring within you.

As you stirred the pot, you couldn't help but notice the Ghoul's watchful gaze lingering on you from behind. Turning to face him, you observed the subtle shift in his demeanour, a hint of awkwardness marring his usually confident exterior. "Why don't you sit down, make yourself comfortable," you suggested, nodding towards the dining table that stood between you. Despite his initial hesitation, you smiled warmly when he slowly took a seat.

As you observed the Ghoul sitting at the dining table, his posture tense and his demeanour uncertain, you couldn't help but feel a sense of role reversal between the two of you. Here he was, a seasoned survivor of the wasteland, seeming out of place and unsure in the remnants of a family home. It was a stark contrast to the confidence and expertise he showed whilst guiding you on the surface.

Now, it was your turn to lead him through unfamiliar territory, to offer him a glimpse of normalcy amidst the chaos he'd known for so many years.

You served the steaming meal into two bowls you had found in the cupboard above, placing them gently on the table before the Ghoul as you settled into your seat opposite him. As he picked up his spoon and began to eat, you couldn't help but watch him with a soft affection.

He grunted in acknowledgment, a reluctant expression of gratitude escaping his scarred lips before he dug into the hot offering before him. You observed with a warm smile as he paused mid-mouthful, savouring the cheesy flavour that filled the air, his expression shifting to one of satisfaction as he gave an affirming nod.

"Not half bad," he said, then glanced at you with a glint in his eye. "Could do with a little rat meat."

You shook your head at his joke, savouring the familiar taste of the mac and cheese as you tucked into your own meal. A comfortable silence settled between you both as you ate, the only sound in the room the gentle clinking of spoons against ceramic.

Once he had finished his meal, the Ghoul leaned back in his chair, rubbing comically at his stomach as he glanced over at you with a mischievous twinkle in his eye. You couldn't help but laugh at the sight, the juxtaposition of this rugged, irradiated cowboy against the backdrop of a once-cozy family home amusing to you.

"You ever see yourself in a place like this?" you asked, resting your chin in your palm as you leaned forward, your elbow propped up on the table.

"Sweetheart, there ain't no place like this," he replied, gesturing around the room with a sweep of his hand. "This ain't real, just a lie sold to gullible folk who were desperate not to go out with the end of the world."

"I don't know," you countered, a hint of defiance in your voice. "Feels pretty real to me."

He shook his head condescendingly, a familiar tone creeping into his words. "That's 'cause you were raised by the machine," he said, his gaze steady as he met your eyes. "Reality is, you don't know your ass from your elbow."

You laughed softly, the tension easing from your shoulders as you shook your head in amusement. "Maybe not, but I think this, real or not, might be nice for just one night."

He considered your suggestion, his mouth pulling into a tight grimace as he followed your gaze to the far corner of the room where a door led into a fair-sized bedroom. From your vantage point, the queen-sized bed seemed to call out to you, promising a rare moment of comfort and respite that you hadn't felt since leaving your vault.

His expression softened as he caught the gleam of longing in your eye. "I suppose, just one night," he conceded, his tone gruff but his reluctance tinged with a hint of warmth. "You gonna wash that stink off before diving into that thing?"

You grinned at his teasing remark, then gestured to the remnants of feral ghoul clinging to his own body. "I'm not the only one who needs a shower," you pointed out with a playful smirk. "You're not getting in that bed without one."

He chuckled, his gaze momentarily dropping before meeting yours once more. "I'm taking the couch," he declared.

Your smile faltered, disappointment evident on your face as you glanced over to the dusty couch. In your eagerness for a moment of normalcy, you had momentarily forgotten the harsh reality of your situation—the boundaries that existed between you and your companion.

"I think you'd like the bed much better," you suggested tentatively, but he shook his head in refusal when you looked back at him.

"You gonna make me tell you again?" he asked, his tone firm with warning.

Memories of a recent encounter flooded your mind. Just days ago, in the chill of the night, you had sought comfort in his warmth, curling up behind him on his bedroll in a desperate attempt to stave off the cold wind that whipped through the open shelter you had found. Of course it wasn't the only reason you had crossed that line, but you told yourself otherwise.

At first, he had stirred slowly, his initial reaction one of sleep-hazed confusion, but realization settled on him at the touch of your hand on his back. He had pushed you away, demanding to know what had gotten into you, banishing you back to your own bedroll, and in the morning he had made it clear that it was not to happen again—that you needed to get your head on straight.

With a heavy sigh, you resigned yourself to the reality of the situation. Memories of the ease of intimacy in your vault flooded your mind—the shared moments of mutual gratification with fellow residents that had once been commonplace. But on the surface, such connections seemed few and far between, leaving you feeling isolated and starved for physical affection.

Despite your initial recoil at the sight of the Ghoul, a newfound curiosity had begun to stir within you—a longing for the touch of another, of his rough hands, weathered by the harshness of the wasteland, tracing patterns across your flesh. It filled you with a heady mixture of excitement and apprehension. The mere thought of it sent a shiver down your spine, igniting a fire within you that you struggled to suppress. 

And yet, here you both were—plucked from your shared reality and forced to remain in this abandoned apartment until the radstorm had passed.

The confines of the room seemed to shrink around you as the tension between you and the Ghoul hung heavy in the air. Each passing moment only served to heighten the palpable desire that simmered beneath the surface.

"I'm going to wash this off," you announced, your voice steady despite the racing of your heart, as you rose from your seat and fixed your gaze on him. "You're right, none of this is real. Tomorrow is a new day, so what happens tonight is insignificant."

Before you could falter, you turned away and made your way to the bedroom where the en suite was located. Your skin burned at the implication of your words, at the possibility that he might ignore you and leave you feeling empty and alone in the harsh light of the morning after.

With each step, you braced yourself for rejection, for the inevitable fallout that awaited. But as you reached the door of the bathroom, a sliver of hope flickered within you—a small glimmer of possibility that perhaps, just perhaps, the barriers between you could be broken down, if only for a fleeting moment in time.

Stepping into the shower, the hot water cascaded down on you, enveloping your naked skin in a welcomed embrace. With each drop, the dirt and grime of the wasteland melted away, leaving you feeling refreshed and renewed. Lost in the bliss of the water, you didn't hear the door slide open behind you until the Ghoul's deep voice cut through the steam.

"You missed a spot," he remarked, and you jumped, turning to face him with your arms instinctively crossing over your chest. Your heart raced as his darkened eyes roamed your body, their intensity sending a flush of heat rushing to your cheeks.

"Think you can get it, Cooper?" you asked after a pause, the challenge evident in your tone as you dared him to come closer, to see just how far he was willing to go now that he had stepped foot in the bathroom and laid eyes on your naked form. He shifted, making to step into the shower, but you stopped him with a hand pressed against his clothed chest.

"You're still dressed," you pointed out, a hint of amusement dancing in your eyes as you gestured to his attire. His bandolier and hat lay discarded on the countertop behind him, both guns resting in their respective holsters beside your own.

With a resigned sigh, he shrugged out of his heavy duster and let it fall to the ground, the weight of his armour leaving him feeling exposed and vulnerable. But before he could make another move, you stopped him once more, your hand halting his progress as you met his gaze with determination.

"The clothes ain't coming off," he muttered, his tone gruff with a hint of defiance. "Take it or leave it."

For a moment, you hesitated, weighing your options as you stared into his eyes, searching for any sign of vulnerability beneath the hardened exterior. And then, with a silent nod of understanding, you stepped aside, allowing him to join you beneath the comforting spray of the shower, the barriers between you slowly beginning to crumble in the warmth of the water. 

His frame took up the rest of the space, looming over you as you dropped your arm from your chest, exposing yourself to him fully. With a sharp intake of breath, he devoured you with his gaze, his eyes darkening with a mix of hunger and hesitation. The steam swirled around you both, creating a cocoon of intimacy that felt separate from the harsh realities outside.

You reached for his gloved hand, your fingers trembling slightly as you lifted it and guided it to your breast. The sensation of the rough leather against your skin sent a shiver through you, your eyes never leaving his as you encouraged him to touch you.

For a moment, he remained still, his eyes searching yours as if seeking permission one last time. Then, with a slow exhale, he closed his hand around your breast, the pressure firm but careful, as if afraid to break the fragile connection forming between you.

His thumb brushed over your nipple, the leather cool and abrasive against your sensitive skin. A gasp escaped your lips, your body arching into his touch as desire flared within you. His eyes, still locked on yours, softened with a mix of awe and uncertainty, the vulnerability beneath his hardened exterior laid bare in the steamy haze of the shower.

You wondered if, during the centuries he had roamed the wasteland, he had ever experienced this intimacy. Had he taken a lover? Had he sought solace in another's arms, despite the shame that made him hesitant to do so? You wondered if he had felt the soft, smooth skin of a woman since being transformed into this stoic, dangerous mutation, and it made you determined to give him the comfort you felt he so desperately needed.

Emboldened by his touch, you leaned closer, pressing your body against his clothed form, feeling the heat radiating from him even through the layers of damp fabric. Your hands moved to his shoulders, sliding down his arms as you whispered, "You won't break me."

He paused, a dangerous glint in his eyes. "What if I want to?" he asked, his voice low and searching. His gaze bore into yours, seeking an answer.

His words hung in the air, heavy with unspoken longing and raw vulnerability. This was as open and honest as he had ever been with you, his desires laid bare for the first time. You could see the conflict in his gaze, the struggle between the hardened exterior he presented to the world and the tender emotions he kept hidden away.

"Go ahead," you said softly, your voice trembling with anticipation and the weight of your own feelings. You pressed a hand against the hardness of his clothed cock, squeezed gently as if urging him on.

His breath hitched, and for a moment, you thought he might pull away. But then he leaned in, his lips capturing yours in a kiss that was both delicate and demanding. His hands moved over your body, exploring and caressing with a reverence that took your breath away.

Suddenly, you were pushed backwards against the cold tiles of the shower cubicle, his body consumed you as his lips left yours to nip and suck at your neck before moving fervently down to your breasts. You gasped when his teeth grazed your nipple, your hands resting on his shoulders, holding him closer to you. His own hands clawed at your thighs, lifting one leg to rest on his hip as you reached for his belt buckle. He gritted his teeth, anticipating your touch. You undid it slowly, your hand grazing his clothed abdomen before sliding down to squeeze his cock.

"Fuck," he muttered against your skin, his voice thick with desire. You could feel his hardness pulsing against your palm, its size and thickness surprising you, sending a surge of excitement to your core. His textured skin pressed against yours, igniting a shiver of anticipation at the thought of him inside you. With a tentative thrust, he tested your grasp, letting out a guttural moan when you responded with a tug.

You guided his cock to your entrance, teasingly tracing the tip along your slick folds. The air crackled between you, every touch, every movement igniting the tension. He claimed your lips in a fierce kiss, teeth clashing as he effortlessly lifted you with practiced skill. Legs wrapped around his waist, you held onto him tightly as he pushed into you. You felt overwhelmed you as your walls stretched to accommodate him, a fiery sensation coursing through you as he filled you completely.

For a moment, you both stilled in the intensity of the connection, breathlessly panting in the humid air. Then, with a slow, deliberate rhythm, he began to move, his thrusts deep and forceful, each one igniting waves of pleasure that surged through you.

His gloved hands kneaded and squeezed at the soft flesh of your behind, his head dropped into the crook of your neck again as his licked and sucked the skin raw. Your fingers slid between your bodies, tugged at the buttons of his wet shirt in a vain attempt to feel him against you. He grunted, pulled back from your neck with a scolding look as he slapped your hand away.

"I just want to feel you, Coop," you told him, voice tainted with a whine.

"You're feeling me just fine," he said, his voice low, as he thrust his hips deeply, pushing his cock further inside you. Tears welled in your eyes from the stretch, and you leaned your head back against the tiles while he smirked. "Just fine."

You yielded, deciding that if this was how he chose to give himself to you, then you'd accept it willingly.

He took your silence as obedience, thrusting into you forcefully, driving his cock to the hilt over and over. You moaned as your body responded, clenching around him, your eyes squeezed shut. With a smirk, he pulled back slightly, his gaze fixated on the point where your bodies joined, observing intently as he continued to pound into you with a steady, unyielding pace.

A gasp escaped your lips as his hand slid between you, his fingers encased in leather, pinching your clit with a pleasurable pain that sent waves of sensation through your body. The coil of tension inside you tightened, your muscles yearning for release as he expertly flicked and rubbed at the sensitive bud.

Your nails dug into his shoulder, leaving marks on the leather vest as you thrashed against him. His eyes, now dark pools of desire, remained fixed on your hungry cunt enveloping him as you matched his relentless rhythm. With each bounce, your bodies collided, igniting a primal passion between you and driving you both towards the brink of ecstasy.

Your orgasm ripped through you with a cry of his name, intense and all consuming, stealing your breath as your muscles clenched around him and your juices flowed over his throbbing shaft. 

His fingers continued their assault on your sensitive clit, relentless in their pursuit of your pleasure. He fucked into you mercilessly, seeing you through to the end of your release before focusing on his own. His primal grunts filled the air as his hips faltered, and you seized him in a bruising kiss, your hand wet against his warm cheek, sucking at his tongue with desperate need to convey your bliss.

You felt him begin to pull away, and in a panic you tightened the hold you had around him, your legs locking almost painfully around his waist as he tore his lips from yours.

"I can't," he panted, desperately trying to pry you from him as he stopped his movements, but you grinded down onto him, imploring him to continue with a moan. "Fuck, don't make me."

A second passed and then as if succumbing to a battle of his own will, his hips resumed their  painful snapping motion, driving his cock deep inside you with a frantic pace. Then, they faltered, stuttering, and he pinned you hard against the tiles as he came inside your swollen cunt with an animalistic growl.

With his face buried in your neck, you held him close, your hands gently stroking his back, as the last spasms of his release faded. His warm load filled you completely, trailing down the inside of your thigh.

The small space fell back into silence, void of the rhythmic sound of skin slapping against skin, now filled only with the heavy breaths from both of you and the trickling of the water that had long since chilled and ceased to flow. His hands moved to your thighs, roughly prying your legs from around him and lowering you back to the floor with a finality. His softening cock slipped out of you, leaving you empty and sore, eager to feel it again.

He avoided your gaze, busying himself with tucking himself back into his pants and adjusting the damp fabric before turning to leave the cubicle. You reached out, attempting to hold him back by grasping his bicep, but his eyes remained fixed on the wall ahead.

"Wasn't so bad, was it?" you asked, trying to inject a hint of levity into the heavy atmosphere, but he only grunted in response, pulling his arm away from your grip.

"Get some sleep, we leave at first light," he ordered, swiftly gathering his discarded belongings before exiting the bathroom.

A chill settled over you as you tried to steady your shaky breath. Wrapping yourself in a towel, you walked into the bedroom, feeling a mix of disappointment and resignation when you saw the Ghoul had retreated to the living room. Damp and regretful, he had chosen the dusty couch over spending the night with you.

With a sigh, you approached the bed and picked up the bottle left for you on the spread. The red and yellow capsules clinked against the rust-coloured glass, the chemical smell of the Rad-x filling the air as you unscrewed the lid. It was naïve to expect anything more than an awkward departure after what had happened between you, yet you couldn't shake the heavy pit of defeat that settled in your stomach, despite your earlier promise to him.

What happens tonight is insignificant.

#cooper howard x reader #the ghoul x reader #cooper howard x you #the ghoul x you #fallout #cooper howard smut #the ghoul smut #fallout prime #fallout fanfiction #cooper howard #the ghoul #fallout x reader #fic request

[tosotd-f1]

McLaren Orange

*based off the song “tennessee orange” by megan moroney*

lando norris x fem!reader

warnings: fluff *first person pov*

summary: y/n was raised in a ferrari family, but a special driver in the papaya car gets her to wear the mclaren orange.

I felt as if I was going to throw up. My hand hovered over my mothers contact, shaking from the knots in my stomach. I knew I shouldn't be nervous, but knowing the way my family is I couldn't help it. Finally after convincing myself to tap the icon, my phone began to ring. The ring went on an awful long time, making me feel even more terrified.

"Hi Mama," I say into the phone once she picked up.

"Hey darling," Her sweet voice echos into my ear. How am I supposed to tell her this?

"I've got some news for you," My voice cracks.

"Is everything alright? You're not in trouble are you?" Her tone becomes serious, I could tell she had her eyebrow raised looking towards my father.

"I'm not in trouble, Mama" I laugh slightly, "But, don't tell dad about this, please."

There was silence on the other side of the phone. I knew she was debating listening to my request, but also on not. I heard her shuffle around a bit. Maybe she headed into a different room for privacy.

"I know you guys raised me to know right from wrong, and I know you're thinking I did something wrong, but don't worry everything is okay." I sigh, "It's just, I've never really felt this way. I don't know where to start."

"You can tell me anything, sweetheart." She reassures me, my heartbeat already calming down.

"I met this guy," I mentally smack my head in embarrassment.

"Oh, I was expecting something totally different." She laughs loudly.

"He's got these gorgeous blue eyes." I feel my cheeks grow warm just thinking about the way his eyes look into mine. "He even opens the door for me. I don't think he's made me cry once."

I had met Lando after the Emilia-Romagna Grand Prix. A couple of my friends and I decided to go out for the night, we needed some freedom. Just that morning we were all wearing our red gear, cheering for the Ferrari's as they raced. Lando just happened to be at the club we decided to go to. He was with a couple of his friends, hanging around the dj booth in the back. I must have felt risky that day because I walked up to him, congratulating him on his race. Yes, I congratulated the enemy. We ended up talking a little longer. A little longer was the rest of the night.

"He's not from where we're from." I explained, "But, he feels like home somehow."

"Where's he from?" She qustions.

"The United Kingdom, Bristol actually." I tell her.

"He sounds like a very lovely guy," She compliments him. This makes my heart warm. Hopefully the rest of the story wont make her too upset.

"I've done things I've never done before with him, Mama." She could probably hear my wide smile through the phone. "He took me to this beautiful restaurant the other night. Oh, and we went cliff diving too!"

Talking about just a few of the adventures we had been on together already made my stomach burst with butterflies. Thinking back to when our hands were holding tight to each other as we jumped off the tall cliff, waiting for our fall to be caught by the blue water. When he gave me his jacket after our dinner because it was raining.

"There is one thing though," I hesitate.

"What is it?"

"Mama, he's a driver." I try to lead up to the fact that he's a big racing star, but not for our big team.

"He's a driver? Like a racer?" Her voice fills with excitement. "Are you dating Charles Leclerc?"

"No Mama, not him." I laugh, "He's not on Ferrari."

Yet again there was a silence on the other end of the phone.

"Mama, he drives for McLaren." I whisper, a weight being lifted off my shoulders as I did so. "Lando Norris."

I heard the door open from the phone, she was walking up to my father.

"He took me to Spain with him, that's why I was gone for a little while. He gave me the hat he had sitting on his dash when we got to the airport." I try to distract her from telling any information to my father. As long as he's a good guy why should it matter? "Mama, can you forgive me? Don't tell dad, please. I like him a lot."

"Honey, I'm not mad at you. I can't change the fact you like this boy. As long as he doesn't make you forget you look better in red." She sighs, the phone now on speaker mode.

"I don't know, his smile makes me forget sometimes." I fiddle with the rings on my finger.

"Hi daddy," I say quietly, knowing hes listening into the conversation. "I'm sorry, I couldn't help it."

"Your mother and I are so happy for you, Y/n. I could never be mad at you for chasing your heart."

"I still am rooting for Ferrari, don't worry." I laugh, feeling relieved by their acceptance. "But if you every see me wearing McLaren. Just know I'm wearing the orange for him."

#lando x reader #lando norris #charles leclerc #formula one #formula 1 #ferrari #mclaren #f1 #f1 x reader #mclaren f1 #ferrari f1

[reggies-eyeliner]

OKAY AN EXTREMELY SELF-INDULGENT SENSELESS RAMBLE ABOUT JWCT REGARDING GRIEF AND EMOTIONS AND FOUND FAMILY AND COMPLEX CHARACTERS COMING UP AHEAD WOOP WOOP !!!

i cannot stress to you enough. how much i love the way they write processing trauma. like yeah trauma is all silly and angst and whatever but it's a real thing like genuinely and it's exhausting to see shows just dismiss it over and over again but THIS SHOW I SWEAR IT'S JUST. EVERYTHING IS DONE SO SO WELL AND I AM ETERNALLY GRATEFUL LIKE

and not to mention that the animation SERIOUSLY DOES IT JUSTICE like the expressions are SO GOOD OH MY GOSH LIKE IT'S I'M THEY'RE YEAH THE EXPRESSIONS. ARE INCREDIBLE. that looks darius got in his eyes when he KNEW the password to brooklyn's phone and kenji didn't??? so good SO GOOD and just the way their eyes all shine before they start crying is actually done so well that if you listen carefully you can feel my heart breaking

also i love how like emotional processing is also written so much. all of them aren't afraid to cry and i feel like that's just. yeah it's beautiful. they cry soft they cry loud whatever it is they're comfortable enough to do so and if they're not they at least know they won't be judged for it ARE YOU KIDDING ME I'M GOING TO BITE A TABLE?????

the characters have flaws. i love that so much. the characters are not perfect but they're still likable and it's executed so well. darius' grief is PALPABLE and kenji's anger, albeit sometimes annoying, is so understandable that you can't actually be angry or annoyed with him because the story writing makes you understand. that's incredible. yasmina struggles with anxiety and ptsd and she gets frustrated and that is !! okay !! sammy ignores her emotions and struggles with toxic positivity but we understand *why* she talks to yasmina that way (because she's worried and scared and concerned for her girlfriend, but she's also just as worried of truly addressing what she's been through) so it's so hard to get mad at her. ben is THANJ GOODNESS not mischaracterized as a cinnamon roll and is actually a complex character with complex emotions and i can't get enough of it. he's like a pain he's so annoying sometimes but it's endearing because he reminds you of that one classmate from elementary that makes you go ohhh yeah no it's him that's fine

okay paragraph was getting long but I do have more to say about kenji. the relationships in this show are executed SO WELL and I'm beyond relieved that Kenji and Daniel's relationship was written INCREDIBLY WELL

like. okay first off the asian rep YEAHGHH IT EAS GOOD !!! WOOP WOOP YRAHAHDH HONK HONK the part about kenji saying he should get his violin after daniel was like telling his sob story was SO FUNNY OH MH GOSH

and just. kenji and daniel kon. im. like his dad was never perfect. far from it and yet kenji just he loves him so much and wants to make him proud and it makes me sick because the writing helps you UNDERSTAND why

daniel keeps giving kenji ultimatums and kenji standing up to him for once just. yeah. that was done incredibly well. and then not even ten minutes after daniel started to change and gave his son something without expecting anything in return other than his presence daniel gets eaten alive in front of him.

okay now this show holy moly i was NOT expecting daniel to just. get ripped apart but um YEAH THAT HAPPENED and the grief was written so well I cannot stress this enough. I loathe in movies and shows when they skim past traumatic deaths and just act like the grief is just non existent and this show does an incredible job at showing that it is VERY MUCH STILL THERE and it makes people out there who are struggling feel a little less crazy and that's so beautiful

i've been a benrius enthusiast since day one and honestly at this point i just hope everything goes well for them moving on. brooklyn's death and Darius coping with her grief was done SO SO WELL and honestly okay as much as i love sibling-type dinostar i think rewatching scenes with the lens that he was in love with her just makes it hurt so much and it's just. yeah. it's written well.

I will say that I think the story could have gone on without Darius confessing his love to Brooklyn, and the scene where Kenji asked Darius about the voicemails could have been used solely as a chance to highlight grief. another way the scene could have gone was if kenji sifted through the voicemails and just heard Darius's voice shatter in a way he's never quite heard it or listened to darius blame himself and that could have been a moment for kenji to realize that grief isn't something people should deal with alone, that *he* shouldn't deal with grief alone

regardless i really do think the idea that Darius was in love with Brooklyn was done really well. I don't know a better way for kenji to have figured out the truth, and for that I am grateful :D!! I hope the hardcore shippers don't get too mad though 😭

also I absolutely loved the lady with the whistle. she's cool. her character design is terrifying and the way she treats the dinosaurs reminds me a of a queen that is very fond of her workers like 😭 she's cool but also i would never want her within a 100 mile radius of me

the found family in this show is actually. yeah. it makes me cry because it's just done so well because it doesn't idealize perfect relationships. there are awkward moments, there are sad moments, characters still feel broken and alone despite having people who've actively said that they'd go to the moon and back for them. it's realistic and it's written beautifully

I think Darius might actually be the character with The Writing ever. his grief and his nostalgia, his awkwardness and fascination with learning and his kindness are all things that exist together and I am so so grateful for that. he's allowed to laugh and make jokes while feeling constant, looming guilt. he is fascinated with learning while also struggling to feel like he deserves to be happy, he enjoys learning about dinosaurs while also being terrified of them on the worst days. he feels guilty and feels like a bad person. but he's loved and he's cared for. can you tell he's my favorite now because

enamored with yasmina and sammy as always. they are just the girlfriends ever and i love so much how openly they communicate with each other. sammy apologizes when she makes mistakes, yasmina doesn't hold it against her. they're always at each other's sides and their love isn't conditional. i love them SO MUCH

okay sorry im making this about darius again but this guy actually is The character ever. I don't think I've ever felt so seen in a character and i just yeah the writers are incredible because all of the characters are written to feel relatable, and if not that, to feel real. it was just a huge comfort to me to know that okay im not crazy for feeling this way because of a character, who was written and animated by dozens and dozens of creators was allowed to be written this way, i'm not messed up in the head, im just processing emotions and it's okay that I need help for that

THIS SOUNDS SO CRINGE I AM SO SORRY

but yeah i. i love this show.

#jwct #jwct spoilers #Jurassic world chaos theory #jwcc #jwcc Darius #jwcc Ben #jwcc yasmina #jwcc Kenji #jwcc Sammy #benrius #dinostar #Brooklyn #Jurassic world chaos theory spoilers #ben Pincus #Kenji kon #darius Bowman #Brooklyn nolastname #yasmina fadoula #sammy Gutierrez #yasammy #daniel kon

[hadesisqueer]

Okay, so I finished JWCT and-- it was a great season.

Ben was awesome this season. All the mentions to how much he'd grown were funny, and the Big Ben joke was as well. I really liked him and his moments with Darius and Yaz, most of all with Yaz; I always enjoyed their friendship, and I loved how they talked about their feelings again. Also-- he has a girlfriend? A girlfriend?

Kenji's moments confronting his father and not letting himself be manipulated again were among my favorites this season. His conflict with Darius and their brotherly moments were cool to watch. Darius' whole arc, his grief and guilt over Brooklynn's supposed death was among my favorite arcs this season.

Yaz and Sammy were awesome in general, both individually and as a couple. Yaz is my favorite character, and I loved her arc. As someone with PTSD myself, I am very pleased with how the show didn't shy away from it and fully saying "PTSD". Personally, I am pretty happy that Yaz's PTSD was handled so realistically and with such care. Sammy was a badass this season, and her feelings and anxiety while dealing with Yaz apparently pulling away, her grief over Brooklynn's supposed death and the fact that her parents for some reason don't talk to her were handled realistically. I specifically wanna know what happened between her and her parents, because she adored her family and her family adored her as well back in CC; I really wonder what the conflict is that they're not talking anymore. Yasammy as a couple is awesome as well, as I said: their conflict is handled very well and you can understand both sides. The resolution was great and their moments in general were awesome. They're still easily the best couple of this show (not that it had a lot of competition), and probably one of the best in animated media in general. I love them.

Brooklynn being alive at the end? I think everyone called it, lmao. My girl is far too cool to just die, sorry, she can't die. I can't wait to see the others find out and their reunion.

Now, my thoughts about the other ships this season-- Brookenji and Dinostar lmao? I cheered when I found out Brookenji broke up; I was never a fan of the couple, sorry, it was TOO forced. Now, the whole Dinostar thing-- I was a bit suspicious of the way Darius was acting about Brooklynn and all, but I didn't think they were actually gonna have him admit he was in love with her, so that took me by surprise. I know they said it was unrequited, but yeah I don't buy that. I'm predicting it: it will turn out that it's not unrequited, that Brooklynn actually has feelings for him and they're going to pull a love triangle between her, Darius and Kenji. Pfff, it's like I'm seeing it. I'm really not a fan of love triangles tbh. But if it happens (and it's probably gonna happen, I can see it coming), I hope it ends up with Dinostar endgame instead of Brookenji. Like I already said, I really don't like Brookenji. And I've always been more neutral with Dinostar (and Benrius; I like, them too but don't pay them that much mind). I liked Dinostar platonically a lot, and while I didn't care much of it, I also never minded the idea of them becoming a couple. In fact, Brookenji took me by surprise while watching the show because to me if they were gonna pair Brooklynn with someone, I always thought it'd be Darius rather than Kenji, because I thought they made more sense. So, yeah, if it's Brookenji or Dinostar, Dinostar all the way for me lmao. Still not looking forward to the love triangle if it happens lol.

Also, Bumpy being a mom. Fave moment of the season.

Anyway, I need a second season. Like, right now.

#jurassic world chaos theory #jwct spoilers #jwct #ben pincus #brooklynn jwcc #darius bowman #yasmina fadoula #sammy gutierrez #kenji kon #yasammy #dinostar

[vveebee]

TEASER ! Bittersweet - Park Sunghoon | p.sh

based off of teeth by enhypen

pairing: best friend's ex boyfriend!sunghoon x afab!reader word count: currently 0.6k

all works | playlist

synopsis: after the brutal breakup of your best friend, wonyoung, and the infamous park sunghoon, you couldn't help but have the urge to rip his hair out. you were aware of his status. a wealthy playboy. but that doesn't alter your perspective of him one bit. when you accidentally entangle yourself into getting paid to fulfil his needs, sunghoon began to grow accustomed to you. what happens when your best friend finds out?

genre: enemies with benefits, enemies to lovers, jake second lead TT, secret relationship, betrayal, kind of slowburn(?), angst, smut

warnings: MINORS DNI, drinking, smoking, making out, skin biting/sucking, dacryphilia, hair pulling, dirty talk, degrading, unprotected sex (always use protectionnn), fingering, reader kind of gets forced into doing it, more as i go

a/n: this is my first fic that i've ever posted so i really hope you enjoy this TT

release date? tba.

parts completed? 0/?

taglist is currently OPEN !

~ if you would like to be tagged once this is released, please either reply or send an ask, though i would prefer asks <3

teaser below ! ^^ Disclaimer: It is NOT proofread.

now playing: teeth by enhypen

BUZZ.. BUZZ… God, that was probably the nth time someone tried calling you. You didn’t bother checking the caller ID, but considering the amount of times they’ve called you, it was probably some prank or scam call. Since eleven o’clock in the morning, you’ve been trying to finish off the final details of your biology project, and you have been for almost twelve hours. Obviously, you took small breaks throughout the day, whether it was coffee or some takeaway, but you didn’t have any classes today so you thought it was best to maximise your working time. You always ask yourself why exactly you ended up choosing biology for your college course.

BUZZ—You finally picked up the phone, completely fed up with its vibrating. “Hello?” You spoke, your voice implying that you were annoyed and that the caller should probably hang up. You tucked your phone in between the side of your face and shoulder so that you could still hear whilst writing.

From the other side of the line, you could hear someone sniffing, it was subtle but you were still able to make it out. In confusion, your hand stops gliding your pen across the paper, dropping it and fumbling for your phone to see who the caller ID was. Your hand grasped the device close to your face, the light rebounding off of it. Your eyes scanned the name displayed on the screen, checking who exactly was calling you.

It was Wonyoung. Your best friend.

Without wasting any more time, you brought the phone up to your ear again.. “Wonyoung? Wait— Why are you crying? Did something happen?” You asked, obviously confused as to why she was crying at this time of day. All that was audible was the sobbing and sniffing of your best friend, and all you could do was listen. “Hey, hey… Why don’t we take some deep breaths, yeah?” Knowing that she probably wasn’t able to respond, you continued to help stabilise her breathing. “Deep breath in— and breathe out,” You instructed, again and again. After Wonyoung was able to normalise her breathing, you decided that now was the best time to ask about the cause of her constant crying. “So.? What happened, Won?” You started off gently, not wanting to frighten her back into tears. “Y/n…” She spoke, “It’s Sunghoon—” Unconsciously, you cut her off again, it was a habit you needed to get rid of. “Sunghoon? You mean that rich jerk you’re dating? Did you guys fight again? Won- If you guys keep fighting then it means you need to break up!” You exclaimed, voice beaming over the phone.

There was a slight moment of silence before Wonyoung began speaking again. “That’s the thing, Y/n. We aren’t..” The words leaving her mouth have you sitting upright in your chair.

“You aren’t? Oh Won, I’m so proud of you for finally leaving him,” You said, honestly proud of your best friend for leaving a toxic relationship behind. But then you quickly remember that she was the one that was crying. “You… were the one that left him, right? Won?” Again, there was that moment of silence, but longer, so you took the hint that you were wrong. “Look, Won, he didn’t deserve you anyways, and you deserved so much better than him.” You protested in the voice you always used when you tried to lighten the mood. Luckily enough, it earned a small chuckle from the girl across the line. “I say, how about I go to the convenience store to pick up some ramyeon, and I’ll head over to yours to eat it with you. How does that sound?” The words left your mouth so fluidly as if you’ve uttered the phrase a countless amount of times. A series of subtle laughs flooded your ears, “Of course, Y/n. I’d love that.” Wonyoung agreed, you could just hear the smile on her face, happy that she was happy now. Forget about your stupid biology project, it could wait. All you needed to focus on was comforting your best friend and hating on her shameless ex.

And that’s how you started hating Park Sunghoon.

@vveebee, 2024 | Please do not copy, plagiarize or steal any of my work and claim it as your own. reblogs accepted ©

#vveebee #vveebee works #enhypen fanfiction #enhypen smut #enhypen sunghoon #enhypen sunghoon smut #sunghoon smut #sunghoon #park sunghoon #park sunghoon x reader #enhypen x reader #sunghoon fanfiction

[remidyal]

Outstanding antagonists after Junior Year

This post is as much for myself for fanfic purposes as it is for any speculation regarding a Senior Year that may never happen and even if it does would be I think at an absolute minimum three years and more likely 4-5 down the road, but I wanted to round up the known potential antagonists remaining out in the world, roughly ranked in order of known hostility:

Chungledown Bim. Certainly the MOST hostile of opponents, we know he's not dead post-Boy's Night (whenever Boy's Night is supposed to fit into the Quangle) because he's on Fabian's nemesis alert.

Arianwen Abernant. Evidently she has recovered her magic, probably while Cassandra was corrupted into a more Nightmare King-ish state. She was pretty pissed at Aelwyn and Adaine the last time we saw her over the whole death of Angwyn thing; I somehow don't think being chased around Sylvaire by the vand will have improved her mood.

Bobby Dawn. The full extent of his involvement in the Junior Year plot is uncertain, but he sure as hell wasn't helping things. Also some real potential hate between him and the party over the Sandra Lynn thing; while Fig might be gone in a Senior Year I'm going to ignore that for these rankings and in any case Sandra Lynn still lives with Kristen and Adaine regardless, so I think that conflict would be born out. I also think there's a strong case for a clash of pantheons style story going on in the background, and Bobby here would be front and center on the Sol-Helio-maybe Galicaea side.

Kalina. I don't necessarily think Kalina actually IS a traitor to Cassandra the way that Kristen thinks and Ankarna thinks; I almost believe that her turning up at the end of Junior Year was a reaction to them deciding to hunt her, in fact. That being said, while I think Kalina is fully team Cassandra, I also think (and even understand!) that she is most definitely NOT team Kristen, who did let Cassandra kind-of-die and now is splitting her attention. So what's Kalina's play now? I think she's going to try to push for Bobby Dawn to add Cassandra back to the Sol-Helio-Galicaea pantheon, which would be to her a much more stable foundation to keep Cassandra alive on than Kristen.

The Automatons that are going to be hunting Fig. Yes, these are self-evidently a way to excuse that Fig won't be around to help out if there's a senior year and Emily chooses to not play Fig. They're also kind of hilarious, especially since they open up all kinds of questions like 'wait did Sandra Lynn spend her first year of adventuring fighting off killer statues of Arthur Aguefort?' They'd be higher except they're only hostile to 1/6th of the Bad Kids.

Gertie Bladeshield. Also only hostile to 1/6th of the Bad Kids at present, though Cassandra knows if any of them speak up in Kristen's defense she'll probably swear a vow of emnity to them too. Could probably be made up with via a sincere apology, or at least by setting her up with someone.

The Court of Stars and Princess Nara. Now we're into the dubiously hostile territory, because this might not lead to actual conflict, but if there IS a clash of pantheons between the Sol one and the Ankarna-Cass one then the most obvious fight other than Cassandra is over where Galicaea ends up. The members of the Court of Stars we met this season seemed much more, um, I'll use the word chilled out than Angwyn and Kir of last year, but it still feels like a mercurial thing.

Arthur Aguefort. I've been saying for a very long time that the only boss fight that makes sense for a Senior Year IS to have to fight Arthur Aguefort himself; it doesn't even necessarily have to be a 'he's evil' sort of thing, but could just be a 'you're the best party we've had in centuries and I wanna throw down'. He dropped some hints at it in the finale, of course, too!

#fhjy spoilers #fhjy #fantasy high #dimension 20

[percyluvr]

hi! can i request child of apollo reader with a cold/is sick x percy jackson who takes care of her lovingly even though theyre just friends? kind of like that lyric in apple cider "even if we're just friends, we could be more than that." thank u hehe!!

percy jackson x reader summary: you get the flu and percy takes care of you wc: 611

You told yourself that you would not, no, could not get sick. The number of campers coming into the infirmary was increasing daily, and you weren't sure why. It happened every year around the beginning of summer. Probably due to the influx of new campers, you thought.

But of course, whenever you promise yourself something, the exact opposite happens, and now, here you were in the Apollo cabin with your best friend, Percy, taking care of you.

When you had first gotten sick, you thought it was just some common cold, and thought it would be a little weird to have gotten a cold during the beginning of summer, you figured it was just due to the changing of the weather and you would be fine within a couple of days, but of course with your luck you had gotten one of the worst cases of the flu that any of your siblings in the Apollo cabin had ever seen.

You'd begged Percy to not try to take care of you, since he'd most likely get sick too, and it would be worse than you, since he wasn't an Apollo kid, but of course he wouldn't listen, insisting that he needed to take care of his poor best friend who was suffering so deeply, his words not yours. You begrudgingly accepted his help, because honestly, who can resist Percy Jackson when he's giving you puppy eyes? Not you, apparently.

"Y'know what I think?" Percy says, breaking the small moment of silent before you inevitably cough up a lung again.

"Not really."

"Too bad. I think that you're sick because you overwork yourself all the time."

"I said I didn't want to know what you think."

"And I said too bad. Seriously, you need to stop overworking yourself, or you're going to keep getting sick like this. It's like, scientifically proven or something."

"Okay, whatever. You're not a doctor, I am. I think I know what's good for me."

"You think. Emphasis on think."

You roll your eyes, and Percy goes back to laying his head on your shoulder, which you had told him numerous times not to do.

"Percy, seriously. Stop getting your face so close to mine, you're going to get sick."

"I don't care. I want to be near you, and maybe my charm and good looks can help you feel better."

"Not how that works, but sure, if you say so."

"I do say so."

You roll your eyes for what feels like the six hundredth time, and put your arm around his shoulder.

When you begin to cough again, Percy jolts up and runs over to the cabin in the corner, getting out a large bag of cough drops. He picks your favorite flavor out, and grabs your water bottle. He then hands both of them to you.

"Hey, I kinda like you being sick," you raise an eyebrow. "Okay, stop. That's not what I mean. I just mean that I can finally be your personal nurse, and not the other way around. 'Cause you're always healing me, but I've never been able to help you back, and now I feel like I can."

"Aw, Percy, that's actually really sweet. I'm glad my suffering is making you happy."

He rolls his eyes in response and sits back down on the bed next to you.

"I know I'm sweet. I'm also going to ignore the other thing you said," he says, putting his arms around you and bringing you to lay your head down on his chest.

It doesn't take long before you're deeply sleeping and using his chest as a pillow while he gently strokes your hair.

#pjo #pjo series #percy jackson x reader #pjo x reader #percy jackson #pjo x you #percy jackson fic #percy jackson x you #percy jackson imagine #book percy jackson #percy jackson fluff #percy pjo #percy jackon and the olympians #heroes of olympus #pjo books #pjo hoo toa

[wheels-of-despair]

Munson v. O'Donnell Pairing: Eddie Munson x You Summary: It's 1986, and Eddie Munson's long high school career has come down to O'Donnell's final… and Evil Woman believing in him. Contains: Tears, comfort, lunch, confrontation, and a happy ending. Words: 2k A sort-of companion fic to Case of the Missing Eddie, but it's not required reading.

Eddie's not at the Hellfire table at lunch.

Or in his van.

This could only mean one thing: He's in the woods, because his final exam in O'Donnell's class did not go well.

With a quick look around to make sure you aren't being watched, you duck into the woods by way of the parking lot. You'll take the long way around to go undetected by any staff trying to catch students skipping the last few days of school.

Not that it matters, anyway. Everybody's just fucking around and killing time now that exams are over.

You traipse along the trail toward the picnic table where Eddie conducts business. And sometimes hides out at when things aren't going great. When you enter the clearing, you see him hunched over the table, his head resting on crossed arms and his face hidden by a mop of unruly hair.

"Hey," you announce your presence quietly before straddling the bench beside him. "You okay?"

He heaves a sigh so deep, it feels like he's expelled all the air from your lungs as well as his own.

You place a comforting hand on his back and lean your other elbow on the table.

"What happened?" you whisper.

"Take a wild guess," he grumbles, turning his head away from you.

He got his exam results, alright. You start rubbing slow circles on his back.

"How bad?"

"Fourteen."

"What?"

"Fourteen," he repeats.

"You got fourteen wrong?"

"Percent."

"Hm?"

"I got 14%."

"How the fuck did you get 14%?!" You regret your tone instantly.

"I don't fucking know!" His voice cracks, and so does your heart.

"Baby, we studied for that so hard, there's no way--"

"It doesn't fucking matter," he snaps, still facing away from you. "She humiliated me. 'Mr. Munson, congratulations on the lowest score I've ever had the displeasure to grade. It's a pity the girl who's been doing your homework couldn't take your exam for you, too.' Made everyone's day. Cemented my place as the dumbest fucking student to ever step foot in this shithole."

You shake with rage, clenching your fists in an effort to keep your hands still. You're going to kill them all.

"It doesn't fucking matter," he repeats, lifting his head for a moment. "I'm not going back. Fuck it. I quit." He crosses his arms and rests his head on them again, letting out a long sigh.

You watch him deflate and put a pin in your rage. He doesn't need you to go on a rampage right now. He needs you to be rational, and to fix this. Your killing spree can wait.

"Okay," you whisper, returning your hand to his back and leaning over to place a kiss on his shoulder. You wait a beat. "Do you still have the test?"

"Scantron."

"Do you have it?"

He reaches into his pocket, pulls out a green and white ball, and drops the crumpled paper on the table without looking at you.

You straighten it out and look it over. Maybe he missed a question early on and was off by one line on the rest? No, there are exactly 50 things filled in. And they're filled in nice and dark, with the shiny new #2 pencil you'd given him that morning for luck. You studied this material with him for weeks. He knows this stuff. You'll have to take it to O'Donnell and investigate.

"You eat lunch?"

"Not hungry," he grumbles.

"You will be next period."

"What's the fucking point?" he spits.

"I'm going to see O'Donnell after school, we're gonna figure this out," you say calmly. His lunchbox is nowhere in sight, so you pull out your own and start arranging items on the table.

"Don't fucking bother."

"Shut up and eat your fucking lunch," you order.

He finally lifts his head and looks at you. His eyes are bloodshot. The tip of his nose is red. Eddie Munson tried so hard to to convince people he didn't care, but it was all bullshit. He was trying this year. He was really trying. You know, because you helped him study before every test. Even in the few classes you didn't share. He knew the material. And you weren't leaving school grounds until you cleared up this 14% bullshit.

"Look," you begin gently, closing your hand over his on the table. "I don't know what happened on exam day, but I know you did not get a fourteen. You worked so hard. I know you know this stuff. So we're gonna go see that old hag, and we're gonna figure this out." His eyes begin to water again. Your voice turns serious. "Or I'm gonna burn Hawkins High to the fucking ground, with all our records inside. Then we all get to start over."

The corner of his mouth twitches. There he is.

"C'mon, eat up. We need fuel if we're gonna go slay the O'Donnell Dragon."

He hesitates, so you lift a cookie to his mouth. Chocolate chip, baked by your mom; his favorite. He looks at it, then at you, and pouts.

"Eat it or wear it, Munson." You try to sound threatening, but your smile betrays you.

He leans forward and takes it with his teeth, eyes twinkling with mischief instead of tears now. It's a good start.

~ Three Hours Later ~

"You wanna wait outside?"

Eddie shakes his head. He's met you outside of Mrs. O'Donnell's classroom after the final bell, as instructed, and he's looking more nervous than he did the morning before taking the exam.

"Alright. C'mon."

You feel him trail behind you as you enter Mrs. O'Donnell's classroom. She's sitting at her desk with an open gradebook and a calculator. She's not even your teacher, why are you so nervous? Is this what Eddie had to deal with every day for... how many years?

"Mrs. O'Donnell?" you ask, summoning all your courage for Eddie.

"Yes?"

"We're here to discuss 14%."

"I don't think there's anything to discuss," she sniffs, pursing her lips and pushing her glasses further up her nose. She's waiting for you to state your case.

"He knows this. We made flash cards, I quizzed him every night. There's no way he scored that low."

She leans back in her chair and crosses her arms. Like you'd lie about fucking flash cards.

"Can I see the test, at least, so I can find out what he's having trouble with?"

Mrs. O'Donnell sighs and sifts through a pile of papers on her desk. "A or B?"

You look at Eddie's scantron sheet to find his version of the test, neatly printed right below his name. "A."

She hands you a copy of the A test.

You take the paper to a desk near the front of the room and lay the scantron sheet next to the test. Your eyes dart from each question to Eddie's filled-in scantron sheet… and become more puzzled with each correct answer.

You look at Eddie, who's leaning against the wall and staring at his shoes. Mrs. O'Donnell's attention has returned to her gradebook.

"Uh…" you chuckle awkwardly, bringing both the scantron and the test to her desk. "Could you take another look at this, please?"

She sighs and reaches for the papers, holding them on top of her gradebook. Her eyes begin to dart back and forth just like yours had. And then her brow furrows. She reaches for the scantron answer keys and compares them to Eddie's crumpled sheet. Her eyes bulge.

She looks up at Eddie, then back at the papers on her desk. She reaches for a red pen, hunches over, and marks furiously as she grades his test manually. Eddie takes a cautious step closer and holds his breath. This is it. His entire high school career has come down to this one exam.

A moment later, she punches a few numbers into her calculator, scribbles out the 14% on the crumpled sheet, and writes a new number. She circles it twice.

"Mr. Munson?" He tenses at the formality, looking like a deer in headlights a few steps behind you. She beckons him forward with a crook of her finger, and he creeps toward the desk and stands next to you.

She hands him his corrected scantron sheet, and he holds it so you can both see the number circled in red.

92%.

Both of your jaws drop. You look at the grade, and each other, and the grade again, and then finally, Mrs. O'Donnell.

"You had an A test that got mixed in with the B's somehow. I hate that we have to do different tests, but we've got so many sneaky little cheaters in here, administration requires at least two variations for exams. I don't know why my classroom aide didn't catch it, Tina is usually so attentive to detail."

Would that be Tina Thomas, the heir apparent to Chrissy Cunningham's reign as the Queen of Hawkins High? It would be awfully hard for poor Tina to lead the cheer team with broken legs.

"Does this mean I passed the class?" Eddie asks, interrupting O'Donnell's rambling and your violent thoughts.

"One second," she says, flipping to the page of her gradebook where Eddie's fate lies. You reach for his hand, and hold each other in white-knuckle grips while you watch Mrs. O'Donnell work. She uses a bottle of correction fluid to erase the 14%, blows it dry, and replaces it with 92%. Then she punches in a few numbers on her comically large calculator and writes new figures in her gradebook that you can't quite make out. You and Eddie cling to each other and wait on bated breath until she removes her glasses, places them on her desk, and looks up with a crooked smile.

"Congratulations, Mr. Munson, you've finally passed my class."

The whoop that follows can probably be heard in all of Roane County.

After a million thank-you's to both you and Mrs. O'Donnell, who was much nicer to him than usual - although you notice that she never actually apologized for embarrassing him - you finally get Eddie out of her classroom. You walk to the van with his arm around your shoulders, and yours wrapped around his middle.

"I'm gonna graduate. I'm really gonna fucking graduate." He's been grinning so hard for so long, his face probably hurts. "FINALLY!" he yells to the handful of students still lingering in the mostly-empty parking lot, who barely react. They're used to paying him no mind. "Oh man, Wayne's not gonna believe this."

"Think he's up yet?" you ask, looking up at your beaming partner with pride while he fishes his keys out of his pocket.

Eddie glances at his watch and frowns. "Nah, not for another hour, probably. I don't wanna wake him."

"Well, Mr. Munson," you grin, shifting so you're standing in front of him with your hands on his shoulders. "I happen to know an excellent way to kill an hour."

"Oh yeah?" he smirks, stepping closer, backing you up against the side of his van.

"Mhm," you hum, trailing your hands down his chest and stopping at his belt. You find your way beneath the hem of his shirt and trace the skin just above his jeans with your fingertips. "It's not every day a 14% gets turned into a 92%, even for a skilled Dungeon Master such as yourself." He shivers. "Seems like something that should be… celebrated."

He starts nodding, and doesn't stop until he opens the rear door. He uses both of his hands to grab your ass and push you inside when you purposely take too long getting in. You're on your back and laughing when he slams the door and pounces.

Eddie Munson was a very happy soon-to-be-graduate when he dropped you off at home half an hour later.

#writings of despair #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x evil woman

[hungermakesmonsters]

(Once Bitten) Twice Shy

Chapter Seven

Plot summary : Desperate to get away from your controlling family, you take a job in New York as a wealthy vampire's blood source. A million dollars awaits if you can make it through a year, but life with Billy Russo is not going to be as simple as you think.

Pairing : Billy Russo x Reader

Story Rating : R  Chapter Rating : R

Warnings : [This is a fic for 18+ only, minors DNI] Smutty behaviour, some of it gets a little rough. Some mention of an emotionally abusive parent, and readers problematic views of her own autonomy. All chapters will contain mentions of blood. Please check the warnings on each chapter if you choose to follow this story. 

Word Count : 4.5k

A/N : I think I've finally sorted the tagging issue.

CHAPTER ONE | CHAPTER TWO | CHAPTER THREE | CHAPTER FOUR | CHAPTER FIVE | CHAPTER SIX

MASTER LIST

Chapter Seven

“Are you alright?” Karen asked, pulling your attention from your pancakes. “You’ve been really quiet.”

Your cheeks warmed and you immediately felt bad; she’d shown up early to go to breakfast with you before taking you to the Met, and all you’d been able to think about was the Homeland agent who’d approached you the night before.

“I’m fine,” you answered, forcing a smile. “Just tired. We were out late last night.”

“Billy took you out?” She seemed surprised.

“He took me dress shopping,” you explained, reaching for your coffee. “He’s throwing a party next month and he wanted me to have a new dress.”

“Oh, his Vampire Night party,” Karen nodded and you shot her a confused look. “He does it every year, it’s to celebrate the anniversary vampire’s being accepted into society. It’s supposed to be a big deal but, for Billy, it’s just an excuse to throw a crazy party every year.”

“Does he normally invite the person who’s...” you struggled for a moment, not wanting to out-and-out state what you did in the busy little diner, “working for him when he throws parties?”

“Usually - I mean, it’d be pretty shitty to throw a party in the penthouse and not invite the other person living there.”

“So, the others, they all went to his parties and they enjoyed themselves?”

“Yeah, if there’s one thing Billy knows, it’s how to throw a good party,” she answered, fixing you with a look, as if she could sense there was more you wanted to ask. “Why the sudden interest?”

“I don’t know,” you shrugged, trying to pretend it wasn’t a big deal. “It just seemed like such an easy job and, I guess, I just don’t understand why anyone would do anything to ruin it for themselves. Do you know what happened to them once they left?”

You needed something, some sort of sign, to tell you that you weren’t wrong, that you were safe with Billy. And, if you weren’t...

Well, in that case, you needed to find a way out that didn’t involve going home with your tail between your legs.

“As far as I know, they all went back to their lives. Though there was one...” Karen trailed off, the thought alone making her wince. You shot her a questioning look, silently begging her to continue. “Not the last one, but the one before, she had to be removed by building security. She tried to come back a couple of times but she eventually got the hint.”

The one before the last one - so, one of the last three, one of the ones Madani thought was dead. She’d been fine when she left and she’d been seen a couple of times since. So, that meant that Homeland was wrong about Billy, right?

With your mind set at ease, you happily finished breakfast and, before you knew it, you and Karen were stepping into the Met. You felt like a kid at Christmas. It was everything you’d imagined and more. Karen could barely hold back her amusement as you moved from exhibit to exhibit, never seeming to lose any of your initial excitement. It was something you’d always wanted to do, filled with things you’d always wanted to see.

By lunch time, poor Karen needed to sit down, and you needed a coffee so you ended up in the cafe. When Karen headed to the bathroom, you looked over the map, making a mental note of what you’ve seen and what you still wanted to see. Distracted, you didn’t notice the figure beside you until she’d taken a seat. The Homeland agent, Madani.

“Are you following me?” You demanded, keeping your voice low.

“I’m trying to keep you safe,” Madani answered, ignoring your sharp tone. “Have you thought any more about what we discussed last night?”

“Look, I don’t know what you think you know, but I’m pretty sure Billy hasn’t done anything wrong.”

She fumbled with her pocket, quickly pulling out her phone and showing it to you. “These are the three missing women; Layla El-Faouly, Krista Dumont and Mary Poots.” With each name she moved to a different photo, letting you see each of the missing women. “Has he mentioned any of those names?”

“No.”

“Are you sure? Have you seen anything in his penthouse that might belong to them?” You shook your head, quickly feeling overwhelmed by all of the questions.

“No, and anyway, you said the last three women, right?” You asked and Madani nodded. “People have seen one of them since. She even got thrown out of Billy's building a couple of times.”

“You're sure of that?”

“Yes,” frustration slipping into your tone. “Whatever you're looking for, it's not -”

“Has Russo done anything to hurt you? Is he forcing you into a sexual relationship or have you felt like you’re being controlled?”

“What? No.” 

“You might not even realise that he’s doing it. Some vampires are very good at controlling their victims, Russo is -”

“He’s not controlling me,” you told her as firmly as you could, glancing around, hoping to spot Karen. “Can you please leave me alone? I don’t want to lose my job because of this.”

“I can protect you -”

“I don’t need protection, I need this job,” you told her. “Please, I wasn’t kidnapped, he hasn’t hurt me, and I know he hasn’t hurt anyone else. Can you please just leave me alone before you cause any trouble?”

“Okay, I’ll go,” Madani relented, “but I’ll be close by if you need me.”

You muttered that you wouldn’t as she stood and left, just in time for Karen to return.

“Who was that?”

“She was asking me for directions,” you lied, as you stood, not wanting to think about anything Madani had said to you. 

It was all crazy, ridiculous. You weren’t being coerced or controlled and you still didn’t believe Billy was capable of hurting anyone. Fortunately, there were plenty of exhibits left to distract you for the rest of the day.

By the time you returned to the penthouse it was getting late. You rushed to draw blood and to throw some pasta onto the stove. When you were done, you found Billy on the sofa, his eyes fixed on the view of the city until he heard you approach.

He smiled and you felt butterflies, and there was a spring in your step as you made your way to the kitchen to grab a glass for his blood before joining him on the sofa.

“You look nice.” His eyes trailing down your body.

“Oh,” you looked down at yourself and the skirt-blouse combination, “Karen took me to the Met. We got back late. I haven’t had time to change yet.”

“I’m glad,” Billy said, taking the glass from your hand, “I love your legs.”

Your cheeks warmed and you bit your lip. As much as Billy liked to pay you compliments, you still weren’t used to it. Honestly, you weren’t sure you’d ever get used to it, especially when Billy managed to make every compliment sound simultaneously sweet and filthy.

“I got you something,” he said a moment later, motioning to a large paper bag on the floor in front of him. Cautiously, you pulled it towards you and pulled out a large yellow, faux-fur blanket. “You can leave it out here for when we watch TV together.”

Butterflies filled your stomach at the gesture, but there was one thought you couldn’t quite shake; “it’s yellow.”

And yellow didn’t exactly match the dark and minimalist decor in the penthouse.

“It made me think of you when I saw it,” Billy shrugged.

The butterflies in your stomach seemed to multiply; it was a warm and happy colour, it was the colour of sunlight, and it had made Billy think of you.

Hugging the blanket to your chest you thanked him before carefully placing it back in the bag.

“I’ve got some time before I need to leave for work, if you want to hang out?” He asked as if he needed to, as if he thought there was any chance that you wouldn’t want to stay there with him.

As he drank, you told him about your day and every little thing you’d seen in the Met. And he listened. It seemed like he was actually listening, hanging on your every word, like he cared, like he wasn’t just indulging you and letting you run your mouth.

“Maybe next time I could take you?” He offered. “They do night openings a few times a month.”

“I’d love that,” you answered without a moment's hesitation.

“Really?”

“Of course. I like spending time with you.”

He finished his drink and quickly put the glass down, licking his lips as he turned himself towards you.

“You like spending time with me?” He repeated. 

You couldn’t tell if he was amused or confused. “Yeah, you’re... different to the sort of people I’m used to being around. I like talking to you.”

“Just talking to me?” He asked, a smirk starting to tug at his lips. You felt your face start to heat again as your gaze dropped to your lap. “Still so shy, so easy to embarrass,” he muttered, placing a hand on your bare knee, “but I bet you’re already wet under this little skirt.”

Your breath caught and your thighs clenched together at the realisation that he was right.

You couldn’t bring yourself to look until you realised he was moving. You watched, confused as he slipped onto the floor, his hands on your knees, urging your legs apart so he could sit between them. It wasn’t until he started to slowly kiss your thigh that you realised what he was going to do. Your heart started to race, and Billy noticed.

“Are you okay?” He asked, his cold fingers tracing soothing patterns on your leg.

You nodded, swallowing the lump in your throat, cheeks burning with embarrassment. “I’ve just... I’ve never...”

“It’s okay, hummingbird,” Billy reassured you, smiling softly. “Just relax and let me make you feel good.”

While you managed not to show it, those words almost broke you. He always seemed to care about you, about making sure you felt good, and that wasn’t something you were ever sure you’d get used to.

Your cheeks burned hotter when he reached beneath your skirt and eased your panties down your legs, discarding them somewhere on the floor. But you didn’t have time to dwell on it. He pulled you towards him, lifting your legs over his shoulder while continuing to trail kisses up your thighs. Up and up and up, until -

“Remember the rules,” he told you, gazing up at you from between your thighs, “and breathe.”

Until he mentioned it, you hadn’t even realised that you were holding your breath. With a nod, you let out a slow breath, trying to steel yourself for this new experience. His cold fingers gently parted your folds and a shiver ran down your spine. You bit your lip, keeping your eyes focused on him until you finally felt it. His tongue slipped through your arousal, delicately at first and then with a little more pressure. You back arched and your hips pressed forwards, and you could have swore you felt Billy’s lips pull into a smirk against you.

He alternated between long, slow laps of his tongue and faster flicks, obviously taking note of your reactions. One moment he was focused on your clit, the next, you felt the tip of his tongue against your entrance. Your body shuddered, completely overwhelmed, and you almost lost your mind when you heard Billy groan.

“Billy -” you gasped, knowing that you weren’t going to last long.

“Not yet,” he almost-growled from between your thighs.

Before you could even think to beg, his tongue was against you again. Your fingers slipped into his hair, needing something to hold on to as your thighs started to tremble. It felt like you were being devoured by his mouth, his lips and his greedy tongue making you feel sensations you’d never felt before. Soon enough, it felt like his grip on your thighs was the only thing keeping you from crushing his head - it was too much and not enough all at once, you desperately wanted the release of an orgasm but you didn’t ever want him to stop.

“Fuck-fuck-fuck...” you whimpered, barely holding back. “Billy, please...”

It almost seemed cruel when you felt his lips on your throbbing clit, gently sucking. Your back arched again, trying to press yourself closer but his strong grip kept you in place. 

Your fingers tugged on his hair, twisting and pulling, earning another groan from Billy. Every muscle tensed and you felt like a spring coiled too tight, like you could snap at any moment. And, thankfully, Billy seemed to realise that.

“Okay, hummingbird, you can come,” he muttered, barely pulling his lips away from you. 

One more flick of his tongue and you were done for, crying out as you came undone. All the while his tongue kept moving, lapping the wetness that spilled from you, and not pulling back until your thighs were violently shaking.

While you struggled to catch your breath, Billy lowered your legs and rested his chin on your thigh, grinning up at you. 

“What are you smirking at?” You managed to ask, fighting back a smile of your own.

“I don’t think I’ve ever heard you swear before.”

You bit your lip, your cheeks starting to warm again. “I think the situation called for it.”

That got a laugh from Billy. 

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” he said before getting himself off the floor and sitting beside you again. “Did you enjoy it?”

Of course, you couldn’t answer. Once he’d asked the question you couldn’t even look at him. All you could do was give the slightest little nod, suddenly acutely aware that your panties had ended up on the floor in front of the TV and, as much as you wanted to, you couldn’t tear your eyes from them.

That is, until Billy placed a hand on your cheek, turning your face to his. For a few seconds he simply looked at you, almost seeming confused, before smiling again.

“What is it about you?” He asked quietly, his thumb softly caressing your cheek. “Why can’t I get enough?”

Before you could answer, he’d closed the distance between you, kissing you and sending you into a tailspin. How could he keep saying things like that, how could he keep making you feel so special, when he seemed so reluctant to - god, you didn’t even know. You still didn’t understand how this casual thing was supposed to work. The time you spent together left you feeling like there was something, a connection between you, but that wasn’t what you’d agreed to. It was just supposed to be fun.

But, surely casual fun was supposed to lead to sex, right?

“That’s not what I want to see when I kiss you,” he remarked, pulling back a little, leaving you even more confused until he clarified; “you’re frowning.”

“I was just...” you fell into silence for a moment, not sure how to say it. “Do you want me, Billy?”

“Do I want you?” He repeated.

“Yeah, I mean like -”

“Oh, hummingbird, I know exactly what you mean,” he almost laughed, his hand still on your cheek. “I’m just not sure how you can ask me that after I’ve just been on my knees worshipping you.”

Not knowing how to respond to that, you kissed him, tasting the lingering traces of your arousal on his lips and tongue. You pressed closer and closer, until you felt an arm around your waist, pulling you onto his lap.

“I don’t want to rush you,” he muttered against your lips.

“You’re not,” you answered breathlessly, sinking back into his lips.. 

He pulled you closer, positioning you so you could feel the bulge of his erection against you. The feeling alone was enough to cause your hips to shudder and buck, still feeling sensitive from his tongue. Billy groaned, his lips pulling from yours and finding your neck. You barely noticed the buttons of your blouse being undone until he started to push it off your shoulders.

Trembling fingers started to pull open his shirt, hands exploring every inch of cold skin that you revealed, feeling the raised lines of scars beneath your touch. Billy squirmed when your hand trailed over his shoulder, his body pressing up against yours.

Your heart raced faster when you felt him unclasp your bra. You barely had time to finish removing it before his lips were on your breasts, kissing, licking and sucking. Every cold touch sent a jolt of pleasure right to your core and, before you knew it, you were gently rocking your hips against him.

“Billy,” you gasped as his lips closed over your nipple.

Desperately, you dropped your hands to his waist, fumbling with his belt then, when that was open you started on the fastenings of his pants.

A yelp escaped you when you felt his teeth on your nipple, not biting hard enough to break skin but more than enough to give you a shock. An eager growl sounded in the back of his throat as he moved to your other nipple. But his sudden roughness wasn’t enough to stop you.

Despite his cold touch roaming your body, you felt hot, like you were on fire. Every deep breath you took was him; his cologne, his clean shirt, the products in his hair. You were intoxicated, drunk on Billy Russo. His fingertips pressed into your hips with a bruising force, but all you cared about was getting his zipper down and letting him possess you completely.

“My little hummingbird,” he muttered in that low, dangerous tone as his lips moved back to yours. “I’m going to ruin you.”

He kissed you again, groaning into your mouth with an unbridled want that seemed to match your own. The words didn’t shock you like they perhaps should have, they didn’t worry you at all. You trusted him to stay in control.

Clumsy fingers tugged at his zipper and -

“Shit!” You yelped as the zipper nicked your skin, pulling back from him, lifting your finger to your lips.

Billy’s whole body went rigid beneath you, eyes narrowing, dropping to the finger between your lips.

“It’s alright, I just -” you started and stopped just as quickly, looking at the small bleeding cut before looking at Billy.

His eyes seemed to get darker and you watched his throat bob uncomfortable as he tried to swallow. You squirmed as his grip tightened on your hips, holding you in place. The tiny cut bleeding in a way that only tiny cuts could.

“Billy...” you muttered softly, trying to soothe the monster inside of him.

Gingerly, you reached for him, tenderly running your fingers through his hair while you returned your bleeding finger to your mouth, trying to remove temptation. 

His jaw tensed before he lunged forwards, pressing his lips to yours, his tongue forcing its way into your mouth, desperately seeking your finger and the tiniest drop of blood. You tried to push his face away, your hand on his jaw, your finger ending up between his lips.

“Billy, stop,” you pleaded, “please.” 

Suddenly you found yourself hitting the floor as he stood and moved away from you. It took you a second or so to get over the initial shock before you grabbed your blouse and covered yourself. By the time you got to your feet, Billy was halfway to the elevator, buttoning his shirt as he went.

“I’m sorry.” The words left you in a desperate and broken tone, not knowing what you could possibly say to fix the situation or stop him from leaving.

Billy froze, taking an uncomfortable breath before turning back to you, confusion written all over his face. His eyes moved from you to the elevator and back again, weighing his options.

“Why are you sorry?” He asked, a crack in his voice that made your heart ache. “You did nothing wrong.”

“I was clumsy, and I pushed you, and I -” you sniffled, blinking as your eyes threatened tears. 

“You didn’t do anything wrong,” he told you, voice firm and certain, “that’s not what happened.”

“Then why are you leaving me?”

Billy was at a loss, staring as you tried not to break down in front of him. Your mind was racing over everything that had happened, over everything that you had done wrong - all the things that Billy seemed to want to ignore. You’d always been clumsy, never careful enough. Your mother had always chastised you, telling you that you only did it for attention, telling you that you were needy, criticising you for always wanting to be the centre of attention.

It was easy to spiral into those negative thoughts, to see all your faults and failings, to feel broken and unloveable. 

He stepped towards you, confusion softening into something more like concern.

“You didn’t do anything wrong,” he repeated, “I did. I almost lost control, I could’ve -”

“I shouldn’t’ve complained, I -”

“Don’t say that,” he snapped, his tone sharp enough to jolt you from your self-loathing. “I told you that you always have a choice here. Always. No one gets to hurt you, and you never have to go along with anything that scares you or makes you uncomfortable. Do you understand?”

On some level you did, you understood completely, you knew that he was right, but years of being made to feel like you were the problem were hard to overcome.

Reluctantly, he closed the distance between you, his hand finding your cheek, urging you to look at him.

“How you feel matters, hummingbird. What you want matters,” he told you. “I don’t want to scare you. It’s me, I - there’s something wrong with me, something I can’t always control, and you deserve better than that. I don’t want to do anything that you’re not a hundred percent certain about. I never want you to regret anything that we do together.”

It felt like your throat was closing up and your vision started to blur, it wasn’t until the first sob shook your body that you realised you were crying. The idea that you had a choice, that you got to decide what you wanted, and that your feelings mattered - no one had let you have that before. His arms wrapped around you, pulling you tight against his chest.

“No one gets to hurt you,” he told you again. “I won’t let anything happen to you. I promise I’ll keep you safe.”

Even from himself, though the words went unsaid.

He shushed you as you whimpered the word sorry again and held you tighter when you hid your face against his shoulder. Minutes passed, and Billy held you, not moving, not pulling away. Eventually you stilled, your breathing slowing and the sobs subsiding. But, still, Billy didn’t move. His hold on you didn’t loosen until you slowly pulled back.

Your head instantly dropped, the back of your hand trying to scrub the tear stains from your cheeks. One of his hands remained on you, resting gently on your shoulder.

“I’m sorry,” you muttered.

“What are you sorry for?” 

“I don’t know,” you finally admitted. 

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“Do you?”

The question hung awkwardly in the air between you, neither one of you wanting to answer it. It was more than obvious now that you both had baggage, you both had parts of yourself that you were desperate to keep hidden, but it was also becoming clear that you weren’t going to be able to hide forever.

“I think we’ll have to eventually,” Billy told you.

As much as you hated it, you knew he was right. 

Silence lingered for a few seconds before you quietly confessed; “I feel safe with you.”

It felt important to tell him that, like everything else could come after. Despite his little lapses in control, you trusted him. He looked like he wanted to ask how you could feel that way after everything but, at the same time, it was clear that he didn’t want to know.

“Are you... okay?” You asked after a moment of silence.

“It’s complicated,” he said and, for a second, it seemed like he was going to leave it at that. “I just - when you’re a vampire, everything is so loud. Everything feels like it’s too much. It makes you want so much. Sometimes I feel like I can’t control it.”

You stomach knotted as you watched him struggle, the jagged edge to his tone furthering something he’d already let slip days ago; he didn’t want to be like that. He didn’t want to be a vampire.

“I feel like that too, sometimes,” you offered softly. “Not exactly the same but - my mom always used to tell me that no one likes emotional women. Whenever I’d get upset, she’d tell me I was being hysterical or call me an attention seeker. So I started holding it all in. I wouldn’t complain or get upset, I’d just pretend I was fine, and it made me feel like I was going to burst...”

Without warning, he pulled you into another hug, and you let him, your face pressing back into the damp spot you’d left on his shoulder.

“I’m sorry,” he muttered, sounding almost guilty, like he thought he was somehow to blame. “You don’t have to hold it in with me, you don’t have to pretend or go along with anything that you don’t want.”

“I do want this though,” you confessed, stopping short of telling Billy that you wanted him, that you were starting to feel something for him. It had only been a few weeks but, already, you felt a connection to him, something you didn’t want to give up. 

He seemed torn, almost like he wanted to cut his losses and end things now, and you weren’t sure how you were going to make it through the rest of the year if you had to go back to how things had been at the start. That is, if he even wanted to keep you around. Technically, because of him, you’d broken your contract.

“You need to promise me something; if you’re ever not comfortable, you’ll tell me to stop, and if I ever scare you, you’ll tell me,” he told you in a firm and uncompromising tone.

“I promise, but -” you hesitated, not sure if he’d appreciate your condition, “- but you have to tell me when you’re not feeling well.”

Billy nodded and you sank forward into his arms again, holding him tight for a little while longer until he finally had to get ready and leave for work. And, of course, you felt terrible that he had to go and change out of his crease, tear-stained shirt before he went. He left with the promise of spending time with you tomorrow.

End Note : The Marvel name drops are mostly just easter eggs (and because I HATE coming up with names for side characters. I feel like a lot went on in this chapter but I don't actually have a lot to say about it. I'm just slowly piling on the mystery and angst.

Anyway! Thanks for reading! I've really loved all your comments and questions on this series. Have a great weekend!!

Let me know if you'd like to be tagged in future chapters! If tagging doesn't work for some reason (aka Tumblr being dumb) I post most Fridays around 7:30 gmt. (I think I've found a way to get tagging to work properly again, please let me know if it doesn't tag you.)

Tag List : @vaguekayla @thdcre @rensolodriver @house-husband-of-castlemurdock

@snowkestrel @danzer8705 @noortsshift @aoi-targaryen @lincerad

@vxnity713 @readerinsertsaremyguiltypleasure @dreadfulxives18 @fireeyes-on-teller-dixon-grimes @glamourbabe17

@sweetserendipity65 @damagelove @strangerfromketterdam @a-starrynightwith-u @readingabouthim

@countryday @weepingwitchofthewest @broadwaybabe18 @bunnygirlwriter876 @oliviaewl

@rosey1981 @benbarnesprettygurl @rachlovesactors @robertthehoover @ladyblacky

#billy russo #billy russo x reader #billy russo x female reader #billy russo fanfic #the punisher #(ob)ts ff #billy russo imagine

[meazalykov]

the blip:

salma paralluelo x reader (requested)

the request: "I have seen that you have written for marvel in the past I love marvel and woso too 🥲 Can I request a AU where reader plays for barcelona but is snapped for five years before coming back like Marvel?? She was dating either cata salma patri esmee or jana (You can pick) who wasn't snapped and her girlfriend moved on during those five years?? IDK just angst and sadness 😣 Hopefully this makes sense."

took me more than a week to write this, I am sorry to whoever requested. I hope you still like what I've came up with!!!

warnings: angst, sadness

Along the vibrant green pitch, Barcelona Femení was in the midst of a crucial match against Madrid CFF. Among the players sprinting across the field was Y/n, the fast defender who barely let anyone score past her foot. 

Y/n was fully concentrated as Bruna passed the back to her. Seeing a Madrid striker coming her way, the girl passed the ball back to Cata who launched the ball over the pitch to Mariona. Y/n jogged up the field to prepare for a potential pre-assist, assist, or goal. As the game intensified, the left back started to notice a strange tingle in her right foot.

Thinking that it was a cramp starting to settle into her dominant foot, she relaxed her foot at the recommendation of the doctor at Barcelona who told her to do that when she had cramps. Y/n looked along at the game to see Claudia take a shot, which missed. 

However, her eyebrows knitted at the strange sensation creeping over her, but now it was at her fingertips. She glanced down and her heart began to race as she saw her hands fading, as though being erased from existence. The girl looked around and saw Esmee, her left wing on the pitch, fade away first. Panic surged through her veins as she stumbled, realizing she was disappearing before her own eyes.

After she vanished, chaos erupted. Players from both teams were vanishing, leaving behind bewildered teammates and gaping spectators. Then, spectators started to disappear before their own eyes. The once lively stadium fell into a panic as more and more individuals faded into nothingness.

On the bench, Y/n's girlfriend, Salma, watched in horror as her beloved vanished on the field. She looked to her right to see her little sister, Vicky, gone too. Dust in the air replaced Vicky’s once existence. 

“Y/n?” Salma didn’t care about the game that should’ve been taking place. At this point, all of the players on the bench ran onto the field to try and find their missing teammates. They’re gone. Just 14 out of 22 players on the pitch survived the “impossible” thing that had occurred. 

A piercing cry tore from Salma’s throat, knowing that Y/n was gone, she collapsed into a state of shock, unable to comprehend the sudden loss since her lover was on the pitch minutes before.

Five long years later, the years passed like a dreamless slumber for Y/n. Then, as unexpectedly as she had vanished, she reappeared on the same soccer pitch where she had last stood. Confusion and disorientation gripped her as she took in the familiar yet altered surroundings.

Y/n wore the same yellow senyera Barcelona Femení kit from 2023-2024, a relic of the past that felt strangely out of place in this new reality. She looked around, and to her astonishment, she saw the faces of those who had vanished alongside her returning at the same moment. Nobody was in the stands except for a few people who patted their bodies in complete shock. What happened? 

“Esmee?” Y/n called out as she saw Esmee’s widened eyes and shocked facial expressions. Nobody knew what happened, except for those who survived the blip. 

“I-I” The Dutch woman had no idea what to say. Y/n held her shoulder as she looked around to see people calling their family members, friends, or ran off of the pitch to see what's happening. 

“Come with me!” Y/n held onto Esmee’s arm gently. She ran across the pitch to see Vicky, Ari, Keira, and Ona stand around in confusion and panic. She ignored them, only wanting to see if she could find Salma anywhere. Where is Salma? What happened to Salma?

Going into the hallway that leads into their locker rooms, Y/n froze at the new designs in the hallway. She felt like everything changed in just 5 minutes. To her, she was playing in a match against Madrid CFF five minutes ago and now she is here.

“What is that?” Y/n heard Esmee behind her ask. The girl in the ponytail knitted her eyebrows together before looking up at three jerseys hanging on the wall with a frame. None of the kits she recognized. 

Before she... disappeared... y/n remembered the 23/24 jerseys inside of those same frames. Y/n looked down at the yellow kit she wore and back up at these new ones... did she travel to an alternate universe?

Confusion clouded her mind as she stared at the jerseys. "What is happening?" she whispered to herself. Esmee, who stands alongside Y/n, noticed her distress even though she was stressed herself.

"Y/n, are you okay?" Esmee asked, her voice tinged with concern.

"I...I need to find Salma," Y/n stammered, her thoughts a whirlwind of uncertainty. She needed answers, and Salma was the only one who could provide them. She was on the bench when y/n played, and now she's gone. Salma has to know something.

Leaving the stadium, Y/n entered the parking lot, where more chaos filled the environment. People cried on the phone with loved ones, their faces etched with confusion and fear. Some were convinced they had experienced a mental episode, while others, recognizing Y/n from the barcelona femeni squad, bombarded her with questions.

"Do you know what happened?" one person asked, desperation in their voice.

"I don't, I’m sorry!" Y/n replied, her anxiety mounting. She made her way to the private parking lot for players and staff, where her car should have been, but it was nowhere to be found. She freaked out more before taking a few deep breaths remembering that public transport is good in Barcelona.

The journey to her apartment felt surreal, each passing scene a stark reminder of how much had changed. People were on the streets freaking out too. A toddler cried as her father comforted her in the chaos. Y/n frowned. When she finally arrived at her apartment after half an hour, she unlocked the door with trembling hands. 

Inside, everything seemed untouched, frozen in time. She realized that her apartment was the same way it was before she left for the Madrid CFF game —except for the absence of Salma's jackets on her coat hanger. 

Panic set in as she hurried round her apartment. 

Salma’s extra pair of shoes she left at y/n’s apartment? gone. 

Salma’s hair products she kept in y/n’s bathroom? gone. 

Salma’s clothes in the bedroom closet? gone. 

Y/n cried as she rushed to her kitchen island, where her iPhone lay. The device lit up, displaying a barrage of missed messages and notifications. Ignoring them all, she dialed Salma's number. The phone rang, each tone amplifying her dread and confusion. She needed to hear Salma’s voice, wondering if it was the end of the world. 

"Y/n?" Salma's voice on the other end was a mix of shock and sadness.

"Salma, where are you? What happened?" Y/n's words tumbled out in a rush.

Salma's response was hesitant. "Y/n, I-I’m sorry—---I can't talk right now." The line went dead.

The girl, who still wore her yellow Barcelona kit from the game she played “earlier” stood in shock. The Spanish girl never cut her off or ignored her like that. In a time where she needed answers and comfort, her girlfriend couldn’t talk? 

Desperation drove Y/n to Salma's apartment. Yes, she took the public transport again. 

After arriving outside the white door of Salma’s apartment, she pounded on the door. The noise was loud and neighbors would have complained if everything wasn’t so chaotic at the moment.  

The door swung open to reveal a girl with blonde hair and brown eyes, who stared at Y/n in astonishment. Y/n questioned if Salma moved away from the chaos, if this random woman now lived in her girlfriend’s apartment. 

"Who are you?" Y/n demanded.

"I'm Margo," the girl replied nervously. "I am Salma's girlfriend."

Y/n's mind reeled. "Girlfriend?" She felt her heart start to sink before her blood boiled, “What do you mean? You are not her girlfriend??” Her voice wavered as she pushed past Margo, entering the apartment. 

Her eyes found Salma, who had just walked into the living room, her expression a mixture of surprise and sorrow.

"Salma, what is going on?" Y/n's voice cracked, the weight of the situation bearing down on her.

Salma took a deep breath, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. Y/n had tears pouring down her eyes as she looked back and forth between Salma and Margo, who had guilty looks on their faces.

"Y/n, I am so sorry—-- You don’t understand what happened, don’t you?” Salma asked. 

Y/n shakes her head, saying no silently. 

“You disappeared and you were gone for five years. News said that 50% of the population vanished because of an unreal event.” Salma explained. Y/n felt her lungs close together and her heart rapidly beat on her chest at the idea of being gone for FIVE years. Half a decade she was gone. 

“I didn’t want to hurt you this way. You were gone for five years. I waited and I hoped that you would come back eventually. I stayed in Barcelona and renewed my contract for an extra year hoping that you would return, but...I lost hope and now my contract is expiring— I’m moving to England to play for another club this summer. I’m sorry Y/n— I just had to move on before I got your call." Salma continued.

The words hit Y/n like a physical blow. Anger and sadness warred within her, tears spilling over. "I can't believe this," she whispered, backing away.

Salma reached out to hug her girlfriend?? ex-girlfriend?? However, Y/n turned and fled, the pain too much to bear. Salma had a new girlfriend and Y/n had a feeling that Salma wouldn’t drop Margo simply because she returned. 

Yn left the apartment, leaving Salma behind. She cried on the way home as she realized that her forever was altered by the cruel disruption of time.

</3

#salma paralluelo #woso fanfics #woso community #barcelona femeni #fc barcelona #woso x reader #esmee brugts #la roja

[jakesduskwood]

even statues crumble if they're made to wait

Pairing: Jake x Fem!MC

Genre: Post-Episode 10 Duskwood, Post-Episode 1 Moonvale

Words: 8,916

Summary: It's been three months since the explosion in the mine. Three months since Hannah was found. And MC's accepted that Jake is never coming back. When she gets roped into another missing person's case, it makes for the perfect distraction. Jake is dead. It's fine. That is, until she finds herself on the phone with Alan Bloomgate who says he has something to show her. But it's fine. Jake is dead.

Until he's not.

EPISODE-1 MOONVALE SPOILERS AHEAD (MAYBE)!

[ A/N: Hello! :)

I know it's been a while since I've done this, but I finished Moonvale Episode 1 and if you've seen the ending (and used its Duskwood code), you know what happened and how excited I was to receive that bit of Duskwood. So, I took it and ran with it, and out came this extremely long fic. I did not proofread this as it took me literally almost 12 hours to write so it is completely and 100% me and my love for Jake and I hope you love it.

Side note: I suck with anything related to timelines, so I made one up on my own. I know Episode 1 of Moonvale takes place over the course of a day or two, but for the purpose of this fic, it made sense to make it longer, so it's not a typo, or me losing my mind, it's just the way my brain processed this.

Enjoy! :) ]

It’s been three months since the explosion in the mine.

Three months since Richy had been killed. Three months since Hannah was rescued. Three months since I had last spoken to Thomas or Cleo or Lilly or…or Jessy. I didn’t blame her then and I don’t blame her now. Any of them, really. I didn’t share the bond they had with each other. I wasn’t from Duskwood. It didn’t matter that we’d experienced a tragedy together—and yes, perhaps them more than me, but I loved Richy too. I had lost Richy too. And Jake—

But mostly, I think they just wanted to forget. To move on. They didn’t want to remember that their friend had been capable of…of that. And I was a constant reminder of that to them. So I understood why we didn’t necessarily talk anymore.

The one person I did keep in contact with from Duskwood, oddly enough, other than the occasional update from Alan Bloomgate, was Dan. We weren’t best friends or anything, but he allowed me to check in on our friends in a way that I didn’t know how to do with anyone else. Maybe because I thought he was the least affected among them. I knew he cared about Hannah, but he wasn’t to her what Thomas or Cleo or Lilly were. And he wasn’t to Richy what Jessy had been.

I’d learned from him that Thomas and Hannah had broken up. There was no bad blood, but Thomas hadn’t quite figured out how to accept the things he’d learned about his girlfriend when she’d been gone, and Hannah hadn’t quite figured out how to re-trust someone after Richy. Even if that person was Thomas. But I’d hoped they would find their way back to each other in the end.

I thought about reaching out to Jessy every once in a while—even just as an apology for everything that had happened. I’m sorry that Hannah was found at the expense of Richy. I’m sorry that he did this to you. I’m sorry I didn’t realize it sooner. We should have. We should have. We should have. I miss you. But I never send it. I’m not all that sure she’d respond anyway.

Cleo and I were never all that close. She has her best friend back, so I think she’s probably as okay as she can be. Helping Hannah find a new kind of normal in a time where her childhood friend had kidnapped her in order to prove a point. I don’t know how you come back from that—I don’t know how you come back from knowing that you killed somebody at all.

I hadn’t found the courage to ask if somebody had told Hannah about Jake.

Not that I think it would matter anyway. I hadn’t heard from him since before the explosion in the mine, which was, like I said—three months ago. I waited the appropriate amount of time—twenty-five days—before I broke down and concluded that maybe he hadn’t survived. Which just piled a shit-ton of guilt onto my shoulders because it was supposed to be me in that mine. He had gone in place of me and now he was dead.

It was the only explanation that made sense. I was used to Jake disappearing for days at a time, but never as long as he had been now. And he didn’t seem like the type to tell me he loved me and then leave without a single explanation. Not unless he had to. But it had been three months and as much as I missed him, as much as my chest ached with the thought that we would never eat Chinese food out of shitty motels and have that on-the-run ending we talked about, I had accepted that he wasn’t coming back.

I wonder if he had known about Richy or if he had died still thinking Michael Hanson was the one who had kidnapped Hannah. I wonder if his last thoughts were of me. Maybe it’s selfish, but I kind of hope they were, because I’m pretty sure I’ll think about him for the rest of my life.

I wonder what it would have felt like to run my hands through his hair. To kiss him. To spend every waking moment with him and know it was because I loved him. Because I would have. Talking to Jake became about more than just finding Hannah. It became a part of my day I looked forward to more than anything else. He confided in me in a way that told me he never had with anyone, maybe not even Hannah, and I needed that from somebody. I needed somebody to trust in me the way that Jake did. I needed somebody to love me the way that Jake did.

It was strange—and maybe a little ironic—the thought that something so beautiful could come out of something so tragic.

Anyway, my point is: it’s been a long couple of months. Of thinking about my friends. Of thinking about Jake. Of wondering if I should have done things differently. I should have gone to Duskwood to help. Not even with the mine, but sooner. I could have. I could’ve gone when Jessy was attacked on the way home. I could’ve gone when the group made plans to cut out of town and hide away in the house Richy had found. Selfishly, I should have. In that moment, when they were settled around the fire and Lilly called me, I had never remembered wanting anything more. I should have grabbed Jake—metaphorically, maybe even literally—and rode it out with them to the end.

I don’t stop missing them after three months. Of wishing things could have been different. Wishing I could have done more. But exactly ninety-five days after the explosion in the mine, seventy days since I had accepted that Jake was never coming back, twenty-two days since I had last heard from anybody from Duskwood (Dan included), my phone dings with a new message.

And the cycle starts all over again.

It’s somebody named Eric, who claims he needs my help to find his friend Adam, who disappeared while he was waiting for a ride in someplace called Redlog Pines. And much like with Duskwood, I have never heard of Redlog, and the case reminds me way too much of Thomas’ first message to me, so much that it makes my chest ache, but I can’t say no because there’s somebody missing, and if I’d say no the first time, God knows where Hannah would be.

So, I say yes, and I help out where I can, and Eric decides he needs to bring about four more friends in on his little plan and I try my best to stay emotionally unattached because I remember everything that happened the last time and I can’t go through that again. I offer up information when I can and keep my words short and careful because I’m not ready to get attached to somebody else I know I might never meet.

I know how this ends.

Two days in, Ash, one of Eric’s friends, brings up my Duskwood past and the unhealed wound I’ve been trying to mend breaks open again. She asks about Richy, and about the mine, and then because I’m me and I can’t help myself, I tell her about Jake. She tells me the news never mentioned another body and I shove that thought to the back of my head because hoping for something that will never come true will kill me.

Four days into Adam’s disappearance, and the police not giving a shit—as Charlie, somebody who reminds me far too much of Richy for comfort, points out—my phone beeps with an incoming call from somebody I haven’t spoken to in a while.

“Go for [MC].” I answer my phone.

Ever since Hannah had been found in the mine and Jake had…you know, my phone had been more silent than I’d gotten used to. Until this new case. But even that—it was only a few days old and I didn’t want to go down the same path with them that I did with my friends in Duskwood. We didn’t really know each other that long, sure—even though sometimes it’d felt like it—but it felt like I’d finally been a part of something. Like, I had found these people who had chosen me for me.

And originally, maybe they had. Maybe they’d had every intention of keeping me around, but then Richy was the Man Without A Face and Alan Bloomgate had rescued Hannah and nothing was the same as it had been when we’d met each other. We knew too many secrets about each other by the time the town settled. Secrets we would have to take to the grave.

Or maybe I’m losing my mind a bit and I had really only been a means to an end.

Either way.

“Alan?” I raise my voice when there’s nothing but breathing on the other end of the line. “Did you mean to call me?”

His tone is clipped. “I found something.”

“You found something.” I repeat.

My heart clenches. For all I know, it might fall into my stomach. As far I know, from watching the news, from what Ash told me, Jake’s body was never found. Richy’s was. Or what was left of him to find, anyway. I had assumed that there just hadn’t been enough of Jake left. The thought left me nauseous, but it was better than hoping for something I knew I could never have.

“I’m sending it to your phone now.” He responds. “Let me know what you think of this.”

And then he hangs up.

That was a riveting conversation, I think as my phone dings with a message. I do my best to ignore my other messages—contacts from Duskwood I’m still not ready to acknowledge—and click Alan Bloomgate. He sent me a video that looks like—oh God.

Immediately, I’m overcome with emotion as an all-too-familiar forest pops up on my phone. It’s a video of Alan’s bodycam footage. He’s searching the Duskwood forest. A forest I’ve seen too many times in the background of other video calls.

I watch as he stumbles upon an object that’s too dark to make out at first. When he gets closer, it’s clear that it’s a backpack. It’s simple. Black. Nothing about it that screams this is mine and I left it here about anybody in particular. You stupid, stupid idiot, I tell my heart when it rattles against my chest in hope. He’s dead.

Alan stands and treks away from the backpack—I want to scream at him to go back, to open it and look through it and tell me if it’s what my heart aches to believe, but I can’t, because this is a video and I’m simply watching with wide eyes, waiting for…for something. But then. But then, he moves further into the forest and I watch as he stumbles upon an object that makes my knees tremble and tears rush to my eyes and my hands shake. A black hoodie. It looks like it’s been through hell, with holes scattered up the sleeves and dirt cakes into the hood, but it’s unmistakably his.

And then—Alan lifts the hood and picks up something that makes me sink to my knees with a sob that wracks my entire frame. Because I’m staring at Jake’s mask. The mask he doesn’t go anywhere without. The mask that protects him. And so my relief is short-lived, because I realize that even if he’s alive—which seems like a very big possibility at this point—he’s alive without the things that he needs to survive.

And then the anger kicks in. Because if he’s been alive, on his own, for three months—why has he not contacted me? Unless he survived the mine but he didn’t survive the after. But that didn’t make any sense. So, okay, he wasn’t dead. But that didn’t make any sense either. He told me he wouldn’t let them catch him. Because catching that meant he would be apart from me. Did something happen that prevented him from being able to reach out and tell me he was at least okay? A quick text that said didn’t die in the explosion in the mine, you don’t need to mourn me, by the way, going off radar for another year. Did he think I would have given up on him?

I wipe my eyes and shoot a message to Alan.

ME: Recently?? Did nobody search the forests before?      

ALAN: Searched the forests for what, [MC]? The logical assumption seemed to be that if anybody was inside the mine when Richy set the fire, they would have perished alongside him. Officers were stationed outside every known entrance and exit. Besides, after the story you and your friends spun around this town, do you think anybody would have gone back into its forests?

ME: But it’s possible?

ALAN: I would say these items had been there for some time. But I would say it is likely he ditched them when he fled the mine, yes.

Another sob tears through my throat. Jake is alive. I don’t know quite what that means for us as of now, but I know it’s the best news I’ve heard since Hannah was found. Jake is alive. He’s out there somewhere. And even if it’s been three months, and even if I’m a little bit mad at him right now, I know that if he was here, I would throw my arms around his neck and hold on to him until someone dragged me off, and even then—I would fight kicking and screaming.

I close out of my messages with Alan and pull up a conversation I haven’t had the heart to look at in quite some time.

ME: Jake’s alive.

LILLY: …

LILLY: Have you spoken to him?

ME: Alan called. He found some of Jake’s things in Duskwood. I don’t know a lot of details. But I know he made it out of the mine.

Lilly types for a long while, but she doesn’t respond. I don’t take it personally. I think it’s probably hard for her to be happy that her brother’s okay while also trying to accept that her sister may never be okay again. Her sister, who had once-upon-a-time been kind-of-sort-of in love with their brother she didn’t know she had. I think that would probably mess with any family’s heads. And on top of all that, you throw in manslaughter and a kidnapping. I wouldn’t wish anybody, not even my worst enemy, to have had to go through what the Donforts had.

When it becomes adamant that Lilly isn’t going to respond, I start scrolling through messages with the rest of the group in Duskwood. I click on Jessy. I’m here if you need me. That had been the last thing I sent to her, a couple of days after Richy’s death. She hadn’t responded. I click out of Jessy’s contact and click on Thomas’ instead. Thank you for everything. That had been his last message to me after we found Hannah. I’d liked it. I hadn’t expected at the time it would be the last thing we’d ever say to each other. I click out of Thomas’ and click on Richy. So, you want to turn yourself in? I’d asked. That was before he called me. Before he lit a match and burned himself and the mine to the ground. Some people would call that heroic. I mostly call him a coward.

I click on Jake’s name. It’s been a while since I read messages between the two of us. Maybe before I had accepted—thought—he was dead. In that twenty-five-day period when I’d hoped with all I’d had that he would come back. I love you. That was the last message he sent me. I’d responded with I love you too, Jake. Then, four days later: Are you okay? A week later: Jake, please, you’re starting to scare me. I know you said you would contact when you could, but it’s been a week. After twenty-five days, when I had finally accepted our fate, I’d sent one final message: I hope you know that I love you, and I will always care about you, but I think it’s time for me to move on. I’m so sorry that I sent you into the mine. It should have been me. And I will probably feel the guilt from that for the rest of my life. Thank you for everything. Take care of yourself, wherever you are.

After that, I had closed out of our messages and hadn’t looked back. Partly because I couldn’t bear the pain of it. It felt like I had given up on him. I hadn’t—if I had thought for a second that he was alive, if I knew then what I know now, I would have never sent that message. But holding out hope for somebody who I thought was a ghost at the time? That was slowly killing me.

It’s only then that I notice the screen flickering. Much like the way it used to whenever Jake would hack into my phone. I don’t think he’s much in the mood to be hacking right now, but somehow, I know it’s him. When had he done this? Recently? If I had opened our messages, would I have seen this ten—twenty—even fifty days ago? It hadn’t looked like this the last time I texted him. Did he see my last message about needing to move on? Was that why he hadn’t reached out to tell me that he was okay? Because he thought I was moving on happily without him?

No, my brain supplies. He wouldn’t. He would reach out anyway, because he knows how much the thought of him not being okay would have destroyed you.

The screen flickers once more and then a message pops up, bright and blue-tinted and clear as day on my phone.

[MC]

I WILL FIND YOU

And the world around me shifts.

--------------------------------------------------

Maybe it sounds crazy, considering I’ve never seen his face before, but I always thought that if I’d ran into Jake one day, maybe on the street or at one of those motels he stayed at or maybe even in Duskwood, surrounded by all our friends, I would know it was him. I would, because it’s him, and it’s me, and we’re the only two people who understand each other quite the way we do.

I still believe that.

I believe it when I book my flight to Duskwood (or rather, twenty miles outside of town, which is the closest airport). I believe it when I board the airplane and find a seat next to a mother with her screaming child and when I shoot off a quick text to Eric to let him know I’ll be MIA for the next few hours, but to message me if he needs anything—and I think about how much easier this case would probably be to solve if we had Jake.

Maybe it would have been harder to find Hannah without me, but I know damn well they would’ve never found her without Jake.

Dan picks me up from the airport. I haven’t told the others yet. Something about it felt off—like I shouldn’t message them and say hey, I know we haven’t spoken in a while, but I’m booking a flight to look into why my maybe-slash-not-really boyfriend left his belongings in a forest we really wish we could forget about, and by the way, can I crash at your place?

It’s quiet on the car ride back into town. I’m looking through my messages from Eric and the group from Redlog Pines and thinking about how I’m Duskwood with this group and I want so badly to laugh because it’s ironic, but Dan wouldn’t understand. He might just call me crazy. Better yet, he would ask how I manage to get myself into these situations, and really, I don’t have an answer for him.

“How have you been?” I ask, just to break the tension, as Charlie, in my messages, tries to persuade his friends to head back into that creepy cave in the middle of the forest. He’s going to get someone killed, I think.

Dan looks over at me. “Are you still with Hackerman?”

My chest squeezes. “His name is Jake, Dan. And we were never really together.”

“Hm.” He nods like he doesn’t quite believe me. “You already know mostly everything that’s been happening here. Thomas and Hannah called it quits. They say it was some mutual decision, but it’s hard to find them in the same room together. Jessy hasn’t been out with us since. I think we remind her too much of Richy. The group’s all changed.”

“And you?” I ask.

He gives me a cheshire-like grin that doesn’t quite meet his eyes. “I’m always the same.”

We make it to Duskwood just as the sun’s going down. Much too late for me to try and trek through the forest and retrace the steps Jake might have taken that night. Not that I think it would help give me any clues as to where he might have gone, but mostly because I wonder if it will make me feel closer to him. We’ve never been in the same place before, and even if he’s not there now—he once was.

“Can you drop me at the police station?”

Dan blinks. “The police station.”

I nod. “Yeah.”

“We answered their questions for weeks, [MC]. I don’t think anything you have to tell them at this point is going to help. The investigation’s closed. Everybody knows Richy did it. He died with the fire in the mine. Everybody’s trying to move on from that.” He works his jaw. “Did you come here to open old wounds after all this time?”

I try not to show the hurt look on my face. “This isn’t about Richy. Look, Alan called me. He asked if I could look at some things. I figured it was better for me to do it in person. That’s it. Nothing to do with Richy. Nothing to do with Jessy. Nothing to do with you.”

He sighs, and I’m not entirely sure he’s going to abide by my wishes until we pull in front of a tiny building—tinier than most—that says Duskwood Police on the sign. Duskwood must not have that much crime. Well, not until this, I suppose.

“Thank you.” I tell him as I reach over to undo my seatbelt and climb out of the car. “This is a nice ride, by the way.”

He raises a hand in some mock-salute. “Need me to pick you up?”

“Nah.” I shake my head. “Think I’ll explore the town for a little bit.”

“Suit yourself.” He shrugs and then he’s off.

I square my shoulders and take a deep breath before opening the door to the police station. It wasn’t like Alan asked me to come down here. He hadn’t. Even during the investigation into Richy’s death and Hannah’s kidnapping, when he questioned us, he never asked me to come to Duskwood. We’d done way too many video calls and phone calls and at one point, I had asked if he thought it would be easier for me to come to Duskwood, to which he responded back, are you ready for that?

No, I hadn’t been. I’m not even so sure I was now. But knowing that Jake was alive, that here was the last place was, I had to try.

“Can I help you?” The woman at the front desk asks.

I clear my throat. “I was wondering if I could speak to Alan Bloomgate. I’m one of—I was involved in the Hannah Donfort case. My name is [MC].”

Her eyes widen. “Give me a moment.” She stands and heads to some back office—which looks to me more like a closet—and then returns with a clipped smile. “He’ll be right out.”

Apparently, she isn’t lying, because not two minutes later, Alan is stepping out from the same door and staring me down. I hold his gaze and hope it says that I’m not here to argue. I will tell him my truth, but only my truth, not Hannah’s, not Jake’s, not anybody else’s.

“I was wondering when I would see you.” He says.

I shrug one shoulder. “Isn’t a few months later better than never?”

“Let’s go into my office.” He says, and leads me around the desk and back into the closet space he had come out of. He sits behind the desk and motions for me to take a seat opposite him. “I’m just going to guess you’re not here to talk about Miss Donfort.”

“I want to see them.” I tell him. “His things. I want to see them for myself. And whatever you want from me in return, I’ll give to you.”

“You’re playing a dangerous game here, [MC].”

“He isn’t a game to me.” I snap back and then sit back and try to relax. “I appreciate that you called me. It’s—I helped you find Hannah. I would do it again. Even with knowing the things that we do now, I would do it all again. That’s how much that group means to me. That’s how much he means to me. I’m not asking you to break any rules or to lie for him or to—to let him hide in your basement for the next five years. I’m just asking you to show me what you found.”

He stares me down for a moment. Then, he sighs, says “wait here for a minute” and disappears to another room. When he comes back, it’s with an evidence bag in his hand filled with the objects I saw on his bodycam footage. My breath hitches in my throat.

“I can’t let you touch them.” He says as he lays them in front of me.

I stare into the eyes of the mask. “Did you tell anybody that he’s alive?”

“I don’t know that he’s alive,” is all the answer he gives, which is an answer to my question. I slide my gaze down to the black hoodie, to the dirtied sleeves and muddy hood, and think about the fact that Jake wore this. I’m so close to him.

And yet I’ve never been further away from him.

“Thank you.” I tell him. “For—for this. And for listening to me about Hannah. If you hadn’t, I—I don’t know what would have happened. How much longer he would have gone on for. If he would have ever stopped.”

Alan’s silent for a minute. Then, he clears his throat. “You know, it was strange to me. Both Hannah and yourself swore to me that neither of you knew the other.”

“I don’t.” I swear.

It was one of the (albeit many) things that didn’t make sense to me. How Hannah got a hold of my number. How she sent it to Thomas. She’d told Alan she hadn’t really remembered texting him my number at all.

“I believe you.” He reassures. “I just think it’s strange. One mistake, if you can call it that, and you throw yourself into a missing persons case to help a stranger.”

“They’re not strangers.” Even though Hannah is kind of still a stranger.

“But they were.” Alan reasons. “You had no reason to say yes to helping Thomas. I doubt anybody would have held it against you if you turned the other way. But you decided to follow this until the end. To make sure they found Hannah. And you care about them. Maybe that’s why I find that I’m more lenient with you than maybe I should be. Why you’re sitting across from me right now calling the shots. Why I’m not asking you about the hacker.”

“I wouldn’t tell you if you did.” I look him in the eye so he knows I’m telling the truth.

He returns my gaze. “Maybe that’s the other reason.”

“Hm.” I acknowledge before I turn my gaze away—from him, from the objects that I know belong to Jake and it takes everything in me not to snatch them up and run. “Well. Thank you for allowing me to steal some of your time. For letting me—” I cut myself off before I say something that makes me break down in a fit of tears in front of him. “—just thank you.”

Leaving the station is easier than coming in. I’m still not any closer to knowing where Jake is than I was when I arrived here, but there’s a comfort in knowing he walked these streets. I wonder what he would think if he knew I was here. He hadn’t wanted me to come to Duskwood when everything was happening…but now that it was over, would he be happy that I was here? That I had come to Duskwood to piece together where he might have gone? Would he track my location and come to find me and…or was I grasping at straws?

It felt like I had just gotten him back. Not really, not entirely…but knowing that he was alive, that he was out there somewhere, maybe thinking of me and looking for ways to come back, to live the life we talked about when he asked me if I was sure…that was worth it. The thought that we could maybe someday have that—even if it was a twenty percent chance.

I check my phone again to see a new message from Ash. She’s asking me if I’ve heard from Charlie in the last few hours. Apparently, he’s AWOL, and I want to help, really, but…it doesn’t really feel like that’s where I am at the moment. Not just physically—obviously—but mentally. We got lucky with Hannah. And that was really only because we had Jake. Adam didn’t have a Jake. Or…maybe he did and I just hadn’t met him yet. But I already had a Jake and I didn’t want another one.

Maybe—if I found him, I could convince him to help. That was a big maybe. Not because I thought Jake would say no. He would say yes to anything I asked of him. The maybe was whether or not I could find him. More likely, the maybe was whether or not he would find me.

Three months ago, I would have been able to come to Duskwood and have no shortage of things I wanted to do and people I wanted to see. Now, as I stand outside Duskwood’s police station, I feel nothing but loneliness. Nobody knows I’m here. I could pass Thomas on the street and he wouldn’t even know it. I could run into Jessy at the library and she would walk by me without even a second thought. Why would they? I hadn’t told them I was here.

So, with nothing left to do, I walked. Toward the town center. Toward the library that Jessy showed me on our walk through Duskwood. Toward the Rainbow Café where I knew that Cleo and Hannah had spent a lot of their time. Toward the Black Swan. Toward—

Ah, what the hell.

I had nothing better to do and The Aurora seemed like a great place to drown my sorrows. To think about my next steps. To figure out—now that I was in Duskwood—what I planned to do. The thing about Jake being so secretive (and on the run) was that I couldn’t retrace his steps. I wasn’t able to ask if anyone had seen him. One, because he would make sure nobody had. And two, because three months was a long time to forget somebody’s face if you didn’t know who you were looking for.

I pull open the door to the bar and step inside. Immediately, I’m hit with the stench of whiskey and a handful of chatter. Duskwood’s a small town. And The Aurora definitely proves it. The bartenders move melodically around each other, serving patrons on the other side of the bar. If you walk down further, there’s a handful of tables.

And dead in the center is a table with my friends. Or, some of them. Dan and Cleo and Lilly. Could I still call them my friends? Ex-friends, maybe? Acquaintances? I didn’t know what they were. Or how to address them. It wasn’t like we had gotten into a fight. We didn’t stop talking for any reason other than that we did. We stopped talking.

I make a beeline for the bar to avoid a confrontation and plant myself on one of the stools. One of the bartenders—a girl cute with bleach blonde hair and brown Bambi eyes—asks what I want and I channel my inner Dan to order a whiskey—neat.

Looking over my shoulder, I focus on the table of them. On Lilly, who’s smiling at something Cleo said. On Dan, who’s the only one of them who actually knows I’m here. But even he’s focused on the conversation they’re having. It’s strange—to see Dan a part of something I’m not sure he would have been before. It’s nice.

“[MC]?”

I turn my head away from the table of my friends and focus my attention across the bar on someone I should’ve expected to see. “Phil.”

“I thought I recognized your voice from when we talked.” He smiles. “I wasn’t sure, but I saw you staring longingly at them—” He nods towards Dan and Cleo and Lilly. “—and I knew. What brings you around here? I expected you to show up maybe a few months ago, but by now, I thought you’d moved on without us.”

I was tired of the words move on. Like I’d had a choice. Like the people from this town might open their arms and welcome me back into their lives. So I’d been part of the group who’d saved Hannah Donfort. So had a lot of people. It didn’t make me special and everyone here knew it.

I offer him a smile in return. “I’m looking for somebody.”

“Anybody I know?” He asks.

I shake my head. “Nah. At least nobody you would recognize.” I pause. “How’s Jessy?”

“She’s—Jessy.” He answers, like that is an answer. “I don’t know if she’ll ever really be okay with the way things happened with Richy. I wouldn’t expect her to. Obviously. But I don’t know. I think I just thought she would have gone back to her normal life by now. And then I remember that most of her life revolved around him. He was her best friend. She worked for him. And I’m trying to be patient about that. But—” He shakes his head. “Maybe you should talk to her.”

“She doesn’t know I’m in town.”

“Okay.” He hums. “So, you’re not in town for my sister. And you’re not in town for your group of friends because they’re over there and you look like you’d rather be anywhere else. There’s always Hannah, but I don’t think you knew her that well. Or at all. Would I be right to assume this is about a certain hacker who helped to find Hannah?”

“He didn’t help find Hannah.” I defend. “He was the entire reason we found Hannah. I would have never been able to do it on my own. Even with the others’ help. He’s the only reason we found out about—” I pause before I say something I maybe shouldn’t. “It doesn’t matter. He’s the only reason we found her. Everything I did was just dumb luck.”

“That wasn’t what the news said.” A voice cuts in and I turn my attention from Phil to focus on the stranger that slides into the seat beside me. Not too close—a couple inches away. I don’t recognize him. I don’t know him. But I don’t know every person in Duskwood. Maybe a total of like nine or ten. “I’m sorry to interrupt. But I heard you had a lot to do with finding Hannah Donfort. The news said you were some kind of hero.”

I offer him a tight smile. “That’s nice of them. But…if they knew my—friend—knew what he did to find her, I don’t think I would be as much of a hero as everybody says.”

“That’s noble.” He says, eyes meeting mine, and it strikes me at once how handsome he is. He has dark hair. Bright green eyes. Focus, [MC]. I scold. You have a…a someone.

My phone buzzes.

ERIC SENT A PHOTO.

ERIC: What do you make of this?

I sigh and click on the photo. It’s of—some object. Much like the one that was addressed to me on the envelope in Adam’s glove compartment. The image is a bit different—but I don’t know enough about what it means to have an answer as to why.

ME: Was this one addressed to me?

ERIC: Nope. Ash.

“Are you okay?” Phil asks.

I clear my throat. “I’m a popular person—apparently.” A thought strikes. “Have you ever heard of a place called Redlog Pines?”

Phil frowns. “No.”

I turn to look at the stranger. “You?”

“Redlog Pines is a small town about two hundred miles north of Duskwood.” He answers. “Known for their wooded forests, much like Duskwood.”

“Why are you looking into a place with forests as creepy as ours?” Phil asks, incredulously. “Didn’t you get enough of that with Hannah’s case?”

“Yeah.” I sigh. “You would think.”

“Hey, [MC]!”

I wince at the sound of Dan’s voice. Shooting Phil a look that screams please help me to which he shakes his head amusedly, I turn and plaster on a fake smile as I take in the shocked looks on Cleo and Lilly’s faces. I should have known better than to come to The Aurora and talk to Phil when the three of them were having a conversation across the room. I should have known they would sooner or later see me. I just hoped it was later.

“Hey.” I hop off my stool and make my way across the bar to them. “It’s, uh, fancy seeing the three of you here.”

“What are you doing here?” Cleo asks.

“I haven’t really figured that out.” My eyes meet Lilly’s. “It sounds crazy to say it out loud. But I was hoping that—I’m not sure if Lilly told you—”

“That Jake’s alive.” Cleo nods. “None of us ever really thought he wasn’t.”

I don’t think she means it as a dig—but it still feels like one. Like she’s saying you gave up on him you gave up on him you gave up on him even though she’s not and she didn’t really know him and the only person I can talk to at this table who even might understand is Lilly and even—Jake didn’t confide in her the way he did me.

“Right.” I acknowledge. “So I thought that maybe if I came here, I could trace his steps from when he was here and—I haven’t really thought that far ahead. It’s not like I thought he left me any clues in the forest or anything like that. I don’t think he expected me to be here. He hadn’t wanted me to be the last time we talked. But that was before everything happened.”

Lilly’s eyes track behind me. “Does Jake still have Nymos on your phone?”

“Uh.” I furrow my brows. “I think so. I hadn’t heard from him in a while, but I went back and read through our messages after I talked to Alan and…my phone glitched, like it used to when Jake had hacked it. And then this message appeared on my screen.”

“And by chance, can Nymos track your location?”

“What—” I shake my head. “Maybe. I don’t think I ever really asked him. It didn’t seem necessary at the time.”

“Uh huh.” She focuses on me once more. “Let’s say, for one minute, that Jake has access to Nymos who has access to your location.”

Cleo must catch onto something I’m not sure of. “Jake didn’t want you here.”

“Uh, thank you?”

“You know that’s not what I mean.” She waves me off. “He didn’t want you in Duskwood. He had been adamant about that when we were talking about the mine. That’s why he went. If you showed up in Duskwood—”

“Nymos would have alerted him.” Dan finishes.

“Okay…” I’m not entirely sure I’m on the same page as them. “So—you think that Jake found out when I came to Duskwood.”

“Correct.” Lilly beams like she just solved life’s greatest mystery.

“And you think he would—come find me?”

She smiles sympathetically at me—like I’m the world’s biggest idiot for not realizing what she has been trying to say sooner. “I think he already has.”

“You think Jake’s in Duskwood.” I deadpan.

“[MC].” Cleo grabs my shoulders and turns me around. “We think he’s in this bar.”

Stranger, as I had nicknamed him—AKA the guy sitting beside me at the bar, with Phil and Redlog Pines (which he probably only knew about because of me) and the whole Hannah being kidnapped and not taking any of the credit thing—was looking back at me. So was Phil. Like they thought I was the crazy one. Like it would’ve been so hard for him to look and me and say it’s me or anything that might have clued me into the fact that—

“Jake?” I whisper, because I’ve lost quite a bit of sleep over the past couple of months and I’m not one hundred percent sure what—or who—I’m seeing is real. “Are you here?”

He tilts his head and smiles at me. Actually smiles. A bit shyly, like it’s something he’s not used to doing, but maybe like it’s something he could get used to. And I think about how terrible I probably look right now because I’m not wearing makeup and my hair is tousled from constantly pulling at it and my clothes are wrinkled from the plane and the police station and I look like a mess. But our relationship has never been about looks. Clearly. I didn’t even know the person I’d been talking to until Lilly and Cleo and even Dan pointed out the obvious.

“If I—” I close my eyes and open them again. Nope. Still there. “I need you to still be there by the time I reach you because it’s been a—” I sniffle. “—it’s been a rough few months and I don’t think I could handle you disappearing again.”

He stands from the stool he was sitting on and shuffles his feet. Like he’s not quite sure where he’s supposed to stand. If he thinks about moving, I’ll tackle him onto the floor of The Aurora and then apologize to Phil later. It feels like everything I wanted is right here in front of me. And I’m scared to death that it’s not real.

“What’s one thing you would take with you if you were stranded on an island?”

His smile stretches. “My computer.”

And that—that’s what breaks me. I think I might start blubbering like an idiot but I don’t remember the time it takes for me to cross the measly twenty feet between us. All I remember is grabbing his black hoodie—because of course—and dragging him to me. I don’t kiss him, despite how much I want to, because I don’t want our first kiss to be tainted with my snot and tears. Instead, I bury my face in his collarbone and wrap my arms around his neck and hold on for dear life.

Because I can. Because he isn’t dead.

“Y—You’re here.” I pull back and cup his face with my hands. “How are you here?”

“You came to Duskwood.” He responds, and then—hesitantly—he presses his lips to my forehead in a kiss. “Alan called you.”

“He found your things in the forest.” I whisper back. “He said they’d been there a while. The police hadn’t searched the forest because they assume you died in the mine.”

“They aren’t looking for me here.” He confirms. “I didn’t expect it to take so long for them to find my belongings, but I anticipated that you would find out. At the time, it wasn’t safe for me to reach out and contact you. They kept on my trail for a while before they assumed I died in the mine with Richy.”

“Why didn’t you contact me then?” I ask. “Is it because of what I last messaged you? I didn’t mean it—I swear, I thought you were dead. If I had known you were alive, I would have waited, however long it took. I wasn’t trying to give up on you.”

“Hey.” He places both hands on either side of my face. “I know. I know that, [MC]. That was never why I didn’t reach out to you. I know you said you wanted this life with me. But I didn’t want that for you. But I was selfish. I couldn’t let you go. So I was trying to find a way to make both of those things true. But I was always coming back to you.”

“And did you?”

“Come back to you?” He asks.

I sniffle. “Find a way to make both of those things true.”

“Not entirely.” He admits. “Nymos alerted me you had boarded a plane headed in the direction of Duskwood and I—” He shook his head. “I knew I would find you here.”

“You could have found me sooner.”

He lets go of my face and he feels like he takes my skin with him. “It wasn’t that easy.”

“It could have been.” I demand.

I’m angry again. Now that I know he’s alive and okay and that he could have found me, I’m angry that he didn’t. I told him I would choose that life with him. Over and over and over. He didn’t need to make the decision for me. He didn’t need to try and protect me. And yes, maybe the fact that he did makes my heart flutter a tiny little bit, but that’s besides the point.

“I told you before you left me.” I tell him and I’m aware it sounds like we’ve been in a relationship for five years and I’m aware that everybody in here is watching and listening in on our conversation and they probably all know we’re who we are, two people involved in helping to find the kidnapped Hannah Donfort, and maybe that’s all we’ll ever be in this town. But I would rather be the girl who found Hannah Donfort in Duskwood with him than be me anywhere else. “You told me you would let me go with you.”

“That was before I told you I loved you.”

My heart skips a beat. It screams I love you I love you I love you back, but I say— “What does that have to do with anything?”

He looks somewhat amused. Like he knows I would never hold it against him. It’s clear to both of us that I wouldn’t because even though I’m glaring up at him with my furrowed eyebrows and my lips pouted, I’m still pressed tightly against him. His hands—even though they’ve moved from my face—are now resting on my hips. Pulling my tighter to him. There’s no space in between us. If it was up to me, I’m pretty sure there never would be again.

“[MC].” He says, and oh god I wish he would say my name every day for the rest of his life. “Have I—in the short time we have known each other—ever struck you as the type of person who says I love you? But with you…” His words are a whisper against my lips. “It’s easy to fall back into old emotions with you.”

“I want to be angry with you.” I tell him.

He shakes his head. “No, you don’t.”

“No, I don’t.” I agree. “But I might be if you don’t kiss me.”

He brought one finger underneath my chin and tilted it up until our lips were separated by a fraction of an inch. My eyelids fluttered. I didn’t care that everyone in here was about to see just how much Jake meant to be. I didn’t care because I had waited too long for this. And then—just as I’m leaning toward him to press our lips together, he whispers— “[MC]?”

“Hm.” I acknowledge.

“Who’s Eric?”

My eyelids crack open and I shove at his chest. “That’s what you’re worried about right now? Here I am, in front of you, covered in snot and tears and who-knows-what-else because you’re here right now, and you’re worried about some guy I don���t even know?”

“Who’s Eric?” He repeats.

“Ugh.” I run my hands through my hair and take a step back. “I don’t know. He’s the other side of Thomas or whatever you want to call him. If we lived in a different town.” I glare back at him and try not to admit that I think his jealous side is a little cute. “He messaged me. Thought I picked up his friend from some parking lot and I didn’t, but his friend sent him my number, and it was Hannah all over again. I’m trying to help them.”

“This Adam has been sending you a lot of videos.”

“You know I hate when you hack my phone.” I complain, even though I really don’t. Even though I had prayed for him to help me with this case. “I really don’t know Adam. Like—even less than I know Eric.

“But you know Eric.”

“For like a week.” I reassure. “He added me to this group chat with him and like three other friends of his. They’re desperate to find Adam who has apparently dropped off the face of the earth and I don’t know what to do. I had you with Hannah’s case. And you knew her. And they—” I look over my shoulder at Cleo and Dan and Lilly, who are pretending like they’re not listening in even though I know and Jake knows they are. “—they knew her. And obviously Adam’s friends must know him but I don’t and you don’t and there is no Jake in Redlog Pines.”

“I don’t trust him.” He shakes his head. “Any of them.”

I laugh. “Jake, you didn’t trust half the people in this bar when we first started talking.” I look over at Phil and then Dan. “It doesn’t mean they committed a crime. If I had backed off when you asked me to help you find Hannah, we may never have.”

“I thought that was all thanks to me.” He sounds smug, like that little smiley face he loved to annoy me with (AKA make me fall in love with him). “Did he flirt with you?”

“No.” I deadpan. “I think he was focused on his missing friend.”

“I was focused on my missing sister.” He shoots back.

I close my mouth. Alright. He has a point. But I wasn’t flirting with Eric. He was focused on finding Adam and I was focused on mourning—and then finding—Jake. Maybe it felt like Eric and I were two sides of the same coin. Maybe that’s why I agreed to help him. Because I didn’t want to happen to him what I thought had happened to Jake—to me.

“You’re being ridiculous.” I say instead. “How do you think I could ever entertain the idea of being with somebody else when for the past three months—more than that if you count the time we have actually had together—I’ve been focused on you? On discussing Hannah with you and then talking to you about anything and everything and then worrying about you and then hating you a little for convincing me you should me the one to go into the mine and then mourning you when it was hard to even think about you and then finding you?”

His eyes are wide. I think I’ve rendered him speechless. Which—serves him right. I know he’s not somebody who serves their feelings up on a silver platter. I know that. Obviously, I knew that from the first time I spoke to him. Back when he was nothing more than ??? and I was almost convinced that Dan was right and he was the Man Without A Face—a thought that I now hate with everything in me. But I need him to trust me. Jealousy streak and FBI and the missing persons cases aside, he needs to trust me.

“Trust me.” I cup the sides of his face again. “He’s nothing like you.”

He swallows. “Some people might consider that to be a perk.”

“I don’t.” I say.

And then I’m kissing him and it feels like coming home.

#duskwood #duskwood everbyte #duskwood game #duskwood jake #duskwood jake x mc #moonvale everbyte #moonvale #duskwood fanfic #duskwood mc #everbyte game #everbyte studios

[peachhcs]

Hiii!!

I was wondering if you could write something for samy and will based on this article: https://www.nhl.com/canadiens/news/my-man-mireille-boutin-on-michael-pezzetta?utm_source=twitter&utm_medium=post&utm_campaign=CHCcontent&utm_content=EN-0514-MyMan

Basically the nhl team’s media people asking the players’ significant other questions about them. Thanks so much :))

my girl: will smith on samy hughes

hughes!sister x will smith au (samy + will)

nhl elite prospects interviews will about samy & their relationship!

1k words

this was suppperr cute to write. i swear will’s a yapper when it comes to talking about samy. i switched it from the article so it was will talking about samy, hope u don’t mind, but i loved this request!!

au masterlist

"we've been best friends since we were kids. everything just makes more sense when i'm around her."

UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN — samy hughes is known for her tough offense on the soccer field.

but off the field, she's the "best person i've ever known," according to her boyfriend, will smith, a boston college forward.

while in san jose for a development camp, the nhl elite prospects were able to catch up with smith to ask him how he's been doing, including how his new relationship's been treating him.

TELL US ABOUT YOUR DYNAMIC GROWING UP.

it's funny because we never hung out by ourselves a lot when we were kids. i was pretty attached to her older brothers [quinn, jack, and luke] and she was attached to my sister [grace smith], so we never really hung out that much until we were older. although, we always got along. when we did hang out we enjoyed talking to one another and poking fun as if we were siblings. we really didn't get closer until i moved up to plymouth for the usntdp.

WHAT CHANGED YOUR RELATIONSHIP FROM FAMILIAL TO ROMANTIC?

at least for me, as i got older, my feelings started changing towards her. i started seeing her as an annoying sister less and less and the more we hung out when i was in michigan, the more attached i grew i guess. we started just..doing stupid stuff together and i just really liked hanging out with her. all the times where i thought the things we did together was just a sibling dynamic, i slowly realized it was a lot more than that.

WHAT DID YOU GUYS DO ON YOUR FIRST DATE?

i took her out to dinner in ann arbor and then we walked around for a bit before sitting on a bench and just talking for hours. it was definitely weird at first, but we eased into one another and it was fun getting to know her on a different level than what i've always known her as.

WHAT ATTRACTED YOU MOST TO HER?

her personality for sure. she's super outgoing, always knows what she wants, very independent, super caring. we're very similar in many aspects, hence why we're best friends. she looks up to her brothers a lot which i admire because i also look up to them. i also enjoy her extensive knowledge of hockey because of her family, so it's easy talking about the game with her. she's just always been someone i go to when i need a shoulder to lean on and it's just so easy with her, you know? i love getting to call her so we can talk about our days together.

OF COURSE, HOCKEY'S IN SAMY'S ROOTS. DO YOU GET HER ON THE ICE WITH YOU EVER?

oh yeah, 100%. whenever we're back at michigan or in boston, we're on the ice. she's the one dragging me outside sometimes so we can play 1v1 or something. she's always had that love for hockey even if she doesn't play competitively anymore. i also love seeing her out there because it's what bonded us when we were kids, so it's nice still getting to go out and do it with her. somehow she still beats me too. she doesn't play for 4 months and then we're back on the ice together she scores 3 goals before i can even get the puck in my possession. the guys chirp at me whenever that happens if they're around.

HOW OFTEN DO YOU WATCH HER SOCCER GAMES?

every single one of them are on my computer. it doesn't matter what i'm doing. as soon as the live stream starts, i'm booting it up to watch. the guys love watching her play, so i always get to turn it on the tv and then we scream at the stream for two hours together.

SPEAKING OF THE GUYS, WE HEARD SHE HAS A GREAT RELATIONSHIP WITH YOUR LINEMATES AS WELL.

leno and perreault absolutely adore her which i think is really sweet. i was a little worried when i first introduced all of them back when we moved to mich, but the three of them grew close really quickly. sometimes i think they're more excited to see her than i am and that's saying a lot.

WE HEARD HUGHES IS A GREAT COOK. HAS SHE COOKED ANYTHING FOR YOU?

when we're at the lake house she loves cooking all of us breakfast. she makes a great omelette and french toast, like, the best i've ever had. we all go crazy for her breakfast in the mornings.

DO YOU GUYS EVER TRAIN TOGETHER DURING THE SUMMER LIKE RUNNING OR WORKING OUT?

i'm not a huge runner, but sometimes i will run with her when she goes out, or i'd bike along side her. our training schedules are pretty different, but when we're in the offseason we'd occasionally hit the gym together or do some casual workouts that won't kill us. she knows what the hockey training is like so it's no stranger to her when she does follow my lead. soccer, on the other hand, is a lot more sprints and footwork which is sometimes helpful for me.

CAN YOU TELL US ABOUT SOME OF SAMY'S BEST QUALITIES?

shes a huge team player. she's always looking out for those girls on her soccer team, helping them run drills, being someone to talk to—i really admire her for that. she's got a real big heart too. her love is so contagious. she's dependable, trustworthy, kind, beautiful—the list could go on coming from me.

ANY LAST WORDS YOU WANT US TO ADD?

i love her, haha. our parents knew way before us that we would end up together before we even knew. we've been best friends since we were kids. everything just makes more sense when i'm around her. this is probably corny, but i wanna spend the rest of my life with her. she's my rock.

#will smith hockey #hughes!sister x will smith au #samy x will #samy hughes #boston college hockey #boston college #umich hockey #will smith x oc #uofmichigan #will smith imagine #bc eagles #bc eagles lb #umichsoccer #umich soccer #umich wolverines #boston college hockey blurb #boston college imagine #boston college hockey imagine #umich imagine #san jose sharks #sj sharks #w.s.6 #ws6 #will smith hockey fluff #w.smith

[taylorswiftbutsimp]

Unread Letters To The Emperor

SERIES MASTERLIST

Emperor Blade (Yingxing) x Empress Reader

Chapter two: The Bottom

Word Count: 1312

WARNINGS: mentions of vomiting, ALOT OF TIMESKIP, reversing time, making a deal/gamble, death!, reader is describe “you” in this fanfic, reader’s parents doesn’t have a name here, OOC, again your responsible of what you read (also scalegorge is in its prime)

The night was cold, an uproar of thunder could be heard from afar, but that wasn't the main focus. Blade was sprinting around Scalegorge looking for one person.

Dan feng.

He was led to a room where guests and visitors are entertained, but instead of sitting, he paced about the room.

Reading the rest of the diary felt like he had been hurt right from the heart. What made his fury rise was the letters.

Why did you exchange letters with Jingliu, and why are there multiples, each being sent to a different place?

Infact how did you know the grandmaster.

—Letter sent: two

Should I refer to you as Grandmaster or Lady Jing Liu? Anyway, I questioned a few people who you are, and some shared a pretty disastrous review about you, but who cares, I'd like to know you myself.

I am sure there is a reason why you came up to me, and I interpreted your letter. I look forward to meeting you in a better setting.

-Letter sent: five

I apologize for the delayed response, Lady Jing Liu. Things have been stressful here at the castle; how are you doing?

I'd certainly like to send you some tea made from the herbs I've been growing. I'm hopeful it'll help with the mara.

——

Only two letters remained in your diary, while the rest are lost, including letters from Jingliu.

A twinge of shame rushes through him; if he knew you and paid attention to you, he may have known the things you do.

"Lost in paradise, your highness?" A voice interrupts his thoughts, a voice that claims that I told you so

“Its rather late at night”

“Can you reverse the time?”

There was a moment of silence between the two. Blade was just a few inches away, his face full of guilt. 

"Take anything, my empire, the money, my soul, just bring her back into my life" the emperor broke down, perhaps caused by grief.

The Vidyadhara could only stare at the emperor; in truth, he wasn't surprised, and Dan Feng felt pity for you. He shared a couple cups of tea with you, observed as your eyes shone brightly at the aroma, and gently thanked him for bringing flowers for you.

The emperor did not deserve you; he may have been friends with you since early years, but he will not tolerate the things he has put you through.

“Had a change of heart, your majesty?” 

"I want her back, you heard it the first time" the emperor whispered yelled, peering through the vidyadhara.

Dan Feng groaned and moved closer to the emperor, "Your wish was granted the moment you stepped here, but I will not tell you what I took from you”

The rain poured heavily, hitting the window blade seemed like he plunged into an unending abyss. That was the very last thing he saw.

He groaned as the sunlight shined on his face. Blade rose up and looked around the room, familiarizing himself and attempting to remember the year.

Looking at the room and the design, he chuckled to himself. What could go wrong with meeting you sooner, right?

After all, he learned.

———

Your father burst open the dining hall door, making you and your mother jump in surprise, a sweat sliding on his side of the forehead.

"Father, are you okay?" You looked like you saw a Ghost" you asked, uncertain of what was going to happen.

Your mother frowned, ordering the maid to get her husband a glass of water while making her way to your father to settle him down.

“Ready to speak your mind, husband? ”

Your father looks horrified with a letter in his hand: “The Emperor requested that our daughter be his wife." 

The room fell into deep silence. The clock ticking felt like it was mocking you, asking you to count your days until arriving in hell.

It was no secret that the royal family was strict and possibly toxic because it was formerly ruled by a tyrant, as you learned from your teacher.

What could the emperor possibly want from you, and what was his deal in choosing a bride from a foreign planet?

You cleared your throat, removed the napkin from your lap, and approached your father, "What was his highness's reason?"" You asked, seeking to find out the reason for it.

As far as you can remember, you haven't attended any parties, left the planet, or done anything that would make you stand out to the nobles, so how could he know you?

The last thing you remember is your father securing a business deal months ago, but it failed due to canceled meetings and transactions that did not include you, and your father was a professional businessman.

"That's it, my child" your father sighed, touching his temples as a headache seized him, "it just said he wanted to meet you”

"Then it must be a scam" your mother tried to lighten the situation, hoping for the best that this was only a nightmare.

"It's not it had the emperor's seal it was personally delivered to me earlier by the general jing yuan” your father cried out, reaching out your hand caressing patterns from your hand to reassure you and cherishing your warm hands.

“Father i am willing to take the chance-“

Your mother cuts you off, telling you that it can be a major decision and that you don't have to feel rushed. "We will find a way to-"

"Mother" you said, focusing into her eyes, "if we refuse, who knows what will happen? Can we genuinely run from the hunt?"

"I understand it's a crucial step, but what about the blood and sweat that father worked for?" You claimed that it was a difficult decision, but it could also help your family and join into the side of the alliance.

For that, you're ready to take the initiative. "Besides, if he doesn't pick me, it was worth a shot, and we'll still benefit from it”

"My dear, what is the point if we forfeit? I did this for you because I want my daughter to be free. Getting involved with high-class individuals is another ruckus.

"Father, believe me with this one. What could go wrong?"

———

The xianzhou loufu appears unsettling however a familiar air hits you as if you've been here before. Could it be merely the vibe of the place that feels cozy due to the old style?

Nonetheless, you shrugged it off, following the handmaid who had been waiting for your arrival and accompanied you throughout your stay.

She brought you to the garden, which was lovely. You had a sight of a unique plant, presuming your vision saw the proper thing and did not betray you, but who wouldn't.

The garden was filled with rows of roses and a fountain. It was huge and you could definitely get lost in it. You shook off your thoughts, focused on your walking.

And then there he was, the emperor at the courtyard, drinking tea and listening to the birds chirping. For a moment, your body froze just by looking at him.

A wave of Deja vu

What was worse, a shudder ran up your spine, hands sweating as the handmaid pulled the chair for you to sit on. You bowed your head to the emperor, who was studying your movement like a hawk, before thanking the maid.

She then bowed again before leaving the two of you, with the cloud nights following behind her, leaving you and the emperor in privacy.

Your hands were quivering, and a feeling of sickness seized you, making you want to vomit and run away.

You repeated deep breaths at your head before finally making eye contact with the the emperor who was already eyeing you.

This was gonna be a long day.

#ᗯiᒪᒪoᗯ #emperor blade #blade x reader #honkai star rail x reader #dan feng x reader #hsr x reader #care to explain bladie🫣🫣 #hsr dan heng #yingxing x reader #jing liu